Pfunksfoolosophy

Last weekend, my best friend of nearly 37 years, Kim, came for a much needed visit. She’s married and has one child. Both her husband and  her son have ADHD. I’ve seen her son unmedicated and it takes a great deal to find the patience to handle him. He’s a great kid. He’s funny, which can be his downfall and he’s smart. The thing is…when you need him to get ready for school and he’s not medicated, you want to slap him. He’s also diabetic, so he can’t skip a meal. Yep. Kim NEEDED the vacation. I needed to see her as well.

Another win/win situation.

I would love to regale you with our adventures, but I want to check in with her first.

I may have to coerce her and also get the lowdown from her perspective.

So, keep your eye on this column, dear readers. You’re gonna get an eyefull of some crazy happenings including just why she and I are lifelong friends. She’s a bit of a devil, that kid.

This may take a couple of days to process.

In any event, if you have dear friends with whom you’ve lost touch…give ‘em a jingle. Drop ‘em a line. I’m nearly always in contact with Kim. We’re sorta co-dependent but in a healthy way. HEALTHY, I say!

Heh. That were funny. We were phrasemakers all weekend, with Kim being the champion for this one: “The fart from the ass who must not be named”. Ruminate on that one for a bit, kids.

Oh, there was ass-gas and it wasn’t pretty. I think I just overshared. Yep, I sure did.

Can’t take it back now. Chuckle it up out there, gang.

Love ya!
Hey, and pick up my cookbook!
I’ve not mentioned it enough, have I?

THE PRETZEL COOKBOOK: A NEW TWIST ON EVERYONE’S FAVORITE SNACK

Is that good enough for ya?
Amazon has it…so does Borders and Barnes and Noble.

GET it,  already!
If you request it, I’ll even autograph it for ya.

How do ya like THEM apples?
Ah, youth. I wish I still had it.

Be careful out there.

Broadway Comedy Club for all the dates:

27 April 10 pm

10 May 10 pm

17 May 7pm

The time and VIP line info is for the 17th only, but the rest is solid… 

Broadway Comedy Club 318 W. 53rd Street (Between 8th and 9th Ave)
NY, NY 10019
SHOW TIME 7:00 p.m.
Doors Open at 6:15 p.m.
Cover: $15. Only $12 if advance reservation is made on VIP line:
212-252-4255

 Hope you can make it.

The first two are guest spots so I don’t know the exact line up. Be there or be square, kids.

Hope you are all doing okay.

Life is a funny thing. Gonna have to catch you up on my pal’s visit here. It was superfantastic and I miss her already.

We’re coming up on our 37th anniversary—friendship-wise in August.

It would be great if she could come out for that.

Here’s hoping she’ll let me post some pics from her visit. Maybe she will, maybe she won’t.

I can’t blame her for not wanting her mug posted on the internet for potential stalkers.

Still, I want to share our adventures in the big onion.

Talk to you soon!

Be groovy…

Yep, I did some ‘work’ as an extra on Law and Order SVU a couple of weeks ago. What the heck, right? It’s acutally fun being an extra if you don’t take life too seriously and expect to be an instant star, which unfortunately most of the newbies expect…poor saps. What is very cool is that you get to watch the process. I enjoy watching the set ups and I dig watching the actors interact with one another. Some of them–Mariska Hargitay in particular, seem to be down to earth folks with a good work ethic. Some of them–Robin Williams to be specific as he was the special guest star, seem to need someone to open their bottled water for them–that’s just plain loco. NEVER have anyone open a drink for you. She coulda slipped him a roofie.

No es bueno. He also was trying waaay too hard to crack everyone up. I felt sorry for him. It was just a couple of days after the divorce announcement, so I know he must have felt additional pressure to appear to be chipper. Instead, he was annoying.
I really don’t  dig that ‘ghetto Black woman’ voice he does. It really makes me want to pimp slap him. G-d bless him, though. He’s kinda cute. Like a furbee. He’s also got pretty good skin.

Here’s the thing: Chris Meloni is quite handsome. I mean, HANDSOME. He’s not nearly as hair impaired as I thought he would be (although that could be a piece, I dunno) and he’s in excellent shape. I couldn’t stop looking at his bum. And I’m not a bum watcher.

Weird. Some guys have that presence about them. He’s one of them.
Richard Belzer somehow has my heart, though. He’s got the best, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on a man who otherwise seems to be the boy who never had a date. Ever. There is a very sweet gentle vibe that makes him attractive–sorta. Anyway, it was fun to be on the set.

We were participating in a ‘pillow fight for peace’. I have no idea what that even means, since if you use the words ‘fight for peace’, you’re sorta bein’ moronic…but that’s just me.

I am all for cheesecake eating for peace or manwatching for peace. This requires very little effort on my part. But I digress.

There were  pillows everywhere…feathers flying…laughter…and me…sneezing like a bastard. I had taken some Benadryl prior to the shoot, but I didn’t  take enough. I’m also asthmatic. Not a good look. I’m sure that Meloni was NOT charmed. I’m also sure that  he was paying me no mind at all. No matter. He’s married.

I offered Robin Williams a lozenge. He declined. I offered my giant Lifesavers. Nothin’. I offered some kugel. He gave me the cutest look. “KUGEL? You don’t  hear that very often”
Har har…please riff on that one, Robin you comedic genius.

I shrugged and made some kinda  funny mouth noises and he and I shared a moment.

I love it when celebrities act like they are the only ones to have facile minds. Makes ya wanna slap them. Or help them open up their water bottles.

Jeepers creepers. I’m praying  he makes it home okay, though. This is his second divorce. I am praying  he doesn’t start up the drinking and drugging again. He’s  an okay guy. He’s insecure. It’s not cool to be sad deep down where it counts.

In other news, you can watch that very special SVU on the 29th of this month. I think.

If you see a tall Black woman wearing bohemian clothing, chances are it’s me. Hope you tune in. The show rocks hard, man. Even if I’m on the cutting room floor, the show is groovy and you should watch.

Take ‘er easy and to all of my Jewish friends out there–Happy Passover…it’s a- comin’.

Hey gang! I’ve really been slacking off and there are no good reasons. Sure, I’m a busy gal. Sure, I’m making my way with this book thing. Bottom line is, I’ve not been in a really communicative mood. Haven’t felt much like writing and what with the anniversary of Dr. King’s assasination, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching.

It’s been forty years–FORTY years and I remember it like it was yesterday. I was four years of age and I remember seeing my mom crying. She was sitting at the television and sobbing. I knew something historically significant had happened. She wasn’t watching soap opera or a sad movie. At four, I KNEW that my life was going to change immeasurably.

I know what you’re thinking: how could a four year old know how important that event was? Well, in my family, we don’t treat our kids like morons. In my family, we discussed everything–including civil rights and the war in Vietnam. I knew what was going on. Maybe I didn’t understand why blacks weren’t given a fair shake–I grew up in a place where racism may have been alive and kicking, it wasn’t overt. We had a comfortable life…but my mom and dad grew up in Kansas and Mississippi- mom was in school in Kansas during the whole Brown vs. The Board of Education thing. Dad of course, was in MS for the better part of his formative years; no need to tell you that he understood only too well, the Jim Crow laws and lynchings. He’d seen his share of heartache. I think that’s why he enlisted in the Army. See the world and get a better understanding…anyhow, I’ve been thinking that I’m not doing nearly enough to make an impact on the world. What am I doing to keep the ‘dream’ alive? Am I being the best person I can be? Am I trying to help everyone I can with a cheerful heart?

Nope. Not by a long length. I’ve been too busy with my own headnoise. I’ve not been reaching out to my dearest people. I’ve been in my hole. Well, I’m getting out of it.

Lainie: I’m gonna ring ya as soon as I get a phone that won’t drop my calls every five seconds.

Gogammie: You have a call in your future as well.

Okay.

So, tomorrow is the anniversary of my sister’s death. That’s been on my mind as well.

Twenty-two years. It’s still fresh in my mind and it’s just as hard as it ever was. I miss her every day. I can hear her voice sometimes and it’s unnerving. There are days when I swear I see her walking ahead of me in this city and I rush to say something to her. When I reach my destination, I see that it’s a woman who resembles my sister only in that she’s of a similar build. Tears sting my eyes and I wander off, confused and sad. It’s never easy, kids.

You get sort of used to it, but you’re never over it. So, what do you do? You put one foot in front of the other and you breathe. You embrace the memories and share them with folks who knew her. You listen to music that reminds you of her, of her laughing at your stupid dances, of misheard lyrics…you just keep on truckin’  because you know you’re not the Lone Ranger–other folks have experienced great losses too. Get over  yourself and make your life happen the way you want it to happen. Believe in the miracles you can create.

You marvel at your resilience.

Okay, so if you’re me—you probably eat a ton of ice cream and stay in bed all day.

It’s a coping mechanism.

Get over it.

Okay, kids…that was kinda deep and rambling. My apologies.

I love ya and I’m here.

Talk it up. Keep laughing, keep loving and for goodness’ sake, keep on keepin’ on.

Be well!

Okay, so my pal Efunk got me sucked into watching “The Bachelor: London Calling”.

Apart from them ripping off a song title by The Clash, a band  I’m sure Sonny Jim is familiar with due to the age of his siblings (although he strikes me as a guy who probably likes The Smiths–I sorta dislike that about him), the bachelor this season is a pretty funny guy. (and I’m sure the title was not his doing) He has the sense of humor that in a perfect world, would turn this dismal, sad little show into a true laughapalooza.

First, here’s what the geniuses at ABC SHOULD have done:
Call in Pfunk and Efunk as “relationship experts”.

It would be delightful. We would be perfectly coiffed and attired women with sensitive insight and glaringly white teeth. We would offer our ‘expert’ take on the proceedings from the vantage point of the bar located inside the mansion. The first two episodes would go off without a hitch. We would be on our best behavior.
There would be a confessional where we would show our true colors. Yep, we would rank on each and every woman who walked through the door.

“Get a load of the head on THAT one! Has she seen the business end of a hairbrush?”

“Did she say she was a HOTDOG VENDOR? What the heck is that all about? She could have said waitress and it would have been respectable.”

“Oh, who is she kidding? She’s 37 if she’s  a minute!”

We would also get them riproaring drunk. It would be a requirement. We would most certainly NOT hold their hair when they horked. We would mock them along with the bachelor…we would call him “Mack”. It would be fun.

Next on the agenda, we would get rid of the rose deal. We would definitely have to substitute something. I say a pair of Totes slipper socks which the lucky contestant would wear on their one on one with our plucky single man.

We would call them on their ‘feelings’ for Matt (or whomever).
It’s ten minutes and you’re falling for him? Please make it stop.

I think if you had to vie for a pair of slipper socks you might  just want the guy.

After the first couple of episodes, the audience would watch Efunk and Pfunk devolve into sweatpants wearing, delivery pizza eating, margarita swilling harridans.

Oh yes, we would definitely start in on the girls. We would pull our best “Mommie Dearest” waking the kids up to chop down some shrubbery act. Possibly a wire hanger or two for good measure.

We would make them wear Clairol hot rollers and call on Matt. We would make them cry. Often.
There would be a lovely moment where I would walk by in the background cleaning my ear with a Q-tip. I would inspect it and show the bachelor. He would giggle because he’s just as immature as me. I would call his parents and tell them that there is no one here for their son. They would arrive within the next day. I would party with the parents.

Efunk and I would instantly become the cool older sisters he never wanted.

We would coerce the less intelligent of the crew to flash him just as his parents enter.

We would be incorrigible.
Every time one of the  girls called another one a bitch, we would make the offender do a shot. We would also do a shot with her. Yes, we would be drunk. We would make a shambles of it. It  would be superfantastic.

Eventually, the slut side would show up. We would bring in our cabana boys.

It would be a melee.

Make it so, ABC.

I think Efunk can get the time away from work.

Goodness knows I can.

In truth, I only knew one personally; I wrote to one of them and he was killed in action. I wrote about it earlier. This is a sobering number. ONE is a sobering number. War makes absolutely no sense to me. Perhaps that’s why we have so many reality shows to take our minds off of the lives lost every damned day. Yikes.

The other person was a friend of a friend and he enlisted because he had few options. He liked the Marines and he was a good soldier. He was also sweet, funny, messed up and talented. I’m not knocking the military–my dad was a drill sargeant in the Army. Fort Riley Kansas, the home of THE BIG RED ONE, baby! He served in Korea. We’ve had someone serve in just about every conflict since forever. But you know, I just don’t understand how killing someone makes your viewpoint correct.

We teach our children to resolve conflicts without using violence, yet we rush to make war on others. What are we solving? What are we RESOLVING? Nothing. I don’t want to see my brothers and sisters, sons and daughters perish because of a pissing match that got out of control. Understand that I am well aware that when you enlist in the armed forces, chances are you’re gonna see some combat. That’s not my issue. My issue is that this war, like all the rest, makes no friggin’ sense.

Stop it, already.
You wanna solve a problem? Get your best Parchesi, Yahtzee, Poker, Connect Four–you name it–players and pit ‘em against ours. Done and done.

My pals are in heaven nodding their heads, sayin’ “Pfunk, you are so  right. Put me back in the game.”
I wish I could.

Why did I watch the marathon? Why? Am I finally that mindless that I have to rehash something that didn’t interest me until I met a couple of the contestants and wanted to know  what the hubbub was?
Man, I’ve gotta tell ya, going out of doors is a good thing. I’ve seen every episode and still have no idea what makes a good photo. Nigel, the poor sod…while a goodlooking man, kills me. If personality were apples, well…we’d not have pies a-plenty. His wife is quite lovely and they should use her more often. Nigel just rubs me the wrong way. I think it’s the teeth. The teeth, mama. I’m no trip to Hawaii, but put ‘em away, man!

The chatter about the body positions, the open squint (can that be possible?), Miss J–a word about that one–I don’t care if you’re a gay man, you’re a man. I’m not gonna call ya ‘Miss’. Hate to break it to ya, J–until you’ve experienced your menses, I don’t wanna hear you call yourself ‘Miss’. Get over it. You don’t see a bunch of lesbians calling one another ‘Mister Sharon’. Stop it. It’s not cute.

Tyra’s not as annoying as Heidi Klum is on ‘Project Runway’, but if I hear ‘continue on’ one more freakin’ time, there is gonna be war. Just say continue. It’s okay. Love ya, but let’s move it along. My brain hurts.
Twiggy is probably the only one who just does her thing and gets over it.

Eh. I am sure that modeling is tough. Goodness knows I don’t have the stomach for it.  Nor the physique. Dude, they’re nuts.
Now on to my suggestions to spice it up:

1. Have a ‘house mother’ who is there to check the girls. This is required. She will make  them read literature. She will correct their grammar. She will require them to chew with their mouths closed. She will be a heavy drinker. She may wake them up on random evenings  in a drunken rage dressed as Joan Crawford. 

2. No calls to the boyfriends. It’s boring.

3. If there’s a cat fight, please don’t prolong it. Tell them all to shut up.

4. Help us understand why we should care about someone’s hands being stiff.

5. Prohibit Miss J from wearing that long tee shirt and heels. At the very least, make him wear hose.

6. Jay Manuel. Make him stop wearing lip gloss and bleaching his hair. I’d like to see him as a redhead. That’s just me.

7. Nigel. Seriously, get that stick outta your arse. Take a good hard look at those choppers of yours. Appreciate your wife a whole lot more. She’s gotta kiss that mouth.

(by the way, bring your Mom back–she rocks)

8. Tyra needs to stop saying ‘continue on’. Stop it. Bring your Mom along. She’s cool.

9. Make the models promise not to crab about their makeovers. Make them sign a waiver. The  show’s been on how long? Get over it. Quit yer bitchin’.

10. Guest judges from the real world. Matter of fact, have one of the past contestants come in.

Okay, that’s it.

There will be a 12 step program for me. I made the time to blog about this. There is an intervention in my future.

Well, first let me apologize for neglecting you. It wasn’t my intent to completely forget about you. I feel just like Loretta Lynn in “Coalminer’s Daughter” when she has her breakdown.  “Patsy’s always sayin’ ‘little girl, ya got to run your own life’….well, mah life’s been a-runnin’ me” Yep. I’ve let my life run away with me and I’ve not been an active participant and I’ve allowed my work drama get under my skin. Kids, it’s a friggin’ job; it’s not my life. Whoa, Nellie, right?
So, it’s back, back in the NY groove. Spoke with some friends, got it together and feel that my big ‘ole size elevens are rooted again in the soil of my life’s rhythm. Going to get back to writing because that’s important to me. I’ve got a ton of stories to tell and they’re worth telling.
Back to cooking again, which is a blast and the big news…drumroll please…

THE PRETZEL COOKBOOK IS ON AMAZON! So you can pre-order it and have a blast.

The title is: The Pretzel Cookbook: A New Twist on Everyone’s Favorite Snack.

Take a look; you’ll be glad that you did. OR, you’ll completely forget about it and it will go directly into the remainder bin.
Wow, way to have a positive outlook. Frankly, I think it’s a great book for what it is…pretzels. Pretzels are a favorite for many, many folks.
If you dig soft pretzels this is your book. If you’re too lazy to bother making pretzels, there are recipes using store bought pretzels.

If you are somewhere in the middle, there’s recipes using frozen bread dough.

You can run, but you can’t hide. Get the book. After you receive it, shoot me an email and I might just autograph it for ya.

Could be valuable some day. COULD BE…ya never know.

This week, let’s try to keep a positive outlook. When something or someone gets you down, remember that you’ve got at least one person pulling for you. That person is the Pfunk.

I believe in you. You can accomplish just about anything as long as you let your light shine. Let it shine, people! Rock it when you can, appreciate just where you are right now; you may know it can only get better. Better and better. Life is short, so play like you mean to win.

With that said, I bid you a kick ass week.

 Go get ‘em!

(or take a nice long nap.)

Recipes are coming…I’ve been remiss on that front as well.

Yet again, my life has taken over and my writing has suffered.

Well, let’s get down to it: American Idol. Wow. Is it wrong to have a crush on a kid of about 15 or so? That little fella from Utah is a sweetie. A little too earnest, but I dig him. Simon’s hair is what I stay for, though. That guy. Wow…yikes.

Lemme see…OH! I went to visit my best friend and her family a couple of weekends ago and Patrick coined a new phrase: “Yeeks!”  Please be sure to use it in place of “Yikes” whenever you can. It’s enjoyable.

Work, being sick, having my purse stolen…loads to tell but not now.
Love ya, keep on truckin’.

Hey, gang…

It’s been about twenty days or so since I last blogged. What’s been going on in my life? Not a whole lot–I just haven’t felt like being on the computer. Just trying to sort things out in my life, get my career going and not want to shoot my face off. Yippee…so far so good. Had a show on the sixteenth and it went well. Once I convert it to dvd, I’ll put it on the site. You know I want to share my humor with you on all levels.

Didn’t watch the Oscars so I won’t talk about that. You didn’t want to hear it from me anyway. I did hear that my boyfriend Javier Bardem won. I love him. I can’t help myself.

In other news, I think that I may have to really start looking for a place to live. I can’t take it in the hairball haven much longer. Pray for me.
Great things: Discovered a brand of sour cream with salsa already in it. That makes me happy. My kid introduced me to the Tostitos with a hint of lime and they go great with the sour cream. My new favorite snack. Also found a nice mint chocolate that the people from Lindt put out…it’s dark chocolate. Good for me. Mama like.

Got myself some Valentine’s day chocolate for 90 cents. SCORE!!!
Awright, so most of my good things are food related. Hey, I’m a foodie.

Sweet mother: Gotta mambo. Gotta go watch Sean Puffy Combs massacre one of the most moving pieces ever written for the stage. That’s right: A Raisin in the Sun is on the telly.

Lord help me, I’m gonna watch it.

Maybe he’ll be struck mute. Nope, this ain’t live…why do I get the urge to slap him whenever he speaks? Could be because he just looks like the kinda guy who needs a good knock around. Eh. Violence solves nothing. Maybe I should get some chocolate.

Ahhh, yes.

I’m back kids. I’ll share more goodness with ya later.
Be well and keep on truckin’. Like Eddie Kendrick. Keep on truckin’.