The Beautiful Kind

My mom got married at age 19 in 1966. Right about the time she got married was the time she started breaking down.

She was a nurse before I was born. She worked on a pediatrics ward, and back then there was no regulating, so when you gave a kid a pain pill, you just broke it in half and threw the other half away. I’m not sure how her habit started, but at first she started popping the half she was supposed to discard. Then, she began taking the whole pain pill, instead of giving it to the children.

She was finally caught shooting up in the bathroom by her head nurse and was arrested. I have a copy of her mug shot; she’s still wearing her uniform. That was the end of her nursing career.

…when you’re at someone’s house and you ask if they have hot sauce and they say no?

When I see someone driving one, I know they are trying to send me a message. Surely it’s more than, “I like this vehicle.” Are they also trying to tell me:

I have bad taste

If you and I collide, you will die in a mangled sort of way because my bumper will shatter your windshield

I am tough like the U.S. government

I don’t give a shit about the environment

Arnold Schwarzenegger and I have so much in common

“STATUS AND MONEY: 100 POINTS FOR ME”

I need to revisit my priorities

NYTimes had an article about how Halloween is a great excuse for our nation’s women to strut around in thigh-hi’s and bust out the cleavage.(Good Girls Go Bad, for a Day)

They pointed out that when a man dresses like a firefighter for Halloween, he looks like the real deal, but when a woman does it, she just looks like she wants to start one in your crotch. So yeah I can see why some might think that diminishes a woman’s standing, but let’s not forget that women are the driving force in this society.

Pussy = power and trumps testosterone everytime. Women really do make men do crazy things, because men are weak (not that I’m man bashing; I think it’s cute.) And anyway, how about an article pointing out that Halloween is a prime time for men to don make up and dresses and bring out their inner fem? They should envy all the choices women have - men are so limited in this culture. Women can choose whether to wear color, make up or not, dresses, heels, paint their nails. It makes me think of the boy departments in stores - all navy and athletic grey. Depressing. More costumes, please.

This morning I took the bus down South Grand. This was the first time this West County bitch has stooped to the level of utilizing public transit in St. Louis. I can’t wait to get back on the bus. It smelled like cigarettes and piss, I was wedged between two people with the consumption, a guy was on board selling mittens, and two women were putting on a lesbian make-out grope session while two guys ogled with a mixture of envy and excitement. The best thing was that one of the lesbians was drinking out of a baby bottle. All before 9am.

Awesome.

Whenever I drive by one of those roadside cross memorials, I always wonder,

Are Jews just better drivers, or what?

Hell I don’t even know where to begin. First of all, bad girl Buffy showed me this whacked blog. Honestly it rivals mine for ludicrousness. At least mine should be taken with a grain of salt. This…I think it’s serious.

OK so then we clicked on the Prairie Muffin link. I thought Prairie Muffin was another term for Cow Patty, which is pretty much BULLSHIT, and BINGO, that’s what it is. A long list on how to be a good Christian wife and serve everyone but yourself, with declarations like:

11) Prairie Muffins own aprons and they know how to use them. (ed. note: and here I wanted one for my houseboy)

and

17) Prairie Muffins place their husbands’ needs and desires above other obligations, arranging their schedules and responsibilities so that they do not neglect the one who provides for and protects them and their children.

and FUCK

18) Prairie Muffins are fiercely submissive to God and to their husbands.

so we thought, well what the hell are we? But of course. We are Gutter Tacos. The GT list looks something like this:

5) Gutter Tacos improve their intellect and knowledge as they have opportunity, first by completing their educations, then by reading good books, David Sedaris short stories, porn magazines, Savage Love and other materials which help them to make informed opinions about a wide variety of subjects.

and

11) Gutter Tacos own sex toys and they know how to use them.

and YESSS

13) Gutter Tacos practice hospitality by offering every man, woman and child who enters their home a chilled, shaken martini (vodka, gin, cosmo or chocolate, guests’ choice), even when their home is cluttered with condom wrappers and empty champagne bottles.

So there you have it. Yet another example of turning lemon into lemonade. Damn we’re good. Gutter Taco t-shirts coming soon.

“I can’t get the thumb tack in the wall — I’ve got the saddest life” - Edie Beale

I finally saw the documentary called Grey Gardens. It was about this old mother and her 55-year-old mentally ill daughter who lived an isolated, impoverished life in a 28-room dilapidated mansion in East Hampton, New York. (The estate got its name from the grey color of the dunes, the cement garden walls, and the sea mist.) The pair were also the aunt and cousin of Jackie O. They lived in the house for over 50 years. Unable to keep up with repairs, there were raccoons coming and going through holes in the walls, and their eight cats pissed wherever.

The mom, big Edie, sat for the most part in her bed piled with junk, doing things like singing to her old records and cooking corn. The daughter, little Edie, wandered the grounds lamenting lost loves, adjusting her head scarves, bursting into dance, and bitching about her mother. It was fascinating to watch them go at it, the manipulative dance, pushing each other’s buttons.

The mom died not long after the film, and the daughter sold the house (it was fully restored) and wandered the country as a cult figure. She died alone in 2002. A movie based on the documentary is now in the works, and will star Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore. Now that I’ve seen the film, I want to call outfits “costumes,” lunch “luncheon,” and when I have to leave a place, I’ll announce that “I must be on my course.”

When you eat or get dressed for the day, do you ever think about the possibility that you might get murdered later that day and more people than you ever wanted to know will know that you had circus peanuts for breakfast because they’ve found the partially digested bright orange bits in your stomach while they were performing your autopsy?

Or how about your outfit being described in the report: “Single white female, 33, 120 lbs., wearing aqua ‘Real men love unicorns’ t-shirt and yellow striped knee socks.” Or your bad tattoo? I know you’re dead and all, but isn’t it embarrassing? God I hope I don’t get murdered today, because I just ate a dorky candy bar. I am wearing a cool outfit though.

What’s with true crime writing where they’re always describing the discovery of a corpse as “badly decomposed body?”

As in: “…they found her badly decomposed body floating facedown in the Mississippi,” or “…his badly decomposed body was found in the ravine.”

Is this as opposed to a nicely decomposed body?

Goddamn I hate balloons, and when you have a kid, they tend to hit your radar screen. I hate how they squeak, pop, the unlubricated latex…

The other day we were at a party and there were balloons, and of course my daughter grabbed one and wanted to take it home with her. The thing is, what do you DO with a balloon besides let it go and have some duck choke on it out in the wild? So I said to her, “Are you sure you want to take that with us? Why don’t you leave it here?” So she turns to the people behind us and hands them the balloon, explaining, “Here, you can have this. My mom doesn’t like balloons.”

“Well, WE do,” they huffed supportively, as if hinting that I was a bad mother and a real killjoy for not liking something as fun as a balloon. Dude, I let my kid get in the tub with all her clothes on and make fairy houses and eat pancakes for lunch. I know how to have fun without a stupid balloon.

San Fran Syndrome: When a gay man moves to San Francisco, discovers the gay community there, and immediately develops amnesia, forgetting all his previous friends. Sheesh, the least he could do is send the occasional homoerotic postcard!

I’m sick of rednecks hitting on me. Am I unknowingly making trailer eyes at them? I don’t think I look like their type - I don’t have yellow hair or ugly tattoos.

For instance, last month when I moved into my new place, one of the movers, a 42-year-old guy with way less teeth than I’m used to, invited me to go to a thong contest at some redneck bar he frequents. I pretended to misunderstand him, saying, “You like DONG contests?”

So last night I was at the grocery store and this redneck flirted with my daughter as a way to get to the hot MILF. (moi!) He followed us through the store, asking for help finding the mandarin oranges, explaining that he’s making HIS baby Jell-O. I was like, “Dude, this is not a date. I’m here to pick up cereal, not serial killers.”

The bottom line is, I don’t want to be someone’s step up. The people I’m with have to be a step up for ME.

The term “scientology” is supposed to mean “the study of truth.”

HA HA HA HA HA

I’ll bet scientists are pissed that this cult is trying to hijack their gig.

At first, the thought of a well-groomed man with good fashion sense and attention to things like curtains appealed to me. Then I slowly discovered that these men get manicures and wax their asses and hate women, though if you were to tell them that they would be shocked. Denial is more than a river in Egypt, let me tell you. These guys are so deep in the closet they need a cologne trail to find their way out.

Helpul tips for the ladies: If a guy has more than one pair of glasses, watch out. If a guy only wears special designer undies from New York, back away. And if you grab on to the guy’s ass you’re having sex with and it’s smooth as a billiard ball, go ahead and scream right in his ear.

Give me your scruffy, your uncoordinated, your sweet, your clueless. Nothing warms my heart like a little beard stubble and a thrift store t-shirt.

GQ can fuck off.

I really hate trophies. They’re usually gold and gaudy, not to mention that the word conjurs up images of trophy wives (also often gold and gaudy) and mounted animal heads.

Here is what you can get a trophy for: rugby, soccer, cricket, golf, making a good movie, beautiful baby contest, good attendance, spelling bee, bike riding, driving a car really fast, running for a really long time, eating a shitload of tamales, and being way too muscular.

My dad used to teach tae kwon do, and one time the studio moved, and they threw away a bunch of useless trophies. My dad couldn’t bear to see the discarded and unloved trophies heaped in the trash bin, so he dragged them all out and brought them home. Now they’re in his basement.

Why is it that every time I visit family, I end up getting things I don’t want? Such as pictures of babies I’m somewhat related to. I don’t really like babies. Tonight I went over to my parents house, and now there’s a sombrero in my car. Next time I make a clothing donation at one of those drop boxes, I’m going to shove the sombrero in there, and the clothing sorters will resent me.

I also receive unwanted bags of lettuce, boxes of donuts, and soda cans. The lettuce is because I’m vegetarian and they think it’s a good match, the donuts are because they only wanted to eat two of the donuts and now they need to get the rest out of the house pronto - sure, I’ll put those on my hips instead of yours, anything I can do to help. The soda cans are my doing - I obsessively dig through my families trash cans, trying to recycle for six people. SIX PEOPLE THAT DRINK A CASE OF SODA A DAY AND DON’T CARE.

Last week I was given a picture of my dead grandmother in her coffin - what am I supposed to do with it? Display it on my desk at work? I have to say, she has the loveliest complexion I’ve ever seen on a corpse, all peaches and cream. It goes well with her coral lipstick and melon suit. If the timing was right, I could have put the sombrero in her coffin, explaining to nearby mourners that she always wanted to go to Mexico.

The other night my friend was visited by two Mormon kids. He welcomed them in, let them know he was an atheist, and said, “I’m open to hearing what you have to say, and I’d like to establish up front that I’m absolutely willing to change my mind - are you?”

They told him well no, that they had a contract (not sure if that was with the church or with God.)

Of course the conversation went quickly from pleasant to obnoxious. They let him know that if he prayed every day, that God would speak to him and that would be his proof of God’s existence.

So he asked, “OK if I do this and nothing happens, does that prove you’re wrong?” Well, no, they said. They told him they could tell he was an intelligent man, and it was a shame he was wasting it. “So I should be focusing more on religion instead of scientific research?” he asked. (he’s a scientist)

When they grew increasingly challenging and rude, my friend asked them, “So you pray to God and converse with him and have a relationship with him, right?” They fervently admitted to this.

Then he said, “How do you know you’re not talking with Satan?” They were shocked, saying, “Of course we aren’t! God is good and on our side!” So he said, “Well Satan is a powerful force too - how do you know he’s not just pretending to be God, and this is all a big trick, and that eventually he’s going to come up behind you and screw you?”

As he ushered them out, they whined, “Don’t you want happiness?” He replied, “I’m about to go out and have dinner with my friend. Meanwhile, you’re roaming the cold streets trying to talk people into your way of thinking. Does that make you happy?”

As he was shutting the door, they asked hopefully, “Do you know of anyone that wants to hear the word of God?” He pointed to his neighbor’s door, a total asshole. “Try him.”

By far though, the best religious visit my friend had was a few years ago, when the flustered and angry religious visitor blurted out, “I know your type! You’re one of those sexual intellectuals!”

I LOVE IT.

1. He’d tell you to ditch your family and career to follow him, without even saying goodbye. (”And he said unto another, Follow me. But he said, Lord suffer me first to go and bury my father. Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead. And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but first let me go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house. And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.: Luke 9:59-62)

2. He’d tell you that if someone steals $5 from you, to give them $10. WTF?

3. He’d tell you not to resist an attacker, but to let him abuse you again. WTF?

4. If you were his mother, he’d dis you. (Jesus to Mary: “Woman, what have I to do with thee?” John 2:1-4)

5. He”d refuse to heal a sick child because she was a gentile, but her mother begged enough and he finally helped out, but then exploited the occasion by giving a speech on the power of faith. Um, right.

6. He’d favor Jews over Christians (”For salvation is of the Jews.” John 4.22)

7. He’d be sexist. No woman was a disciple and no woman would sit at his table in heaven.

8. He’d give you a thumbs up if you castrated yourself, especially “for the kingdom of heaven’s sake.” Matt. 19:12. Ooh, go for it! I dare you

9. If you weren’t doing what he wanted, he’d lose patience with you and yell at you. (Jesus to disciples: “O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I suffer you?” Matt. 17:17)

10. He’d sponge off you for food and lodging. Dude, get a job.

11. If you didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d kill you. When Jesus came upon a fig tree that bore no fruit, he cursed it: “Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward forever.” Matt. 21:19. And then the innocent tree withered on the spot. Bully!

12. He’d speak insincerely. How can someone who claims to be “meek and lowly in heart” also claim to be God, sent by God, and will return in clouds of glory to claim a kingdom? That’s meek?

13. He’d be intentionally devious. John 7:2-14

14. He’d be overbearing, condescending, impatient, heartless, smug, vengeful, scornful, quick-tempered. Not exactly the traits associated with a deity overflowing with love and compassion.

15. He’d tell you to be sure to believe that someone else bought your way into heaven by being tortured to death, a death in which you had a hand. Be comfortable in that concept of salvation. Hallelujah!

What’s with people who say, “I don’t really watch that much TV,” but then every time you go over to their house it’s on, or they have more than one TV, or the TV is the first thing you see when you enter their house, or it’s a big-screen TV, or they have a TV in their bedroom? What, is it the cat that watches all the TV?