It Don't Mean a Thing If It Ain't Got That....

I have a confession to make. The real reason I haven't wound up my meditations on femme or ritual labor or Judy Chicago or why the Palestinians are the only refugees in the history of the world still to be in camps 60 years later is...well, I'm getting like 120 sext msgs a day from a certain celebrity with whom I have been having an affair for three years. My thumbs are whisker burned and swollen.

We met during my cocktail waitress gig at the Trio on Seventeenth Street....he told me later he fell instantly for my blue beehive a la Marge. He and his guys were sitting in the corner booth by the rest room and he sent over one of his guys who said T would like to meet me. I hadn't seen him back there 'cause I was waiting the Seventeenth Street sidewalk cafe side. I said, Kiss my grits! and that was the beginning of something, well, whatever it is we have a real connection.

Compare and Contrast

Little Richard and Tanya "Glen-Campbell-Knocked-Out-My-Teef" Tucker I.

And just who is the dirty bird in this one?

The Pillow Talk Room

Two thirds of the kitchen cabinets have their second coat of paint, Suzy Creamcheese blonde vanilla, and I have several coats meself. I was going to go til six but five hours is all I can manage. It's drudgery, and I have another coat to go.

You note in this pic, from Pillow Talk, in which Doris Day has a swinging career gal pad of about the era of the Rancho Atomico, that the set is painted in two colors of blonde -- honey and platinum. So shall my kitchen/family room be, with the coral accent way paler and confined to the inside of the built in bar and the broom closet. Boom boom.


The Liz's Antique Hardware knobs, on which I spent more than I did on the second hand appliances, rock so hard I have to say they're all that's keeping me going. Like the cabinets have to be painted afore I can install the bling.

Here we are trying it on the babyshit green of the POs:



It looks way better on the blonde.