never ever

So she doesn’t want to see me. So okay. We had a conversation last month and she remembers words that were never ever said and she’s livid with me for saying those words that I never ever said. The words that are “killing her”; that are “a knife to her heart.” She’s “moments from death” and how dare I say such things?

That I never ever said.

“Her pain meds make her confused,” offers Dad.

Still, she’s able to tell everyone she knows. I hear they are aghast, praying for me, for my hardened heart.

To say such things.

So I ordered her some flowers. Included some sentiments that I want her to believe but she won’t. She can’t. It’s not in her. No matter what is done, no matter how many times, it carries no weight. It doesn’t exist. You are Sisyphus, always pushing that rock. Starting over, every time. Pushing a rock up a stone.

Still … I don’t know what else to do. But, Mom, I never ever do.

So.

Happy Mother’s Day.

butterflies do flutter by

At Boheme today ….. some of my favorite gay guys, raving about, uhm, periods and bras:

GUY 1: Oh, Gawd. Why was Rosie O’Donnell talking about PMS today?

GUY 2: Ew. I know. I was freaking OWWT.

GUY 3: Yeah. Why do women think we want to hear that, Tracey??

They all turn towards me.

ME: Well, uhh —

GUY 2: Yeah. Like my sister? She’s got these really big bo*obs. And she’s always talking about them, about her big stupid bo*ob problems. To ME. And I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT. T. M. I.

GUY 3: Oh, yeah. I know. Like when my mom (ed.: she’s about 75) was here — she left one of her bras in my guest bed. And I found it! Ugh! I was so freaked out. And she called me and she’s all, “Daaaave, I can’t find my brrraaa! My good butterfly brrraaa! (he flutters his arms, a butterfly) Will you look for it? It’s the only white one I have! If I don’t have that one, all I have are a bunch of black ones!”

GUYS 1 & 2: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

GUY 3: I know. I know! My mom. In a black bra. My mind just shut down. So I tell her, “Yeah, Mom. I already found it, your butterfly bra (flutters his arms again). It was in the bed.” So she goes, “Oh, good! Will you send it to me overnight? I neeed it!” I can’t BElieve I’m going to the post office to overnight my mom some stupid $70 butterfly bra!

I was too busy wiping the tears of laughter off my face to say anything at all.

the barry gibb breakdown

Okay. Since I basically know every Bee Gees’ song ever, I’m going to actually do a breakdown of tonight’s performances.

Melinda — We love her. Singing “Love You Inside and Out.” Uhm, dear heart? Not great. Some of these Bee Gee songs are just meant to be sung falsetto. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know how else to explain it. You need to tread lightly with certian Bee Gees’ songs. Literally. They had this lush lightness from their combined falsettoes that just isn’t easily shaken or forgotten. So — full voice here, just …. didn’a work.

Blake — Singing “You Should Be Dancing.” Okay. Well, I do like your hair darker. So keep that. The beatboxing? Thought it was too much Mork from Ork. But that’s me. Na-a-A-a-A-nu-u-U-u-U Na-a-a-a-nuuu-U-u-U-u-U-u-UUU.

La Kisha — Singing “Stayin’ Alive.” Okay. Look. All you guys — you final four — should be picking other Bee Gees’ songs. Not such megahits. Barry Gibb — the dude can write a song, so there’s a lot to choose from. How ’bout “Words” or “Fanny” or “How Can you Mend a Broken Heart” or “Love Me, Please” or something else? Not these. Not these iconically FALSETTO songs sung full-throttle gospel choir voice. No. Nope. Sorry, babe.

Jordin — Singing “To Love Somebody.” Okay. This one has a chance. I’m so rooting for her in this. Waaaait for it. Ooooh. She mixed it up, riffed it a bit. It was good. Really good. That one worked. They give her the love, all three of ’em.

Just an aside here. A helpful list of songs not to pick, kiddos, because I think I can turn back time and make you change your minds:

Night Fever
Jive Talkin’
Tragedy
Nights on Broadway

Round 2

Melinda again — “How Can You Mend …” Okay. Now watch. She’ll nail it. This song will work. Betcha. And see? Great. Told ya. They love her on this one.

(Wow. You know, this is really a stellar review. I am on FIRE! Things like “Nope” and “Betcha” and “Told ya.” Don’t be stealing my quotes!)

Blake — Singing “This is Where I Came In.” Oh, Barry. I love you. Just sit there in those white pants forever, please, but I do not like this song. Maybe they’ll like his modern take. And his argyle sweater. And the omnipresent beatboxing. The whole thing was truly deeply weird-O. But I still like his hair.

Commercial break where I predict what La Kisha will sing: Ummm, she’ll do “Words.” Let’s see if I’m right.

I’m not. Drat.

La Kisha — Singing “Run to Me.” But she can do this one. I think. Okay. Uh. Seemed all right to me. Again, a heavier voice just doesn’t work on some of these. Mostly my problem with her is, well, I am always aware of her totally extreme boobins. The way they track the camera. Like the way The Mona Lisa tracks people who stand in front of her and it’s all eerie. And I say this as a woman with large boobins myself. However, there are boobins and then, there are BOOOOBins. You know? I know you know.

Hm. I sense yet another post getting slightly away from me.

Okay. So.

Jordin — Singing “A Woman in Love.” She’s gonna be amazing, I think. Let’s see. Listen, shall we? She’s had some crackles here and there and I’m not sure — uhm, is she pitchy? Still, it’s dramatic in a sort of “Oh, Lord, what’s gonna happen?” sort of way. A little out of her range, I think. Beautiful dress. She so purty. Randy said, “Pitchy.” Told ya. Poorla said, “You’re beautiful.” Told ya. She’s had the best night, definitely.

Okay, well, I’m done here, thankfully, and really …. “it’s only words and words are all I have … to fill a blank blog paaaage!”

regional curiosity

In the city/town/burg/hamlet where you live:

1) What is/are the major grocery store(s) and which one do you like? Why, please?

2) Do you have Target stores?

3) How many Starbucks have you personally visited (guesstimates okay) and will you blow them up for me?

4) Do you have Ikea stores?

5) What is the price of gas right now?

6) What is a popular chain restaurant, what kind of food do they serve, and do you go there?

7) If you don’t have professional sports teams, what city’s teams are geographically closest to you and do you root for them?

8) Do you see lots of 20-somethings wearing pajama bottoms as pants, you know, in public?

9) Do you have a neighborhood that is known as the gay neighborhood? What is it called?

10) What is the latest thing that everyone is talking about?

If you answer, will you please copy and paste the questions into the comments section, then answer them? That way, everyone can read the questions and the answers together. Muchas gracias.

oh, I am bawling!

From “Dancing with the Stars.” Seriously. I’m hopeless.

But … Laila Ali just danced the waltz tonight in front of her dad, Muhammed Ali, and paused, mid-dance, right in front of him, and blew him a kiss. And his face, his face! It’s got a certain blankness from the Parkinson’s, but in that moment, her reaching to him with such tenderness — oh! I am telling you! — there was no denying that look on his face. Pure pride. Pure joy in her. Pure love. How I wish I would have been taping that, just to play that tiny moment again and again and again. I am bawling. So beautiful.

I felt something just soar inside me.

Oh, lovely lovely love.

the line that killed “grey’s anatomy” for me

Random new character in LA (played by Tim Daly) because, what, part of the show is in LA now??:

I’m gonna kiss you. I’m gonna kiss you with tongue. I’m gonna kiss you so you feel it.

Eww, you moron. Just DO it. Don’t announce it.

ah, witches!

My born-again Christian lesbian customer, M, who has her own cleaning business, continued her vicious tirade against witches’ houses today. She is just over them. I wish you could actually hear her diatribes, though. They are even more hysterical because of this dry downward deadpan she has. I cannot tell you how much I absolutely love this woman.

So today she came in, toddling in her ducky bike shoes, chainsmoking and gearing up for her big healthy bike ride. And she was just pissed OFF about witches again:

“Okay. So. There is just no way for me to tell you how horrible this witch’s house was. I mean, it was just brutally filthy. SO gross. I swear it’s like these witches become ONE with the dirt or something from all their woodsy demon rituals. You go into their houses and it is just filthy crappy pigginess. So this last witch? I go in there and I just want to DIE from the horror of it all. It is like a junkyard of evil. And she has this dresser and it’s covered with these little plastic bugs and little plastic dinosuars. And they are gross. So dirrrrty. Like, there is just mung everywhere. You know mung? Just disgusting MUNNNG. And you know how theses witches are — how they arrange things in certain positions as entry points for power? Well, I’m standing there in a freakin’ panic from the mung, putting on my gloves and scrubbing each individual plastic wing on these gross filthy bugs. And then it dawned on me, like, what the hell am I doing?? But I cleaned them because I couldn’t stop, but I didn’t know exactly where everything went when I was done because there’s literally just crap everywhere, so I just arranged them all nice, you know? So she came home and — let me tell ya — it was just a devvvastating moment for the witch. She was instantly all pissed off because I rearranged her devil arrangement or whatever. Like, just trying to clean her filth, I ruined her connection with evil or something. And that was IT. She was having a fit about plastic bugs and I was just done with her. This horrible old witch who’s dating some 25-year-old guy, by the way ….. and what the hell is HE doing?? Seriously. Hanging out with her. In THAT house. Having filthy mungy witch sex. Dear God. It’s the trauma of it. I am totally retraumatized. All that filthy filthy mung.”

And I was howling. Literally crying. I just could not take the word “mung” being uttered one more time. But then again, I wanted her to say it again and again and again. Mung. Mung. Mungy. I was howling so loudly that the Overlord came over from his deli and said, all tight and disapproving, “Um, I can totally hear you laughing.”

Dude, one word: MUNNNG.

I dare you not to laugh.

I have no idea

I can’t even explain this post …. I really cannot. Uhm, my finger hurts??

But in addition to the strain of my recent disfugurement and my looming head head, it seems that now, our massive espresso machine, known as the monster, has suddenly become sentient. And not like sentient wine cork sentient which would be truly horrifying, but sentient like that lovable HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey sentient.

Witness this proof:

The monster has stolen my image, my essence, as you can see, trapping me inside, slicing off my body, and covering my mouth with a metal plate. Ah, our little monster. So huggably malevolent. So squeezably evil. Basically, he’s morphed me into a silent floating head, but I really seem okay with it. So much so that I’m clearly distracted by …. oh, probably something shiny. Or Talking Timmy just walked in. Eek! Can’t reach stopwatch!

manmachine3-1.jpg

More dehumanizing plates and letters and numbers. But I laugh at them. Laugh at them!!

“Hahahahahahaha!!”

manmachine4-1.jpg

MB’s essence also stolen. Or, really, mostly his hair and forehead and rolled-up eyeballs. God only knows what ungodly things the monster can do with those rolled-up eyeballs. He’s a scamp, he is!

manmachine1.jpg

See how the monster continues to take and take and take? Numbers and letters replace rolled-up eyeballs. Metal plate replaces neck. But — thank God! — I see the nose is still intact.

Thaaaat’s right, monster. You can have my candy corn finger, but step away from the nose.

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