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Like all Moms I delight in extorting largesse, instilling guilt and inflicting public humiliation upon my offspring.
Still even for me, Mother’s Day is a stretch, a completely bogus holiday programmed by a secret, private cabal consisting of highly paid operatives from 1-800-Flowers and the National Restaurant Association, not sentimental in the slightest, in fact downright venal in every respect, even by my elastic standards.
That’s one of the reasons why I told Max no when he volunteered to take me out to dinner.
The other is that I was really, really looking forward to the Survivor finale. And reading the two sleazy tabloids I’d picked up – $7.50! profligate spending! I can use them to patch the holes in my washing machine box under the bridge when I’m done reading them! – because you know, MSNBC is fucking obsessed with the Democratic primary and the coming depression and bloated bodies floating in the Irrawaddy Delta and therefore does not give the important stories like the cellulite of the stars the attention they deserve.
Nor did the Survivor finale disappoint. This was the best Survivor season ever since the first season although I was sad that Amanda didn’t win, she had the best cleavage plus she made Jeff Probst look like a dwarf. Still she was very stupid to take Pavrati to the Final Two. There is something very charming about Pavrati’s SBP (Serious Bitch Potential.) She owns it so completely, is not in the least bit embarrassed by it but also doesn’t work it into a malevolent Snow White’s stepmother rage the way Natalie, the Last Fan Standing, does. Natalie is just very strange. I suppose it’s tough being a lipstick lesbian in Texas anywhere outside of Austin.
The strange leathery looking woman who’s a lifer at one of the other Cannery Row shops insulted me this morning. Why? Because I was escorting three or four mealy bugs who’d wandered into the Little Store last night out into the landscaped flower patches.
“They’re bugs,” said Leatherface. “Just kill them.”
“They’re living creatures,” I said. “They haven’t done anything to me. Why should I?”
“You’re weird,” sneered Leatherface.
Maybe I am. But not because of that.
Still even for me, Mother’s Day is a stretch, a completely bogus holiday programmed by a secret, private cabal consisting of highly paid operatives from 1-800-Flowers and the National Restaurant Association, not sentimental in the slightest, in fact downright venal in every respect, even by my elastic standards.
That’s one of the reasons why I told Max no when he volunteered to take me out to dinner.
The other is that I was really, really looking forward to the Survivor finale. And reading the two sleazy tabloids I’d picked up – $7.50! profligate spending! I can use them to patch the holes in my washing machine box under the bridge when I’m done reading them! – because you know, MSNBC is fucking obsessed with the Democratic primary and the coming depression and bloated bodies floating in the Irrawaddy Delta and therefore does not give the important stories like the cellulite of the stars the attention they deserve.
Nor did the Survivor finale disappoint. This was the best Survivor season ever since the first season although I was sad that Amanda didn’t win, she had the best cleavage plus she made Jeff Probst look like a dwarf. Still she was very stupid to take Pavrati to the Final Two. There is something very charming about Pavrati’s SBP (Serious Bitch Potential.) She owns it so completely, is not in the least bit embarrassed by it but also doesn’t work it into a malevolent Snow White’s stepmother rage the way Natalie, the Last Fan Standing, does. Natalie is just very strange. I suppose it’s tough being a lipstick lesbian in Texas anywhere outside of Austin.
The strange leathery looking woman who’s a lifer at one of the other Cannery Row shops insulted me this morning. Why? Because I was escorting three or four mealy bugs who’d wandered into the Little Store last night out into the landscaped flower patches.
“They’re bugs,” said Leatherface. “Just kill them.”
“They’re living creatures,” I said. “They haven’t done anything to me. Why should I?”
“You’re weird,” sneered Leatherface.
Maybe I am. But not because of that.
