Le Week-end's Leçon

Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous is what ithis weekend was. Temps in the mid 70s, a sweet breeze off the water AND grilled pizza and margaritas on the veranda for Oni’s birthday. Fabola, no?

Jen and I drove back in to Cambridge yesterday. I just HAD to buy those two Godzilla mugs for Oni. They weren’t cheap but TOO awesome to resist. As we left the shop, I spied a Ben and Jerry’s. It was a perfect day for ice cream. I just had to stop in. Queen of Doofusosity here – as I turned to enter the shop, I lost my balance and OOPSIE dropped one of the mugs I’d just bought. Yup, it shattered. I spent the next few hours excoriating myself all to hell and back. 

Yur old and feeble and stupid! You shoulda brought a bag from home!

*sigh* I’ve learned a lesson (the hard and expensive way – my modus operandi). ALWAYS bring along a satchel when I leave the house. Another lesson – STOP wasting so much valuable time beating myself up. Hells bells, it’s not like I intentionally fuck shit up (like dropping an expensive, one of a kind mug that I’d JUST bought). Also too, I still had one fab mug to give Oni and he loves it.

For some mystifying reason, Tim Curry’s tune I Do The Rock came into in my head afterward. It felt like solace. Why? Beats the crap outta me – it just did/does.

After seeing Rocky Horror for the very first time, I fell in love with Tim Curry. His facial expressions, moves and OH that glorious long, black curly hair sent me over the moon. Also too – I totes dug his character’s rejection of the norms, the status quo. OK, OK, OK…Doctor Frank-N-Furter, a wonderfully mad scientist, is an alien. No, no – a REAL one. Not from Mexico (which, by the by, IS on the same planet as us) – he hails from the planet Transsexual in the galaxy of Transylvania. So, in essence, Frank wasn’t actually repudiating his own planet’s boring-ass standard of living – he was giving a much deserved finger to ours.

Back in the early 80s I had a friend who was (is) gay. I had a lot of gay chums actually. Gay guys were more fun and more open to not living some tiny boxed up life. I was at a party over at his crib one night and overheard another guest disdainfully asking about me “who’s the fish?” I wasn’t eavesdropping – dude was making certain I totes heard his slam.

Fish? Why am I being called a fish? I get this was meant as an insult but what the fuck?

My friend explained the term to me. Oh.

Imagining that ALL of Michael’s guests were thinking the same thing – that I was a horrid interloper – I left. I’m embarrassed to say that I stopped going to Michael's parties because of this one stupid fuck.

Today’s lesson – don’t let one person or one stupid accident ruin my good time. Good times aren’t 24/7 so don’t let a pisher or a minor fuck up get me down. Frankly, now that I bring it to mind again, my fumbling of that mug was almost balletic. I twirled, practically pirouetted, in my attempts to seize the pottery outta the air after it decided to go flying. Cinematic is what this moment was. RILLY!