It’s Queer To Be Here And I Refuse To Get Used To It
Dr Alexandra Brooks
I take national tragedies quite personally and I really need my Mommy today. This uncommon malaise gripped my soul like a pair of size 4 jeans on a size 12 butt. Rather than sit in the corner with my blankie and cry all day I took action. Not any ol’ kinda action. I took superhero courageous action. I knew this madness was coming so last night before I slipped into dreamland I whipped up a batch of Girl Scout Dark Chocolate Mint Brownies. Dipped them in triple chunk fudge frosting. Let them cool and put them in the fridge in preparation for The Big Sad. When I opened my fridge this morning there they were. Sweet as Dolly Parton. All richly stacked and glistening like a Vegas showgirl at The Dunes. ( It was a vintage recipe. ) I almost wept with joy. At last someone understands me and I know how it feels to be truly loved. I always did like those Girl Scouts.
After three cups of coffee. I sat down with a piping hot schooner of Barry’s Irish Tea. The best tea ever. Much too good for the masses. So please, don’t mention this blog to a soul. It’s hard enough to find black Irish tea in white bread America as is. So, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by my bitching.
I sat down in my ruby red chair. Tea in hand. Feet up on my little grey footstool. I proceeded to amuse and entertain myself and my cyber-friends. I took to social media aka The Great Escape not starring Tony Curtis. Check my Facebook. I’m a riot! Well, not exactly a riot. More like a love-in that went wrong after the shrooms and sangria kicked in. You will love the detox bath ritual with an alternate method for those that shower in the comment section. I’m sure you will enjoy my Instagram repost of the pink Ferrari I am going treat myself to. Well, it was a sad day and sometimes a girl just needs a 500k pink treat. Don’t judge.
I then proceeded to get on the phone and chat with my 87 year old Dad aka Chinatown Dan.
He tried to reassure me that the sky was indeed going to continue to live in the sky. He seems to think that the sky will not become the sea anytime soon. Crazy old Greek. We had a ripping convo and a few laughs over McCarthyism. The first generation of 1960’s Corvairs. Ronald Reagan’s hair. Harry Truman’s temper. Trump’s hair. My hair. Trump’s temper. My brother’s temper. Viceroy smokers. Dope smokers. Republicans. A vacation we took to Chesapeake Bay when I was four. My uncle’s taste in wives. The senior discount at Wendy’s. The coffee at McDonald’s. And of course, the day he met Franklin D Roosevelt when he was only eight years old. Two hours later…
I finally got a few things done. But really today was a waste of an Inauguration and the entire country’s attention much less my time. Never has someone so small been given a task so big. Or shall I say a task so YUGE? If I survive another 365 today will be a blip on the grande opera screen of life. This time next year I will be on the phone talking with my Dad. He will tell me the story about how he met Nat King Cole for the 100th time. We will share all we know about Chevy’s and Presidents. And all will be well.
All shall be very, very well.
In the meantime.
I’m down to my last brownie so don’t bother stopping by.
Until next week.
Resist The Man.
Up with the people.
Listen to some good music.
Lay off the carbs.
Sending Love, Light & Oceans of Bliss.