THE SECRET

I have made an executive decision: Up 'til now, so much of my story has been about what I have survived or overcome. Henceforth, it will be about me SPLINTERING INTO A MILLION TINY PIECES the souls and bones of those people and things -- both real and imagined -- that would DARE attempt to subdue me. Then again, I might just drink a brew and fuck my husband. Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you!

ON TRACK

And speaking about my friends treating my fatass to AWESOME KNITTING ACCOUTREMENT...while we were shooting our most recent movie, I posted a picture that captured my on-set knit shit, and my friend, Jennifer Irwin, noticed that -- like the Fresno piece-o'-shit that I am -- I was transporting my precious NORO in a (gasp...!) ziplock bag. BAD HOOKER!

Horrified, she immediately sprang into action and sent me one of the adorable mini-knitting totes she makes -- and you CANNOT BELIEVE HOW COMPLETELY ON TRACK THIS BASTARD IS. Aside from being the perfect size to drag along with me everywhere (oh, and trust me, I DO), it is sooooo cute...and inside it has what I consider to be its very best feature: a little "snap-loop" through which you feed your yarn and it keeps your ball or skein from pulling out of the tote when you yank more slack. BRILLIANT!

Thank you SO MUCH, Miss Jennifer! I love this bag more than I love Taco Bell, Clive Owen, Granny Panties, OR my Hitachi Magic Wand -- and trust me, that's sayin' something.

Sew Bendy

thy will be done

The 11th Commandment: DO NOT COVET THY MUFFSTER'S SNAP-LOOP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

This is the VERY ESSENCE of ON TRACK.

a day in the life

Both Gregory and I woke up feeling sorta punk today, so we stayed in bed in our pajamas, he lovingly clutching the remote and me molesting some NORO yarn with a coupla wooden sticks. After pissing the chihuahuas, munching Panda Express takeout, and taking a baby wipe whore's bath, we are now watching tv...and as you can well imagine, hearing Beavis repeatedly and reverently singing the word "bunghole" as a Gregorian Chant thrills me to my very core.

bunnies and bears

My old favorite and one that always sends shivers of hilarity and delight through the hearts of little children the world over:

A Bear and a Rabbit were taking a shit side-by-side in the woods. The Bear asked the Rabbit, "Excuse me, Rabbit, but do you have any problem with shit sticking to your fur?" and the Rabbit answered, "Why, no, Bear, I don't." So the Bear wiped his ass with the Rabbit.

"miles to go before i sleep..."

The lovely, dark, and deep Japanese Noro...nestled right up against the cheap, American, Liddle Kiddle-colored, polyester, Red Heart SHIT Yarn that I love so very much.

You know, I doubt very much that you could come up with a more apt metaphor of who the fuck and what the fuck I am than that.

caddyshack

Last night, not only did my darling friend, Drag Superstar Miss Jackie Beat, quite brilliantly host and perform at Drag Queen Karaoke in West Hollywood -- she brought along a little birthday treat for my fatass...which, when I saw it, made my heart race, my pulse quicken, and had me on my knees faster than a teenage dream date with The Bay City Rollers, circa 1977: a GLORIOUS, vintage, Norwegian wooden knitting caddy! It is SO CHOICE. I've already loaded it with all my most treasured yarns, notions, doo-dads, trinkets, and knitting accoutrement, and have even tenderly kissed it on its bottom several times. Like coming upon a nude Helen Mirren languorously lounging in a certain slant of light tilting in through a bedroom window...I just CAN'T stop gazing at it.

You know, the only thing better than a good friend who loves you just the way you are...is a GOOD FRIEND WITH FUCKING STUNNING, DROP-DEAD, DEAD-ON, IMPECCABLY GOOD TASTE, UNEQUALED EXCEPT BY YOUR VERY OWN. That would be Miss Jackie Beat. Thank you, Bitch! I'll treasure it forever. They'll bury my fatass in this son-of-a-bitch.

horseshit

Watching this is SO making me jones for the many pleasures and delights that await us at THE TRACK.

Next year: Santa Anita in the Springtime, motherfuckers! We miss you madly, Mather Zickel and C.J. Arabia -- get your sweet, Pajama Jean-wearin' asses back out to LA and let's go size up the paddock and pick the filly with the WILDEST eyes and the WILDEST name. We love you! xoxo

bagina

Story of my fucking life.

on behalf of women everywhere: KISS MY FATASS

Hollywood FUCKED Rule #2: I have two old friends who've been casting agents since the 70s. A few years ago, I sat in on a casting session with them for a project I was working on. As the endless line of hopeful young women passed through the room, I quickly became aware of the fact that they almost looked like children to me. I said this to my friend and he laughed bitterly and said...

"Honey, that's how they want 'em now -- so that's how we serve 'em up. It ain't about her IQ...it's about her FQ. In this fucking town, if a woman's over 30, she may as well be a HUNDRED."

AND I RAGE.

"please don't wake me, no, don't shake me...leave me where I am, I'm only sleeping..."

Inane Muff Fact #67: When my darling husband, Gregory, has one of his rather frequent bouts of insomnia, I have been known to employ the pharmacologically-sanctioned and FDA approved Oral Sleep Therapy used by wives since time immemorial, i.e., like some sort of a demented Flo Nightingale/Jenna Jameson hybrid, I GIVE HIM A NO-FUSS BLOWJOB IN THE DARK THAT KNOCKS HIS ASS OUT FASTER THAN A XANAX WITH A DOS EQUIS BACK. 

girl talk

The Bechdel Feminist Test for Film: "The Bechdel Test is a simple test which requires that a film meet the following three criteria to qualify: (1) It has to have at least two women in it, who (2) talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man."

And Holy-Mary-Mother-of-God-in-baby-blue-saddleback-Dittos, am I writing such a film right now. This one, my poppets, might just be a GOTTDAMNED GAMECHANGER.

truth. mine.

Hollywood FUCKED Rule #1: An actresses' job is NOT to act. Acting is secondary to her main job -- which is TO NOT EAT.

truth

Inane Muff Fact #994: Whenever I attend the wedding of anyone under the age of 30, I put on one of my fanciest black dresses, I bring an AWESOME gift I know the couple will adore, I celebrate and make merry with all the other cherished assembled guests -- and in my head, I silently tally up how many years (or months) until they separate and divorce...an eventuality which is, of course, a mathematical certainty.

tweaker time

I am not feeling at all well today, and in a pathetic attempt to prop myself up enough to get some writing done, I went a little heavy on the joe...and I now feel like a plague victim ON TRUCKER SPEED. Right about now, I need another cup of coffee like the LesbianLove@AOL chatroom needs another drunk, angry, horny bulldyke using some numerical variation of "MissChatelaine" as her fucking screenname.

OFF TRACK.

otis, my man!

Our highly intellectual, eccentric 16 year old son, Otis, spent today with one of his buddies, doing some work for his buddy's father -- 8 hours spent shoveling dry concrete into a wheelbarrow, then hoisting the wheelbarrow uphill, emptying it, and then doing it again. With those long, soft, elegant, guitar-playing hands. In 90 degree heat.

He just got home, hot and exhausted (but with extra book, CD, and video game dough in his pocket!) and when he walked in the door, he smiled hugely and the very first thing he said to me was, "Oh, man, I am SO going to college."

kryptonite

I am feeling rather confessional today, mein poppets -- and am hoping that you do, as well.

So, what do you think is your WORST character trait -- the part of yourself which needs the most work? For me...I'd say that I'm FAR too empathic when it comes to my children. When one of them is fucked up -- even in the most miniscule way -- I am FULL-ON FUCKED UP. I need to allow them to struggle. I am weak.

It just breaks my fucking heart.

honey bunny

Mother of god. GREATEST BAND NAME OF ALL TIME? "Yolanda Be Cool." SO FUCKING AWESOME...that I give it the most humble, lush, lavish compliment I am able: "Man, I wish I'd written that."

dolls

"I didn't have dough handed to me because of my good cheekbones. I had to earn it." -- Miss Neely O'Hara

beat it

KIDS? Shiiiiiiiiiiiit. Knitter, PLEASE. My kids can KISS MY BIG FAT ANCIENT ASS. Children are undeserving of such a FINE LAIR. I want one of these COMPLETELY OFF-THE-HOOK-AWESOME loft bedroom set-ups FOR ME! Talk about a ROOM OF ONE'S OWN. I'd load it up with all my books, crank on the History Channel, skip-kick the gottdamned A/C down to 58, stock up on NORO yarn and iced tea with stevia, tuck those two delightful chihuahuas underneath my GUNT, lock that fucking door, and, aside from My One True Love -- whom I would sneak in for breathless conjugal visits -- no one would ever see me again. EVER.

I VANT TO BE ALONE.

right on track

This song is SO FUCKING UNBELIEVABLY OFF TRACK...that it actually turns round upon itself -- much like an infinity symbol skate-cut into an ice pond in a Multiplication Rock Video -- and becomes COMPLETELY ON TRACK.

Gosh, I really, really hope Miss Jackie Beat performs this delightful little number in her next vaudeville show.

OT

I gotta tell you that, despite my initial reservations on the subject, having someone tell you that, "Saying ON TRACK too much...is actually OFF TRACK." is, in and of itself, COMPLETELY ON TRACK.

feel the burn

And speaking about my Lady Bits (and, let's face it, when am I NOT?), I think that in order for me to get past the burning, scorching horror in which I currently dwell, I just really need to say out loud that MY VAGINE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

Two words: FINGERNAILS and MONISTAT.

Whose shrieks and howls of the damned are these when I pee?

Oh, they're mine.

That is all.

cuppa

Last night I had the most entertaining dream that Miss Becky Thyre and myself were lying side by side on a psychedelic Pucci-lookin' bedspread reading through an awesome old book of spells and potions that was REAL kitschy and REAL witchy. Our favorite? The recipe for how to prepare a big ass batch of VAGINATED TEA. When I woke up in this world, I was ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS that the book hadn't made it back with me.

outside in

Alright, my darling poppets -- I have a favor to ask of you...and as you well know, I rarely ask favors. My old and dear friend, Miss Angie Hurley, runs Outside In , a medical clinic for the homeless in Portland that has a particular focus on homeless youth. They recently started construction to expand the clinic and facility, only to have their blasted contractor pull out unexpectedly -- and the next bid was $100,000 more than they have available. So, consequently, they are absolutely desperate to raise the surplus funds to complete their much-needed expansion. According to Miss Angie, "We are desperate and desperate people do desperate things -- like try and win the money with the Pepsi Challenge. But to win we need votes. Lots of them. We went from 450th to 134th in 3 days but now we're becalmed."

And this, my lambs, is where YOU come in. Becalmed isn't going to cut it. WE NEED A BUM-RUSH, goddamnit. Outside In needs hundreds or thousands of people voting every single day in August via internet and/or text to drive their position up. I implore you...if you have ever belly laughed at or been entertained or moved by even a single thing I have written...then please do me this favor and either go to the link: http://www.refresheverything.com/outsideinhomelessyouth to register your vote...or by texting 73774 and entering the number 101881.

Consider the dreadful and devastating statistics associated with these young people -- and then get your fierce ass over and VOTE:

Why are youth homeless?

There are an estimated 2,000 homeless youth in Portland, and many myths associated with their homelessness. Youth end up on the street for multiple reasons, but most run away from violent and abusive homes.

*90% of youth report some form of violence in their homes.

*36% of girls report a history of childhood sexual abuse, with the first incident occurring at age seven.

*30% of homeless youth are sexual minorities: gay, lesbian, bi, trans, or questioning. These youth and their families cannot together manage the many complexities of a developing sexual/gender identity outside of the norm. Most often youth believe they will better their lives when they go to the street.

These young people flee to the street in hope of increased safety. Some find themselves abandoned by their parents. One child was left with a drug dealer for an indefinite time. Another returned home to find the parents had moved out leaving no contact information. Other youth turn to the street because of poverty, joblessness, alcohol/drug use and/or mental health conditions within their families. They feel hopeless about a positive future in their current environment.

The services, counseling, and care they receive at Outside In provides these bright young people with help and with HOPE that they, too, can make their lives extraordinary.

For more information about the vital and important work they are doing at Outside In, check out their website -- and if you are able, please donate some dough in the name of your own beloved babies and all the babies of the world who are not so fortunate and cherished. After all, they are ALL our babies.

Thank you.
xoxo

Outside In

happy 100th birthday, EZ!

"Knit on, with confidence and hope, through all crises.” -- Elizabeth Zimmermann, The Opinionated Knitter

bye, bye...

The adorable Baby Goat moved her narrow ass into her own apartment today. Pay no attention to that weeping, wailing old Sicilian broad in the black dress standing in The BG's empty bedroom, sobbing as though her heart might break. Trust me, this is, BY FAR, the hardest gig in the world, my poppets.

"Standing alone at the top of the stairs, she breaks down and cries to her husband, 'Daddy, our baby's gone...'"

truth. mine.

If you BRING IT...they will come.

go doyers!

My most favorite thing about coming to Dodgers games? Well, aside from the awesome goddamned Dodger dogs, of course: Watching all my working class pipples in the cheap seats do The Wave with far more enthusiasm, exuberance, abandon, and gusto than all the rich, stiff-pricked bastard motherfuckers in the entire joint. The joyless, passionless Upper-Middle Class can SUCK MY FRESNO DICK.

glamour

For all those who are always telling me that my life is so gottdamned glamorous...please allow me to tell you just exactly how glamorous it is in thirteen succinct and profoundly meaningful words: AN OCEAN OF CHIHUAHUA DIARRHEA ON MY BEDSPREAD, EVEN AS WE FUCKING SPEAK.

That is all.

truth. mine.

A genius is someone who shoots at something that no one else can see...and fucking hits it.

daddy

From Muffy's "Things That Are Sexy" List: FUCK cut pecs, a thick head o' hair, and/or a hillbilly horsecock. For me, the SEXIEST virtue a man can possess is that he's an EXTRAORDINARY FATHER. Honey, you could look like Ernest Fucking Borgnine...but if I see you gazing at your child AMAZED and tenderly kissing his or her sweet little skullcap at the bookstore when you think nobody is looking, I'M ALL YOURS, brother.

the g-man!

I co-wrote and am producing the son-of-a-bitch with William Butler and Peter Garcia...and today, my fatass will co-star in it as the BUTCH, circa 1976 roller disco rink manager, Miss Ingrid Harshman -- a REAL BALLBUSTER. It's a Charles Band film that is already being hailed as a cult classic -- and the bastard's not even in the can yet! Gingerdead Man 3: Saturday Night Cleaver. Tonight...NOBODY'S STAYIN' ALIVE!

aberdeen

I woke up remembering a really marvelous, merry day a few years ago...spent adventuring and thrift shopping with my son, Otis, and My One True Love, Gregory, in grey, gritty Aberdeen, Washington. The inexorable clouds that clung to the ceiling above the city made my heart swell with affection for a place I'd never been before...but that nonetheless felt like home. Oh, and BEST thrift stores I've ever been to.

Ah, sweet Aberdeen!