Pfunksfoolosophy

I have a friend who is not necesarily close but we talk periodically and I like her well enough. Anyway we were talking about our lives and catching up when I decided to tell her something that I thought was kinda cool but freaky.
One of my friends (a person with whom I’ve not been in contact in about 6 years) is a transexual. Well, it’s not a full blown job, she’s still got her toolbox, if you will…anyway, this friend is now one of the top porn stars…for trannies.

While I understand that it’s not necesarily something to be proud of, I was really shocked at my friend’s reaction when I told her.

“TMI. Eeeew! How could you know someone like that?”
Now, I didn’t describe the sex acts to her and quite frankly, I am too immature to even watch porn, so I couldn’t  understand her reaction.

What does she mean ’someone like that’?
The porn star was someone I’d known when I lived in California. She’s absolutely breathtakingly beautiful with a gorgeous figure. She  used my breasts for her template and thankfully didn’t opt for their  enormity. I don’t know. I thought she was funny and sweet and never really thought about her sex life or her sex organs. I mean, one of my friends even knew her when she was called John. She’s a great gal and was always supportive of my dreams and endeavors–she even brought some of her dates to my shows.
So, when I heard, ‘Too much information’ I was floored.  Am I an idiot for being friends with someone who is successful?  OR am I an idiot for being friends with someone so narrowminded that she’s repulsed by another human being?
I didn’t want to mention this, but the repulsed individual was something of a penis holster back in school and now she’s Mother Teresa. TMI, inDEED.

Go figure. As my Mom would say…Some people’s children.

My grandson, ‘Pooper’ as I call him, is 2 and a half. He’s a genius. I know this because he has charmed every single person with whom he has come in contact. How does he do it? The kid is a crack up. He’s also very kinetic. He’s a bundle of energy, he’s graceful and athletic and he’s smart as hell.

He’s also really, really funny. The other day his mom was speaking with my mom and Pooper held  his hand up as if to say ‘talk to the hand’ and said, ‘Ssssh! I’m talking to Yaya!’ That’s his name for my mom. He then began a discussion about ‘bean beans’ (green beans) and his pal Elmo. (Mehmo) Mom barely concealed her laughter as she retold the story to me on the phone. I could hear him in the background telling her that he NEEDED her to help him with the DVD player. THEN I heard him jump from the couch to the easy chair. He thinks he’s a gymnast. He’s already 39 inches tall. Much taller than any gymnast I know of…aw, that was mean.
Another time, his mom was baking peanut butter blossoms (a family tradition) and she asked him if she should unwrap all of the Hershey’s kisses first or wait and he tapped his little chin with his forefinger and said, ‘I’m thiiinking’  then held up his forefinger and shouted, ‘I GOT IT!’ He began unwrapping the candy merrily and his mom stood there like a doofus. She called me about two minutes later. I could hear him shouting, “I GOT IT MOMMY! LET’S GO!”
The kid is killer, I tell you…he tells knock knock jokes. Okay, so I don’t get ‘em, but he’s only 2 1/2.

Knock knock

Who’s there?

Jeremiah.

Jeremiah who?
THAT’S ME!

He doesn’t really have the subtle nuances of the knock knock format, but he’s thinking…

I think he gets his  height from me. His mom is short as hell.  He’s already just about half her height now.
Pray he’s good at basketball.

I know that you guys have been wondering about my online dating…I’m pretty sure that is why you visit me. That and the wonderfully snappy prose that I pump out on a regular basis…I’m heavily medicated due to a knee thing going on, so bear with me.

I have been involved in a semi-regular email correspondence with a couple of fellas who are funny, insightful and just flirty enough to keep me interested…this is groovy, right? Well, you can be the judge. It seems one of them was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “The deuce you say!” No, for realsies… after a couple of getting to know you emails he dropped the bomb on me last evening. It went a little something like this (mind you this was in an IM chat):

Me: Hey, how’s your week going so far? I’m doing okay, but busy.

Him(Let’s call him Dr. McCreepy): Oh, I was just masturbating to your picture earlier today.

Me(Let’s call me Wide eyed and heading to the shower): Damn my eyes, I wish I was blind! WHAT did you just say?

McCreepy: Seriously, I can’t wait to (insert dirty word for sex) you. Are you busy tonight?

Me: Shut up. What brought this on?

McCreepy: You have got a seriously hot rack.

Me: Uh-huh. Did I ever give you an indication that I wanted to hop on pop so soon?

Sir Creepsalot: You sure made it sound like we were getting along and going in that direction.

Me: We haven’t even had a DATE yet?

Creepy McYikes: I’m not interested in a long term relationship. I’m already married.

Me: (unprintable)

then I told him that he misrepresented himself since I asked him what he was looking for and he said that he was looking for a girlfriend. He also told me that he was single.

The rest is really, really unprintable. I was not Christian in my response. I know that I could have reacted in another way, but I chose not to…my bad.

We will not be going to dinner on Monday evening as planned.

Okay, that was the first guy. He’s out. Here’s the positive thing…

I am in ‘talks’ with a guy from Spain. He’s from the same town as an ex of mine. He’s willing to teach me Spanish. (I already do, but not fluently.) He’s cute. He’s 28. I am going to hell. I don’t care. He’s not mentioned sex. He has an accent even when he emails me. Mama like.

Wish me luck. I’ve got another guy on the back burner, but I like to keep my options open. Maybe the Spanish guy will pan out. Esta bien.

Ann Coulter. Why? Why? She’s crazy, but she’s on television, she has her own website and she says the most outrageously hateful things. She’s not provocative and I’m nearly convinced that she’s actually a man. Or at least she used to be. She’s got an Adam’s apple…come to think of it so does Deborah Norville. Hmmm.

Also, you’ve never seen Ann Coulter and RuPaul in the same room together. Nor have you seen Coulter and many of the fine racehorses in our country in the same place at the same time. Food for thought.

In other news: I have been remiss in sharing the love. My newest pal Sassy has been a faithful reader/commenter and all around good egg. Check her out. I’ve gotta figure out how to put that girl blogger thingy on my site.

I would appreciate any input. I’m nearly 100% positive that my pal Angie  is about to slap me right about now. Poor kid.

So, any of you bloggers out there lurking who have info on how to improve the look of my blog…let’s hear it. But speak slowly…I’m not terribly bright.

Roberta? HELP! (heh, that was a good one. see what I did there?)

Yep, this is shameless. I care not.

Back to the show…I saw Ann Coulter’s pathetic ramblings when Elizabeth Edwards phoned in. Is there a bigger waste of skin on the planet than this Coulter?
It was suggested the next time she’s scheduled to be  on a ‘call in’ type show that we flood the switchboards with ‘Ann WHO?’ type calls.

Hmmm. I wish I had that kind of time. Or the inclination. I’m just going to pay a third grader to call her names and throw water balloons at her.

Immature? Yep, but so is Ann Coulter.

Good day.

You know by now that I’m a bit of a geek (but not any way that is helpful with this blog) so when I came across this article I was flabbergasted because I remembered what I had learned in school so many years ago.

Awww, my brain DOES work.

 Check it out:

 http://itotd.com/articles/559/breathing-liquid/

Good people… I work very near Madison Square Garden. There are generally a ton of people milling about at nearly every hour, every ding dong daddy day. Today was no exception. To make matters even more pathetically vivid, it was like 1,000,000 degrees CELSIUS. Yep, I was hallucinating that there were dancing freezer pops doing the funky chicken across 8th Avenue…then, natch some tourist type had to stop me in the blazing sun to ask me where Madison Square Garden was located. Okay, you know what? I’ve been that guy. It’s hot, you feel like you might be lost and then…nope, I’ve never heard this when I’ve asked for directions:  “Umm, turn around and look straight ahead”

YEAH. Homeslice was standing facing uptown whilst asking the by now toasted and roasted,unfriendly in her aviator sunglasses, six foot tall black woman directions. I tried my best to glower at him, but I felt something akin to pity as I pointed past his little shoulder and said those words that turned his face crimson. It didn’t help matters that he had but a tenuous grip on the English language. I don’t know what language it was…it sounded a bit like Dutch–I’ve been studying it with Before You Know It software. (free and easy) Still, I couldn’t be sure. The look on his face was worth the price of admission.

He turned around and shook his head. I shrugged my shoulders and feigned a smile. “It happens. Have fun” I said and turned to walk away. You know, what with all the hub bub on the street, I’m not sure but I think I heard him say, ‘Bitch’.

Eh, there it is.

My Marmy (as I call her) turns 68 today. It’s hard for me to think of my mother as being a senior citizen. She’s not an old lady, but she’s an old lady, you know? To me, she’ll always be the silly, funny, insightful, warm person who likes to imitate Long Duk Dong from ‘Sixteen Candles’. That’s right. My mom will say, ‘automobeeeeeeel?’ every now and again. She’ll say, ‘No more yankee my wankee, the Donguh needs FOOD!’ Yep, she’s a senior, but she’s also my best friend.

I remember when I first moved to California and I was broke, disgusted and feeling sorrier for myself than I ever thought I could. I remarked to her that I even felt bad for her because she had such  a loser for a kid. She sighed and said, ‘Have I ever compared you to anyone else? Have I ever wanted you to conform to society’s standards? NO. I have only wanted you to be happy and productive as a human being.’

That made me think. You know, most of her friends have married kids who are in the rat race, who may be materially wealthy, but aren’t necessarily happy individuals. I don’t think that poverty makes you happy, or that the wealthy are going to hell in a handbasket but I got what Mom was trying to tell me. She’s always wanted my happiness to come first. She’s always supported my dreams.  She gave me roots and wings and never got in the way. Mom would let me stay up to watch old movies and let me go to school late because I had a ‘Doris  Day/Rock Hudson’ hangover. We watched ‘Imitiation of Life’ and cried together even though we’d seen that movie hundreds of times.

Even today, my Marmy still calls me ‘Dirtybird’ or ‘Poopie’. I’m no spring chicken. I’m still her baby and she’s still my Marmy. I love her more than space.

I know that she knows that. I’m joyous that I can celebrate my mom’s 68 years on this rock. A lot of those years have been superfantastic and a lot of ‘em have been filled with pain, but she’s still here and I am blessed.

Happy birthday, Marmy!

this is a test of the emergency blog system.

 Angie is helping me.  Get over it.

Just got back from a picnic with a couple of friends. We had snacks and wine and we played music…it was glorious.

Why can’t we just appreciate life as it is? Why do we find ourselves so caught up in our own human mess that we can’t just stop and smell the roses?
Well, I can tell ya that this afternoon/early evening we did just that. We stopped and smelled the roses. We communicated with one another and had a good time. It didn’t cost a lot of money. Hey, I made a nice eggplant dip. I think I’ll post the recipe.

It was yummy. You know I can’t waste food.
Well, kids…I have to go…I’ve got a friend on the line.

I’ll post in a little while.

Yet another glitch in the matrix and thanks to Dr. Mike…I’m back.

Didja miss me? I missed you guys. I feel like Miss Judy from Romper Room. Some of you may be too young to remember that show or perhaps they didn’t have it in your part of the world. She used to talk to her ‘magic mirror’ (maybe she did LSD, I don’t know–it WAS the 60s) and say, ‘Romper bomper, stomper boo…tell me, tell me, tell me true. Magic Mirror, tell me today…have all my friends had fun at play?’ THEN she would say, ‘I see Billy and Susie and Maggie…’ and go on like she could see you. At the tender age of 3 I can tell you that I felt slighted for many weeks until one day Miss Judy said that she saw ME! Lemme tell ya, that was like getting every present you ever wanted for Christmas.

Then, years later I asked my mom if she had called the local station to request that Miss Judy say my name. You guessed it: Mom sure did.

I have to get to work, but I’ll blog later. I missed ya. I’m proud of you for being patient.