All That’s Missing

I think maybe this rental house is where Boogie Nights was filmed – not the sex parts or Roller Girl’s scenes or the one in the men’s room when Mark Wahlberg looks down inside his underpants but the part where this drug lord in his bathrobe is brandishing an automatic weapon and there’s loud discordant music that just won’t STOP.

Yup, this stucco palace high in the desert hills feels like that scene.

The living room is the size of a hotel lobby, which is nice but the basement wall is kicked in and the fridge’s ice and water delivery system is broken with the wires all hanging down.

The dead moths are still dropping on our food from the busted ceiling panel and also: the fuse box in the basement is yanked apart and the pool’s heater is broken so the pool is so cold it makes your legs go eggplant-purple the minute you try to step into it. There are no clocks, and no blankets and not a single table lamp either so no reading in bed but only lying there waiting for the thugs to pull up outside.

The ceramic “decorations” have all been broken, then badly repaired with fat blobs of glue coming out the cracks (see?)


Plus there’s an electric piano that keeps playing “Winter Wonderland” and a bullet hole in the front hall mirror and finally a secret room in the basement that the kids are calling “Gimps’ room” but that’s another movie, that’s “Pulp Fiction.” And now all I can say is Where is Samuel L Jackson when you need him?


happy vacation. Incoming! (bullet hole, living room mirror)

Some Cialis Please – Supersized for the Fat Girl

You know you got fat when your rings, your bikini undies AND ALL YOUR BRAS are suddenly too tight. You know it when you look at yourself in the mirror from the back and think “Michelin Man.”

My question is What happened to that SYLPH from five years ago? Plus, where’s my black hair? What’s with this dry-mop the color of battery acid? and what’s with the mustache action all a sudden?

If I’m gonna like TURN INTO A MAN all I can say is, I want some Cialis. Now! And oh yeah, a wife to wash my giant clothes and do all my bending over.

Failing that, I’m off to Weight Watcher to liberate this poor girl (She’s under here somewhere!)


New and Hot (Lonely Smiley Girl)

Just got another email from my many friends in cyberspace, Natasha this time, shy pretty girl at internet café  lonely smiley please to write me so we can meet…. (Oh Natasha! Where would I be without you and your spiritual sisters with your daily offer of love?)

Where would I be without the offer of commerce either come to think of it, because here’s what came two minutes later from one Mr. Alwin who is ‘pleased to establish Long-term & Solid Trading relation with you, our factory has been dealing in producing all different kinds of Fashion Jewelry for many years, our Idiomatical, Multigrade & Charming Jewelry and Ornaments Series, as follows: very New & Hot Fashion Necklace, Elegant Diamond Ring, Exquisite Workmanship Bracelet & Bangle, Beautiful Hair Ornaments, Brooch, Keychain, Extremely Pattern Earring….’

Well who doesn’t love an idiom? Three strikes and you’re out! Deaf as a haddock! Shove it! Bite me! And I’ve been a fan of extremely pattern all my life as haven’t we all am I right. Like when you throw up after eating too much of your pizza–with-the-works. I just look at that throw-up and think Watch out Jackson Pollock!  Plus Alwin is inviting me over, see? ‘Besides we make sure the Excellent Quality, the Reasonable Price and the First Class after-Sale Service, if necessary, welcome to our factory and have coffee in our office, so that you are very satisfied to accept our items. If necessary, I will choose our jewelry attached price list and send you then, you will confirm whether we can cooperate with you then, thanks! Wish our Enjoyable & Successful Cooperation! Very looking forward to your prompt reply!!

Hey I’m answering the guy right now because you know I LOVE bangles.  I LOVE idiomatical, multigrade and charming jewelry and ornaments series!  And come to think of it I’M a pretty, lonely girl here skippin’ church here and going on the Internets! Please to write me so I can hand you off to my boss who will steal your identity and clobber you with spam until you die!:-)

Viva Veritas!

The graphic seen on all Exit signs here in Italy is of a little green guy running like hell for his very life, but let’s tell they truth here: when it comes to actual languages, some are a lot prettier than others:

Here’s the English on the plastic bag the typical hotel provides for your dirty laundry: “Linen to be washed and ironed,” it says. Then there’s the French phrase for the same thing: “Linge à laver ou à repasser,” It’s OK but it’s nothing great, right? And forget the message in German: “Schmutz-oder bügelwäsche. ””Schmuz? Oder?” I mean how unpretty is that?

But in Italian? In Italian the message is just plain sublime. Dirty clothes or not you just can’t argue with “Biancheria da lavare o stirare.”It makes you want to break into song, am I wrong? And it almost- ALMOST – makes you forget how very frank and practical Europeans really are, because not only do the Exit signs tell it like it is and even though I myself just used it to wash my socks in, this little dandy gizmo which we have seen in four of our last four hotels really IS what Mick Dundee called it in that cute first movie that bears his name!

Short Fat Slut

Where’s Waldo? Well he’s the guy in the blue shirt, see him? My old man?  Anyone who had been with us these last four days would spot him right away because he’s been wearing the same shirt since Sunday morning, seeing as Alitalia lost his luggage.

When MY luggage got lost last May and our cruise ship sailed without it I was wearing the same outfit for three days, along with one or two cheesy supplemental get-ups which was all I could find in the ship’s one clothes shop. I was like Goldie Hawn in “Overboard” where she plays this rich spoiled thing who hits her head and gets amnesia and simple workin’ guy Kurt Russell who’s trying to raise his three kids all alone convinces her she’s actually HIS wife, sure she is, doesn’t she remember their romantic past, how they had sex on their first date in the front seat of his car? He even goes and gets a muu-muu that once belonged to his real wife, now departed, and has her put it on.

“So I was short?! And …..fat?! I was a short, fat slut?” she asks, looking in the mirror at herself. See that’s how I felt in the cruise line’s skimpy tank tops and shorts: like a short fat slut who you could hear whining all over the Caribbean. Way farther way than that even since I blogged about it here.

But this man of mine? This man of mine hasn’t whined ONCE, even as he has kept on rinsing out his one blue polo shirt and drying it with a hairdryer… He was fully prepared to do that with his undies even until I revealed that in my deceitful wifely way I had sent away for some special meshy briefs, famous for their washablity and guaranteed to dry in less than two hours. I knew better than to give them to him before we left home, though; I knew he’d  disdain and refuse them then, these girly-seeming things made out of what, old Swiffer cloths? So I put ’em in my own suitcase and did not produce them until the morning of our first day here.

And was he grateful? Are you kidding, was he ever!  I mean how ELSE would a person feel in the land of wonderful light and the fine wines and the sobbing viloins? How ELSE would he feel toward the short fat slut who saved the day?!


Your Unit is Ready

“Hi” began the breathless email I just got. “This is Brian! I ordered your new unit and need to hear from you for confirmation on delivery date!”  So ‘Brian’ here clearly wants me to think that not only are we such pals that he needs no last name but also that I will smack my head and say “Oh my UNIT! I totally forgot I ordered it!”  Pretty cute using the word “unit” too, a generic term that applies to so many things, your conditioner, your apartment, your toupee.

Speaking of ‘rugs’, I had a six-foot-three, 230-pound hair-stylist friend I’ll call Huey. By night he wore leather chaps and chains and participated in various tableaux in which he dressed like a giant painted woman but by day he made things pretty. In the salon he was all you could ask for: he fitted wigs on hair-loss people like nobody’s business, he cried when you cried and he could do anyone’s hair living AND dead and send them to the party looking better.

Since he was bald himself  he talked a lot about his own unit. I’d go see him and ask about his day and he would treat me to such vivid descriptions of his morning rituals I felt as if I was sitting right next to him at the dressing table in his apartment – and naturally there was lots of talk about his unit, which was strictly top drawer and got more attention than most people’s pets.

I sigh to think of him. Maybe someday I’ll have a unit too and yes I DO know the word has another meaning and no I don’t contemplate sexual reassignment surgery QUITE yet BUT IF I DID – or if I were bald, hot or needed an apartment why I’d write right back to Brian here lickety-split and say “My UNIT? It’s ready for shipment? Well here’s my home address, bank account numbers and Social honey! Now you send that thing right on out, I’ll be waitin’ by the door!”

Viva Viagra?

OK, you want to know why we resent you guys? We resent you because all the best creativity gets directed to your needs instead of ours. Take the names of the various sexual aids: YOU get a name like ‘Viagra’, which sounds like vitality with a little agriculture thrown to help sow those life-givin’ oats of yours. You get ‘Levitra,’ a name deriving from the Latin word for ‘rise’. I see the Levitra ads and all I can think of is the ladder on a fire truck cranking slowly and sturdily upward. You get ‘Cialis’ which sounds like “See Alice,” because there’s just no TELLING what Alice might be moved to do in the face of your powerful display of manhood!

Now look at the names of the products they have for us. Is there a ‘Honey Blossom’? Or a ‘Heaven’s Gate’? Or a ‘Nectar of the Goddess”? No way babe. What they have for us is something called  ‘Vagifem’, a sipping straw-size syringe-like thingy that carries at its tip a tiny payload of estrogen to be catapulted boink! against the cervix and left there to do what it can do.

Vagifem, Gad! Can there BE a worse word?

Plus men also get perky jingles like the “Viva Viagra!” one. They get romantic commercials where chicks soaking in hot tubs reach out to link pinkies with these about-to-be-proven-tireless partners, commercials where some pliant gal with shoulder-length hair swoons prettily in the arms of her big strong man, EVEN THOUGH HE’S IN THE  POWDER-BLUE TUX HE WORE TO HIS PROM 30 YEARS AGO HAR-DE-HAR-HAR. Even at that he still seems not at all dorky but cool and fun and ironic, a life-of-the- party guy who’s not about to let a little e.d. get him down!

All this do guys get, and we get …….Vagifem –  and why? Because they think we’re lightweights? Sissies? Fems ourselves?  Just a bunch of fems with vaginas? And who named THAT body part you ask? Who but the men of Ancient Rome and guess what it means in Latin? It means “scabbard,” as in the sheath for a sword.

Yep, sheaths to their swords are our bodies to them, holsters to their little pistols, this part of us that is most complex and intricate through which all must travel to get here, this wondrous part named and defined strictly in relation to the male, walk-ins welcome,  step right up, open 24 hours a day, we’re here to serve ya.

I say we rename THEIR products with the same unromanticized bluntness and how’s this for starters:  How’s  ‘Penissimus Maximus’ and the slogan can be “It’s Scrotally Awesome”?