Makin’ Whoopee ~ Michelle Pfeiffer

Sharing CHER

Not that I watched Will & Grace season after season but there were some high points along the way. A lot of them. This clip still makes me snort. I mean WHO doesn’t think they can ‘do’ CHER? Toss a pair of hoop earrings and a hairbrush microphone my way and I can do two shows; I like to mix it up a bit for the late show. Try the veal; I’m here all week folks.

Actually I’ve never ‘done’ CHER. I’m far too full-figured for that particular illusion. Now, MADONNA, at the peak of her BLONDE AMBITION tour…now THAT Halloween rocked. No. I will not post a picture. Don’t even beg for it. Talk amongst yourselves.

All about eyes

Let’s talk about men’s skin care. Because that reads so much better than the word “makeup.” I know. I just heard the collective gasp. Like YOU don’t put anything on your mug to enhance your, ahem, natural beauty? And if you don’t, well, maybe you should. Cuz you suuure is ugly Miss Celie…

I am, like, always prepared because that is what the Boy Scouts who wear makeup taught me. I have backup toilet tissue, as in ‘extra’ not commode jamming — extra paper towels, double toothpastes, extra deodorant and the ‘extra’ toothbrush in like-new packaging for the remote possibility that a sleep-over ‘guest’ should want to freshen up in the morning before mutually masturbating our goodbyes. With all this advanced preparedness imagine my complete shock, quel horror, when I searched beneath my bathroom vanity for the spare CLINIQUE this morning and came up empty-handed. I must speak to the upstairs valet.

So far today I’ve been asked about my ‘rough night’ and a pamphlet about overcoming substance abuse has mysteriously appeared in my in-box. Since I’ve done research on dark circles allow me to elaborate. Drink all the water and hydrate all damn day long it won’t make a difference. As one ages the fine tissue, i.e. ’skin’, around the general eye area begins to thin. Those dark circles are actually your teeny-eeny bloods living beneath your skin. Or in your skin, like; it is all very scientific and I am no doctor of dermatology so I have explained it all in laymen’s terms should you find yourself getting laid. Genes play a role, too. Just saying one can stay up late, drink like a long shoreman and shoot heroin and it won’t make a difference regarding the degree of dark circles. You’ll reek of stale urine, of course, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. I find, frankly, some men a bit more engaging and mysterious with regard to having dark circles. I am not one of those men.

The moonlight, the music and…YOU

In my humble opinion this tune, After Dark/Pattie Brooks, may be the ultimate definition of 70’s disco. After all who doesn’t like a good strong cowbell? Maybe I’m nostalgic today. Which really means ‘frozen in the past.’ But that’s why my parents listened to Frank Sinatra all the time; his music defined their youth. Plus he was Italian and had mob connections. But I digress. Don’t think you won’t be wetting your DEPENDS in assisted-living some day while Coldplay synthesizes through the Muzak. You’ll get there; some of us are further along that path.

Ahhhh…I’ve listened to this a dozen times already. Close your eyes. Feel how the tune builds. Note that velvet-y lyric ‘…the moonlight, the music…and you…’ Feel the beat of the Latin flavors. I am sooo back in the day in my three-piece suit and suede loafers right now. Anyone got a Benson & Hedges Menthol Light?

Oh, moonlight and you, baby…after dark. We’ll be together…in this magic wonderland…come and love with me again….

Jesus weeps in my latte

Today I’m sharing some trouble spots that I need to release in order to find my center of saffron calm and patchouli tranquility:

Dear elevator c*nt,

Hi. Remember me? The smiling, clean-smelling man that said ‘good morning’ to you? I was the sole person in the elevator so I’m pretty sure you heard my greeting. But you chose to look straight ahead with that blank stare you’ve mastered. That game face that you think makes you look all superior and shit. Yeah. Well, I already know THAT look because it’s exactly the look your boyfriend described the other morning after he banged me in the asshole. He thinks you’re a bitch, too. Have a really nice day.

Dear mini mart slacker,

Dude, go figure. No, I do not ‘have anything smaller.’ It’s called a cash register. In the olden days it was, like, filled with cash monies of different denominations. The act of purchasing an item often requires what is commonly known in retail commerce as “making change.” Drop the ‘tude. Oh. Wait. I DO have something smaller. Here’s a picture of your needle dick. Have a really nice day.

Dear gangsta’ with a mop,

True, cleanliness is next to Godliness but must you invariably roll out the filthy rancid gray stank water in that filthy yellow industrial mop bucket on screech-y wheels just as I unwrap my McBurger? Do I come to you ho’s crib at mealtime and rinse out my ol’ man cracker ass tightie-whities in you kitchen sink? I think not. Have a really nice day.

Dear cell phone blathering while driving whore,

I don’t even drive and have an understanding of the term ‘blind spot.’ Maybe a quick ‘rules of the road’ refresher course would be of value. Oh. Wait. How silly of me: YOU already OWN that road. I was blessed that you graciously pumped your brakes before rounding the corner like a bat out of Hell. You were probably racing to get to the bank. The sperm bank, to spit out your daily deposit, you cum-breathed SUV wench. Have a really nice day.

Gianni Versace

It was eleven years ago today that Gianni Versace was murdered on the steps of his mansion, Casa Casurina, located on Ocean Boulevard in Miami. It seems inconceivable that it’s been that long ago. And it seems, too, unbelievable that the man felt so comfortable in his surroundings to walk unaided by a security detail. But such was his comfort level with the local scene and flair for living life on his own terms. Many would suggest that he virtually put South Beach on the map in the 1990s with his fashion shoots there. That mid-July escape to Miami was to be a brief rest stop for Versace and boyfriend, Antonio D’Amico. After the frenzy of Gianni’s Fall/Winter catwalk in Paris at The Ritz Hotel it was a much-needed break from the limelight. Gianni Versace’s morning walk to get a newspaper ended the empire of excess. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Medusa still weeps.

Mind over matter