Mar. 25th, 2011

purejuice: (Default)
I have the strange feeling all my landmarks, including Elizabeth Taylor, whose hijinks were so much a part of my childhood, are disappearing. Nothing is sure.

Number of black D.C. residents plummets as majority status slips away )
purejuice: (loaf-haired pats)
It's hard to have girlfriends, for the following reasons.

  • Booty call, 97 per cent of the time for a man you wouldn't touch with a 40 foot pole (my favorite was a GF who broke dates with me for a man who a.) was married, b.) broke (no dates, no place but her house to go), and, the coup de grace, c.) couldn't get it up) always takes precedence. A permutation is a man who gets sick every time you and his woman have plans.
  • Control freaks never want to do what you want to do, on your terms, even when mutual interests have thoughtfully been put into play. Like, let's take the Roadrunner to go see art in Santa Fe on Friday two weeks from now at 11 a.m.? Ensues a long disquisition on the problem of parking here or in Santa Fe so boring you want to cut your ears off, moving on to -- who knows what? So, let's go to the museum here in ABQ. When this experiment entailing letting us do what they want to do is conducted, one's suspicions are horribly confirmed. When one says repeatedly don't telephone during business hours, email, and 8 a.m. phone calls ensue, declaring their activity for today has fallen through, are you available as pinch hitter, one emails back, saying I discover I have a root canal appointment on the date of our museum plan.
  • The whole pinch-hitter/spear-carrier (at mass ratfuck birthday/children's birthday parties, for example) thing is profoundly insulting and not friendship.
  • Complaining about men, or how one's at-home blood pressure cuff can't get it up, for thirty-five years, is considered appropriate talk for girlfriends. Dude, your husband was boring thirty-five years ago and has not improved upon hideously lengthy acquaintanceship. If you hate him so much, get the fuck away from him and shut the fuck up.
  • Discussing your health in any detail is rude in the extreme. It's also literally against my religion. Plus, I don't want to know. Not about your periods, not about your dementia, not about your inner child, nothing. It is not interesting. About your heroin addiction, maybe.
  • As you may have noticed, I am a starving artist. I am not up for going to the opera, at $150 a pop, or going jewelry shopping.
  • I do not love your children. Watching you spoil your insufferable son and spending time with them is not the pleasure you think it is. You were shocked and horrified when I told you if you and your son, my godson, the Jewish Prince, were drowning, I'd save you first. That's what friends do.
  • Buh-bye.


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January 2012


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