Dear Blob,
One of the best parts of LA is getting to hang out with my fleet of Gay Men. I'm unsure why I am naturally BFF with virtually every gay man I meet, but generally, I have an insta-connection and am ready to invite every one over for artisan nibblies after 5 minutes. I'm also partial to my gay ladies, BFFing it up within mere moments.
I was confused as to the Bible's vehement dislike of my peeps and an interesting theory from The Ukulad, raised Southern Baptist, brings insight. Generally, all gay men I meet are The Best! They have the best taste, throw the best parties, are the most loyal and wonderful friends; a joy to be around, ready to put on a show, dress-up, socialize, be fabulous but not in a drag-queeny way, in a Enjoy-The-Finest-In-Life way.
I couldn't figure out why the Bible, ridiculously edited hundreds of times, would have such hatred towards the most wonderful race (if it's genetic, which I firmly believe it is, it's a race) of people. They just want to party!
The Ukulad's Theory: The Bible was written in times of consta-warring humans, looting, plundering, murdering, raping everyone indiscriminately. Humans haven't changed too much, we still love to go to war, but hopefully the indiscriminate raping has chilled out.
The Lad thinks the Bible isn't talking about my fabulous friends who can re-organize your furniture and make your house look roomier, lighter & more beautiful in 10 minutes; but the war-mongering rapists who set villages on fire and meeped men, women, animals, anything. The Bible's hypocritical hatred for Gays is meant for the rapists, not the Sassy Gay Friend that everyone needs.
It's human's Hypocrisy that gets me down. I prefer Love to Fear.
Love The Ukulady
ps: I wore a coat and drove 70mph on the freeway yesterday! I am Not in Mexico!
Showing posts with label Gay Men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gay Men. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Palin's Pricey Panty Spree!
Dear Blob,
I have staved off Election Fever Ranting, due to being overwhelmed by the total Bullshit and Hypocrisy of it all, however, this morning I became fed up, upon reading the Republicans spent over $150, 000 in the past month, to clothe Sarah Palin and her family. It's understandable that the potential leader of the most pompous nation should be clad in platinum corsets, probably designed by the gay men, who's weddings Sarah opposes. However Sarah, if you're going to shop like Gengi Bluth, of Arrested Development, the best TV show in the world (see Ode to Arrested Development.mp3 on www.TheUkulady.com) stop gushing about your Wal Mart hockey momness! Wal Mart Hockey moms do not shop at Neimans and nor do they clad their retarded infants in $92 rompers. If you're going to Katie Holmes it up, Sarah, embrace it! Admit you are thrilled to buy Piper individual silken children's panties, rather than the economical 3-packs from Target. Admit Bristol's teen maternity smock is hand-made by Paris Hilton's theoretcial BFF.
Hypocrisy is rampant. Just yesterday I vocally yearned to be a lesbian in order to get the AfterEllen.com people to give me my own show. Yet this morning, I wished for my manpanion to kick it Sunday Worship style (see Sunday Worship on myspace Ukulady homepage) with me.
In other news, please vote NO on H'Eight! The California economy & my wedding-photographer sister cannot afford to lose the potential of unthrifty gay couples throwing The Best Party Ever! I want to go to fabulous gay weddings!
Love The Ukulady
ps: I voted absentee!
I have staved off Election Fever Ranting, due to being overwhelmed by the total Bullshit and Hypocrisy of it all, however, this morning I became fed up, upon reading the Republicans spent over $150, 000 in the past month, to clothe Sarah Palin and her family. It's understandable that the potential leader of the most pompous nation should be clad in platinum corsets, probably designed by the gay men, who's weddings Sarah opposes. However Sarah, if you're going to shop like Gengi Bluth, of Arrested Development, the best TV show in the world (see Ode to Arrested Development.mp3 on www.TheUkulady.com) stop gushing about your Wal Mart hockey momness! Wal Mart Hockey moms do not shop at Neimans and nor do they clad their retarded infants in $92 rompers. If you're going to Katie Holmes it up, Sarah, embrace it! Admit you are thrilled to buy Piper individual silken children's panties, rather than the economical 3-packs from Target. Admit Bristol's teen maternity smock is hand-made by Paris Hilton's theoretcial BFF.
Hypocrisy is rampant. Just yesterday I vocally yearned to be a lesbian in order to get the AfterEllen.com people to give me my own show. Yet this morning, I wished for my manpanion to kick it Sunday Worship style (see Sunday Worship on myspace Ukulady homepage) with me.
In other news, please vote NO on H'Eight! The California economy & my wedding-photographer sister cannot afford to lose the potential of unthrifty gay couples throwing The Best Party Ever! I want to go to fabulous gay weddings!
Love The Ukulady
ps: I voted absentee!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Racism Handbag Tote
Dear Blob,
One of my Fleet of Gay Men has invested in the gayest thing ever, a line of handbag totes designed by another gay man. At my investorPal's house last night, he invited me to the garage for a preview of the line, which is debuting in Vegas this week. There are 4 handbag totes to choose from, each complete with original art by the Designer. InvestorPal broke into the fresh-from-China boxes of 1000 handbag totes and showed me the first 3, a yellow, the Mao bag, with cutouts of the lovable dictator, and a green one (which I eventually chose to take home); but he was searching for "The Red Bag" and said I would love it! After a few boxes, he finally, gaily exlaimed, "Aha!" and The Red Bag was revealed. Upon first glance, I exhaled a gaspy wow-ish kind of sound and a phrase similar to, "OMG, that's incredibly racist!" was expelled from my awed mouth. The Red Handbag Tote features cutout collage pictures of the Amos & Andy/Mammy Blackface kids of yesteryear, symbols of oppression, racism and slavery.
InvestorPal-of-200-Racism-Tote-Handbags, (which donate a percentage of sales to an AIDS charity) divulged that the Tote-Handbag-Designer had no idea the blackface cartoons were symbols of racism and it was a total Seinfeld/Curb Your Enthusiasm Moment. One of my Fleet Of Gay Men is stuck owning 200 Racist Designer Handbags and is going to try and sell them to the public. Apparently Muhammed Ali's daughter was given one of the Blackface handbags, which she graciously accepted. I like to think I have a great sense of humor, but I wouldn't be caught dead carrying one of those, especially during my upcoming trip to The South., which is not to say I was offended. I was not offended, but amazed that the designer was unaware that Blackface isn't really acceptable in California and I think the rest of the United States & Canada.
Love The Ukulady
ps: When I lived in Holland in 1995 the department store was selling Carnival costumes advertised as - I can't believe I'm going to write this word: Negro!
pps: And during the same time, McDonalds in Germany was selling Asian-themed McNuggets, which came in a red box featuring a buck-toothed slanty-eyed Ching-Chong-Chinaman.
ppps: I think talking about racism is healthy.
pppps: Heal Britney!
One of my Fleet of Gay Men has invested in the gayest thing ever, a line of handbag totes designed by another gay man. At my investorPal's house last night, he invited me to the garage for a preview of the line, which is debuting in Vegas this week. There are 4 handbag totes to choose from, each complete with original art by the Designer. InvestorPal broke into the fresh-from-China boxes of 1000 handbag totes and showed me the first 3, a yellow, the Mao bag, with cutouts of the lovable dictator, and a green one (which I eventually chose to take home); but he was searching for "The Red Bag" and said I would love it! After a few boxes, he finally, gaily exlaimed, "Aha!" and The Red Bag was revealed. Upon first glance, I exhaled a gaspy wow-ish kind of sound and a phrase similar to, "OMG, that's incredibly racist!" was expelled from my awed mouth. The Red Handbag Tote features cutout collage pictures of the Amos & Andy/Mammy Blackface kids of yesteryear, symbols of oppression, racism and slavery.
InvestorPal-of-200-Racism-Tote-Handbags, (which donate a percentage of sales to an AIDS charity) divulged that the Tote-Handbag-Designer had no idea the blackface cartoons were symbols of racism and it was a total Seinfeld/Curb Your Enthusiasm Moment. One of my Fleet Of Gay Men is stuck owning 200 Racist Designer Handbags and is going to try and sell them to the public. Apparently Muhammed Ali's daughter was given one of the Blackface handbags, which she graciously accepted. I like to think I have a great sense of humor, but I wouldn't be caught dead carrying one of those, especially during my upcoming trip to The South., which is not to say I was offended. I was not offended, but amazed that the designer was unaware that Blackface isn't really acceptable in California and I think the rest of the United States & Canada.
Love The Ukulady
ps: When I lived in Holland in 1995 the department store was selling Carnival costumes advertised as - I can't believe I'm going to write this word: Negro!
pps: And during the same time, McDonalds in Germany was selling Asian-themed McNuggets, which came in a red box featuring a buck-toothed slanty-eyed Ching-Chong-Chinaman.
ppps: I think talking about racism is healthy.
pppps: Heal Britney!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
I Heart Fat Seatmates & Gay Men!
Dear Blob,
I like sitting next to fat women. It makes me feel slim. In other news, I've discovered why gay men go out to the theater and other cultural events: besides entertainment, they also go cruising.
Love The Ukulady
ps: According to a gay man I met last night, Jamie Lyn Spears isn't pregnant by her 18 year old frat boy boyfriend, but scandalously knocked up by some 35 year old Nickelodeon exec who produces her Nickelodeon tweenager show.
pps: The gay man informant works for some entertainment news company, so I feel pretty confidant this information is thumbs upsies!
I like sitting next to fat women. It makes me feel slim. In other news, I've discovered why gay men go out to the theater and other cultural events: besides entertainment, they also go cruising.
Love The Ukulady
ps: According to a gay man I met last night, Jamie Lyn Spears isn't pregnant by her 18 year old frat boy boyfriend, but scandalously knocked up by some 35 year old Nickelodeon exec who produces her Nickelodeon tweenager show.
pps: The gay man informant works for some entertainment news company, so I feel pretty confidant this information is thumbs upsies!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Celebrity A-List Sightings!
Dear Blob!
My new Best Gay Friend (NBGF), who was in Chorus Line on Broadway, Xanadu the movie, a Solid Gold Dancer and made out with John Travolta in a dressing room, took me to opening night of Camelot at Royce Hall at UCLA. This blog is a report of the total A-list celebrity sightings yeilded by an evening of very traditional and awfully boring musical theater.
First we saw Mel Brooks crossing the street on the Sunset strip and we were pleasantly surprised with how spry and fit he appeared. Then at Royce Hall, which was awash with the hoi polloi of LA, we saw Mrs. Garrett from Facts of Life, Charlotte Rae and the incomparable Shirley Jones! I've been in the same audition waiting room with Mrs. Garrett, so while I adore her and feel she was my House Mother at Fantasy Boarding School, she did not make me quiver the way Shirley Jones did. I used to watch Oklahoma! and The Music Man at least monthly, as we had them on VHS. Shirley Jones looked awesome! Beautiful, just like she did on the Partridge Family. Charlotte Rae is tiny, shorter than me and she also looks fab.
Meanwhile, Camelot was awful and I can't imagine why anyone would revive such a bad show. Lou Diamond Phillips played King Arthur and he did not Stand and Deliver this time. He can't sing and was totally overshadowed by Guenevere and Lancelot. I learned from Camelot, that sex fucks everything up.
Love The UkuLady
ps: Speaking of VHS, my NBGF has to transfer footage from Betamax.
pps: We ate mini-cheesecakes at the afterparty and saw several bad facelifts.
ppps: I realize that the celebrity A-list sightings are specific to a fag hag or a theater nerd. I am both.
My new Best Gay Friend (NBGF), who was in Chorus Line on Broadway, Xanadu the movie, a Solid Gold Dancer and made out with John Travolta in a dressing room, took me to opening night of Camelot at Royce Hall at UCLA. This blog is a report of the total A-list celebrity sightings yeilded by an evening of very traditional and awfully boring musical theater.
First we saw Mel Brooks crossing the street on the Sunset strip and we were pleasantly surprised with how spry and fit he appeared. Then at Royce Hall, which was awash with the hoi polloi of LA, we saw Mrs. Garrett from Facts of Life, Charlotte Rae and the incomparable Shirley Jones! I've been in the same audition waiting room with Mrs. Garrett, so while I adore her and feel she was my House Mother at Fantasy Boarding School, she did not make me quiver the way Shirley Jones did. I used to watch Oklahoma! and The Music Man at least monthly, as we had them on VHS. Shirley Jones looked awesome! Beautiful, just like she did on the Partridge Family. Charlotte Rae is tiny, shorter than me and she also looks fab.
Meanwhile, Camelot was awful and I can't imagine why anyone would revive such a bad show. Lou Diamond Phillips played King Arthur and he did not Stand and Deliver this time. He can't sing and was totally overshadowed by Guenevere and Lancelot. I learned from Camelot, that sex fucks everything up.
Love The UkuLady
ps: Speaking of VHS, my NBGF has to transfer footage from Betamax.
pps: We ate mini-cheesecakes at the afterparty and saw several bad facelifts.
ppps: I realize that the celebrity A-list sightings are specific to a fag hag or a theater nerd. I am both.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
UkuLady at Gay Pride!!!
Dear Blog!
Today I played my first Gay Pride Festival in San Diego, which is like a tropical San Francisco, but smaller. I recruited my future roommate, and Best LA Pal, Don Black (www.InfiniteCrux.com) to be my roadie and he wore Feminine-Hygiene-Pink sneakers we found last year at Ross Dress for Less, but I think everyone knew he was straight, regardless of his festive foot-wear. I was a hit with the gay men and hit on by the lesbians, and we ate gyros and threw our garbage in bins sponsored by the Lube Co. In general, gay men are extremely hot, physically-fit and hyper-conscious of their skin-suits, but gay women, not so much. This is not a new observation, just re-affirmed.
On our way to Pride, we stopped at Krispy Kreme Donuts in Orange County and I practiced my set list while Don retired to the powder room; three children, post-donut, wearing Krispy Kreme hats were riveted by my ukulele, pink & orange mumu, and I struck up conversation with them, and after describing an Octagon, played the The Octocado (see www.blogspot.ukulady.com), which was an instant hit. They demanded a repeat performance, but Don emerged, so I gave the Parents a card, explained we were off to Gay Pride, and away we drove.
It was a glorious day, full of theoretical magic ponies, new best friendsies and fresh sea air. Upon our return to LA, we ate taco truck tacos from a trolley at what I am calling Smog Check Tacos, as the trolley is stationed at the Smog Check place. They were asadalicious.
Love The UkuLady
PS: There are also many hot lesbians and I was hit on by one, which we taped.
PPS: I love gay men so much.
PPPS: It is awkward singing about hefty Americans in my song, LA County Fair (see www.TheUkuLady.com), when there are several hefty audience members. I always try to avoid looking at them when I sing about the Fat People eating corndogs, but Don said, I inadvertently look at them. Guilt. Sorry. I love you Hefty Americans; I just want you to feel healthy and good about yourself.
Today I played my first Gay Pride Festival in San Diego, which is like a tropical San Francisco, but smaller. I recruited my future roommate, and Best LA Pal, Don Black (www.InfiniteCrux.com) to be my roadie and he wore Feminine-Hygiene-Pink sneakers we found last year at Ross Dress for Less, but I think everyone knew he was straight, regardless of his festive foot-wear. I was a hit with the gay men and hit on by the lesbians, and we ate gyros and threw our garbage in bins sponsored by the Lube Co. In general, gay men are extremely hot, physically-fit and hyper-conscious of their skin-suits, but gay women, not so much. This is not a new observation, just re-affirmed.
On our way to Pride, we stopped at Krispy Kreme Donuts in Orange County and I practiced my set list while Don retired to the powder room; three children, post-donut, wearing Krispy Kreme hats were riveted by my ukulele, pink & orange mumu, and I struck up conversation with them, and after describing an Octagon, played the The Octocado (see www.blogspot.ukulady.com), which was an instant hit. They demanded a repeat performance, but Don emerged, so I gave the Parents a card, explained we were off to Gay Pride, and away we drove.
It was a glorious day, full of theoretical magic ponies, new best friendsies and fresh sea air. Upon our return to LA, we ate taco truck tacos from a trolley at what I am calling Smog Check Tacos, as the trolley is stationed at the Smog Check place. They were asadalicious.
Love The UkuLady
PS: There are also many hot lesbians and I was hit on by one, which we taped.
PPS: I love gay men so much.
PPPS: It is awkward singing about hefty Americans in my song, LA County Fair (see www.TheUkuLady.com), when there are several hefty audience members. I always try to avoid looking at them when I sing about the Fat People eating corndogs, but Don said, I inadvertently look at them. Guilt. Sorry. I love you Hefty Americans; I just want you to feel healthy and good about yourself.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Dead Gay-Pink Al Quada Guy (not a VLOG)
Dear Blog,
A couple days ago the front page of the New York Times featured a photograph of a dead Al Quada guy shrouded in a bright gay-pink sheet wraplet. He looked like a dead gay terrorist. It was a fucked up photo. The dead-guy on the front page part, not the cute pink shroudy-wrap. Queer eye probably gave the shroudlet a hearty Outfit Book Yes!
Love The UkuLady
PS: I broke up with my roommate and it went extremely poorly. Much worse than my awesome breakup with my awesome (seriously) ex Boyfriend/Current Best Friendsie.
PPS: Breakups aren't very funny. Too bad Brittney and Paris are laying so low. I could have used some celebrity downfall distraction today.
A couple days ago the front page of the New York Times featured a photograph of a dead Al Quada guy shrouded in a bright gay-pink sheet wraplet. He looked like a dead gay terrorist. It was a fucked up photo. The dead-guy on the front page part, not the cute pink shroudy-wrap. Queer eye probably gave the shroudlet a hearty Outfit Book Yes!
Love The UkuLady
PS: I broke up with my roommate and it went extremely poorly. Much worse than my awesome breakup with my awesome (seriously) ex Boyfriend/Current Best Friendsie.
PPS: Breakups aren't very funny. Too bad Brittney and Paris are laying so low. I could have used some celebrity downfall distraction today.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Me & The Scientologists
Dear Blog!
Last night I worked, again, for The Scientologists! Dear Blog and Readers, I am so sorry I didn't tell you about the first time I worked for them. I poured that experience into song, entiltled, "I Gave My Social Security Number to The Scientologists!" (see www.TheUkuLady.com song page)
"OMG, Lerner, What is going on?" I'm sure, Blog, you are quiring in your virtual head. Well, Blog, I submitted my voiceover reel via the internet, to a recording studio producing L.Ron HUbbard's short stories and was subsequently hired. I have now recorded 2 of L.Ron's really trashy pulp fiction, audio books and hooked up another friend with the company. She has been hired much more than me; possibly owing to her willowy physique and seemingly-gentile blond-good looks. Little do the Scientologists know, she's Greek. She's also really talented, but the Scientologists, I think, really like the hot starletee beauties, and the more non-darkey-ish, the better. I say this, because L.Ron's short stories are outrageously racist and sexist. They all seem to be about the dashing white guy bringing salvation to the darkey indiginous people.
The people who work at the studio all wear the same outfit - dark pants, minty button down shirts. I wanted to ask them if they ever get to wear their own outfits, but I didn't want to be rude. My theory" the people who are insecure and lost in LA, get sucked into Scientology, a cult, because Scientology is dripping with money and power! The director of these audio books is a total industry professional. Found out last night, after he showed me family photos, that his real mom is Richie Cunningham's mom. As in Mrs. C. As in Happy Days. I was checking out his pics and I was like, your mom is so familiar...is she Jane Wyman? Or Shirley Jones? Anywaysies, the clone/droid/robot/scientology workerbees, who work for practically free, were completely over the moon about the director and his familiy. Totally starstruck. So I'd deduced that they want a piece of the pie, to touch the insider power of hollywood. Because a ridiculously large amount of powerful money people in LA are scientologists.
This is weird: last time I was there, the gaggle of uniformed-cultists, were finishing lunch, which, as I saw from my water-bottle-fill-up-stop in their kitchen, centered around a huge vat of cottage cheese. Last night, they were finishing dinner, and again, it centered around a huge vat of cottage cheese. My roommate, this morning, at coffee-making -time, agreed, that the little he knows about Scientology, he has heard of their odd cottage cheese obsession.
Ultimately, I work for the Scienologists because it's fun doing books-on-tape. L.Ron is the worst trashy-novel writer. He uses sentences like, "She had a stunningly beautiful body." (that was my character last night, an eskimo saved by the whitey) and "The Sledge dogs slavered." and "High firm breasts..."(me again). I suppose it's actually good trashy writing, but I have an extremely low-tolerance for bad writing. I'm a total writing snob, being partial to Haruki Murakami, Roald Dahl and Malcolm Gladwell.
Anywaysies, this Scietology recording studio is owned by Jazz great Chick Correa, to burst the bubble of his apparent-normalcy. They pay really badly and last night, after working for wayway below my usual payrate, i was like, "what the fuck am I doing this for?" And I was supposed to work for them tomorrow, but did some money-come-to-me chanting over my green-candle--hippie-shrine, and luckily the phone rang with a fun and well-paying vo job for some former SF clients.
I kept wanting to ask the Scientologist worker bees things like, "don't you miss wearing shoes other than sensible oxfordy-nurse shoes?" and "Are you really so lonely and insecure that you would become the pawn/semi-servant to a cult, which masks itself as a world religion, although it is based on the writings of a sex-crazed science-fiction tax-evader?" I hope they don't read my blog. They were all extremely nice and the session was fun because we laughed a lot.
Love The UkuLady
ps: There are these ridiculous posters on Hilary Duff taped to the side of the freeway exit ramp, I frequently exit. It seems like the most ludicrious place to market a talentless former-teen pop-sensation. I greatly dislike Hilary Duff, although I'm sure she is really nice. Unlike Paris Hilton, who is clearly a total bitch.
pps: My awesome gay manager danced with his new-lesbian stand-up-comic client at Zach Braff's bar mitzvah, like 20 years ago. They just figured this out because she is his new client, like me. I love him. We listened to show tunes on his tv yesterday.
Last night I worked, again, for The Scientologists! Dear Blog and Readers, I am so sorry I didn't tell you about the first time I worked for them. I poured that experience into song, entiltled, "I Gave My Social Security Number to The Scientologists!" (see www.TheUkuLady.com song page)
"OMG, Lerner, What is going on?" I'm sure, Blog, you are quiring in your virtual head. Well, Blog, I submitted my voiceover reel via the internet, to a recording studio producing L.Ron HUbbard's short stories and was subsequently hired. I have now recorded 2 of L.Ron's really trashy pulp fiction, audio books and hooked up another friend with the company. She has been hired much more than me; possibly owing to her willowy physique and seemingly-gentile blond-good looks. Little do the Scientologists know, she's Greek. She's also really talented, but the Scientologists, I think, really like the hot starletee beauties, and the more non-darkey-ish, the better. I say this, because L.Ron's short stories are outrageously racist and sexist. They all seem to be about the dashing white guy bringing salvation to the darkey indiginous people.
The people who work at the studio all wear the same outfit - dark pants, minty button down shirts. I wanted to ask them if they ever get to wear their own outfits, but I didn't want to be rude. My theory" the people who are insecure and lost in LA, get sucked into Scientology, a cult, because Scientology is dripping with money and power! The director of these audio books is a total industry professional. Found out last night, after he showed me family photos, that his real mom is Richie Cunningham's mom. As in Mrs. C. As in Happy Days. I was checking out his pics and I was like, your mom is so familiar...is she Jane Wyman? Or Shirley Jones? Anywaysies, the clone/droid/robot/scientology workerbees, who work for practically free, were completely over the moon about the director and his familiy. Totally starstruck. So I'd deduced that they want a piece of the pie, to touch the insider power of hollywood. Because a ridiculously large amount of powerful money people in LA are scientologists.
This is weird: last time I was there, the gaggle of uniformed-cultists, were finishing lunch, which, as I saw from my water-bottle-fill-up-stop in their kitchen, centered around a huge vat of cottage cheese. Last night, they were finishing dinner, and again, it centered around a huge vat of cottage cheese. My roommate, this morning, at coffee-making -time, agreed, that the little he knows about Scientology, he has heard of their odd cottage cheese obsession.
Ultimately, I work for the Scienologists because it's fun doing books-on-tape. L.Ron is the worst trashy-novel writer. He uses sentences like, "She had a stunningly beautiful body." (that was my character last night, an eskimo saved by the whitey) and "The Sledge dogs slavered." and "High firm breasts..."(me again). I suppose it's actually good trashy writing, but I have an extremely low-tolerance for bad writing. I'm a total writing snob, being partial to Haruki Murakami, Roald Dahl and Malcolm Gladwell.
Anywaysies, this Scietology recording studio is owned by Jazz great Chick Correa, to burst the bubble of his apparent-normalcy. They pay really badly and last night, after working for wayway below my usual payrate, i was like, "what the fuck am I doing this for?" And I was supposed to work for them tomorrow, but did some money-come-to-me chanting over my green-candle--hippie-shrine, and luckily the phone rang with a fun and well-paying vo job for some former SF clients.
I kept wanting to ask the Scientologist worker bees things like, "don't you miss wearing shoes other than sensible oxfordy-nurse shoes?" and "Are you really so lonely and insecure that you would become the pawn/semi-servant to a cult, which masks itself as a world religion, although it is based on the writings of a sex-crazed science-fiction tax-evader?" I hope they don't read my blog. They were all extremely nice and the session was fun because we laughed a lot.
Love The UkuLady
ps: There are these ridiculous posters on Hilary Duff taped to the side of the freeway exit ramp, I frequently exit. It seems like the most ludicrious place to market a talentless former-teen pop-sensation. I greatly dislike Hilary Duff, although I'm sure she is really nice. Unlike Paris Hilton, who is clearly a total bitch.
pps: My awesome gay manager danced with his new-lesbian stand-up-comic client at Zach Braff's bar mitzvah, like 20 years ago. They just figured this out because she is his new client, like me. I love him. We listened to show tunes on his tv yesterday.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Whore Potatoes & Man-Breasts
Dear Blog!
Tonight I met the ultimate temptress; I call them Whore Potatoes, made with a secret midwestern recipe. I don't know what I mean when I say Whore Potatoes. Are the potatoes the whore or am I? I think it's me who is the whore for the potatoes. Or the potatoes are a fleet of whores, tempting me with their delicious fat-tastic flavor. The Whore Potatoes were also refered to, at the LA Orphan Easter/Pagan Dinner, as Crack Potatoes. Whore Potatoes is a friendlier term, I think. Whores are more socially-acceptabe than crack. Crack is just straightup totally unredeeming, while Whores are kind of sexy, like the Nevada Mustang Ranch whores or the unionized San Francisco whores.
There used to be a streetfood Chicken stand a couple blocks from my house, on historic Route 66. The Chicken Stand was a magnet for whores, who would linger, waiting for potential clients, the drunken chicken-eaters who would (pardon the pun) flock to the Chicken Stand because it was so delicous and open latenight. We always called it Whore Chicken. It was delicious chicken. These potatoes were outrageously delicious. They had cornflakes on top. Whore Potatoes are a once-a-year treat, unless one is interested in a sheath of winter-lard.
Love The UkuLady
PS: My Best Gay Friend is feeling fat these days (he's not) and tonight insisted he was plump and hence, forced to wear a blouse. He emphatically said to me, "I'm so fat, I'm wearing a blouse!". It was kind of true, the blouse, not the fat part. It was a loose-fitting shirt, which I've rarely seen him in. Loose-fitting garments and gay men don't really go hand in hand, unless they are in a show and need to wear something gauzy, billowy or flowy. BGF also insisted that the other day that he felt oddly uncomfortable and realized the uncomfortablity was caused by his breasts making a crease. He is concerned he has an A-cup and needs to wear a sports-bra. This is not the case. He's adorable and not even pleasantly plump or chubby. Man-Blouse and Man-Breast-Crease. Nothing for my BGF to worry about, but he won't listen to me. I'm just the UkuLady, not a hot gay man ready to get down. The word blouse is hilarious when used in the context of a gay man. Same with Breast Crease. Crease is a great word.
Tonight I met the ultimate temptress; I call them Whore Potatoes, made with a secret midwestern recipe. I don't know what I mean when I say Whore Potatoes. Are the potatoes the whore or am I? I think it's me who is the whore for the potatoes. Or the potatoes are a fleet of whores, tempting me with their delicious fat-tastic flavor. The Whore Potatoes were also refered to, at the LA Orphan Easter/Pagan Dinner, as Crack Potatoes. Whore Potatoes is a friendlier term, I think. Whores are more socially-acceptabe than crack. Crack is just straightup totally unredeeming, while Whores are kind of sexy, like the Nevada Mustang Ranch whores or the unionized San Francisco whores.
There used to be a streetfood Chicken stand a couple blocks from my house, on historic Route 66. The Chicken Stand was a magnet for whores, who would linger, waiting for potential clients, the drunken chicken-eaters who would (pardon the pun) flock to the Chicken Stand because it was so delicous and open latenight. We always called it Whore Chicken. It was delicious chicken. These potatoes were outrageously delicious. They had cornflakes on top. Whore Potatoes are a once-a-year treat, unless one is interested in a sheath of winter-lard.
Love The UkuLady
PS: My Best Gay Friend is feeling fat these days (he's not) and tonight insisted he was plump and hence, forced to wear a blouse. He emphatically said to me, "I'm so fat, I'm wearing a blouse!". It was kind of true, the blouse, not the fat part. It was a loose-fitting shirt, which I've rarely seen him in. Loose-fitting garments and gay men don't really go hand in hand, unless they are in a show and need to wear something gauzy, billowy or flowy. BGF also insisted that the other day that he felt oddly uncomfortable and realized the uncomfortablity was caused by his breasts making a crease. He is concerned he has an A-cup and needs to wear a sports-bra. This is not the case. He's adorable and not even pleasantly plump or chubby. Man-Blouse and Man-Breast-Crease. Nothing for my BGF to worry about, but he won't listen to me. I'm just the UkuLady, not a hot gay man ready to get down. The word blouse is hilarious when used in the context of a gay man. Same with Breast Crease. Crease is a great word.
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