C'mon baby, just one little bite

“There’s nothing wrong with having bags under your eyes as long as you have shoes to match”
Steven Tyler

Slap it, shave it, and submit, baby! Send your severed, slathered slabs of sob stories to: guttergrl69.hotmail.com

The Royal Diva made a grand visit from Seattle. Over clove ciggies and beer, we had a delightful visit as I cut veggies and cooked lasagna, preparing a big bash for the Yum Yum boy’s down under sojourn. She looked fabulous and is working hard on the marriage thang. It’s a difficult task to love and commit to a woman hell-bent on stardom, I should know. The Royal Diva is responsible for always keeping me believing in true love. True loves we so deserve and the magic that can await so unexpectedly. I will never give up and neither will she.

The farewell bash was a gas, guests so sincerely sweet, no big spills, no crashes, no jewelry stolen, and best of all, no tears... not even by me. The band, called Untyd, were friends of the Yum Yum boy’s and they rocked the house... or rather my backyard strung with Christmas lights. No neighbors complained and no cops were called. Three old men cruising by in the night yelled a hardy “Turn it up!” and that was it. Amazing. And moi, the hostess with the mostess, surprisingly enough, only had four Sapphires on the rocks -- which I kept misplacing all evening -- and one muscle relaxer. You see, it was important for me to keep in mind that the love of my life was leaving on a trip all his own. It was his dream. Besides, he had his ticket before we met. No blubbering, no uncontrollable sobbing, no weepy woman clinging to his arm. I was bound and determined to give my support and Superwoman strength for the man that had finally captured my heart. Now, as he’s flown off to the farthest section of the globe and having the time of his young-ass life -- even smooching koala’s just for me -- I am digging deeply for any ounce of strength left in my soul. I ask myself this; why did I think it a good idea to secretly spray the pillows with his Armani cologne? Wash them I could, but something won’t allow me to... not yet. Maybe in a month, when the dog hair has collected and the cologne has faded into a wretched mix of sweat and tear stains, maybe then I’ll feel my powers rise again and let Downy take over. I realize that this too shall pass, but until then, it’s stomach clutching in my bed with my ciggies and gin. I’ll do what I damn well please... always have, always will, and to hell in a hatbox to anyone who tells me different.

So, okay, in a heroic effort to pry my wild spirit back out of the can, I decided to go to the gym and work out some stagnant endorphins. Strolling in, feeling my oats, I was glad that the place wasn’t too crowded. I walked out on the floor full of machinery and Lycra and climbed on the evil Stairmaster, set it for thirty minutes and plugged in my headphones. Listening to Al Green sing about love and happiness, climbing floor after floor, I think how nice it’d be to have an ashtray attached to the stair machine... and hell, maybe even a place for a cocktail. Eighty flights later I dismounted the contraption and reached for my towel and water bottle. When I turned around, a troll of a man with hair on his neck and back, said “ Hey sweet one, don’t leave now, you’re ass is giving me motivational skills beyond belief.” In no mood, I promptly blurted out “ Why don’t you get your motivational skills from a good waxing and a class in manners, you wee little man!” and off I trotted to the weight room feeling extra snarky. Ten minutes later the troll man walks in, dripping in hairy perspiration and smiling from ear to ear... at me! Great gobs of gamma rays, I thought, does nothing detour this guy? And of course, now I’m on the thigh machine, up and down and work those loins, and here he comes. “Wow, I need to watch that!” he mumbles and leers with his glandular drippings. Ohmagad, now I’m feeling homicidal and say “What you need to watch is your potty mouth” and he just grins bigger. Okay, I realize he’s getting off on my bitchy attitude, but since I’m in a weight room and not a dungeon, and not collecting money from this, I climb off the machine and walk to the front desk. I ask them to please remove the troll man from the floor, as I am bothered. They do, and I continue my workout in peace. Two hours later, after a swim, steam and hot tub, I walk out feeling like a new woman. Not as new as I’d like, since troll man is lurking by the front exit, obviously waiting for me. He apologizes and begs my forgiveness, as I stroll passed him, annoyed and starving, I turn and say “ Two hundred and hour - upfront- and next time you can follow me around.” He walks to his Lexus and I wait for an answer. He reaches in his visor and hands me four fifty-dollar bills. I take them -- not too eagerly -- and say “Be here on Thursday. One o’clock.” He says he will, smiles and drives off. I think about how I can pay the rest of the rent now and about how I was trying to figure out a way to buy cat food and toilet paper just this morning. Sometimes life seems so hard, but sometimes things can be just that easy.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I saw this girl from across the room the other evening. We were at an opening, a gallery in a ritzy part of town, and she took my breath away. I’m quite sure that when me made eye contact, she formed a tiny smile. I’m so intrigued by her beauty and wonder how I would go about finding her again. There is an “I Saw U” section in the local paper and thought about putting in an ad. What are your thoughts on that approach?

Breathless in Boise

Dear BiB,

Next time you go to the gallery, and do this soon, ask the owners if they know who she is. If they don’t, let it go. If you don’t see her at the next opening -- and do I really need to tell you to attend? -- then let it go like a cheesy puff in a hot breeze. Those “I Saw U” columns are pretty redundant in my book. We goddesses make eye contact with six dozen people every damn day of our life and a blurb that says something like “saw you at such and such gallery opening on such and such date” with and added “you wearing red backless dress, me in slacks and brown shirt -- made eye contact... drinks?” will get you nowhere fast. What lame-ass losers read those things seriously anyway? Oh, you do.



Dear Mz. Contact,

I’ve noticed my girlfriend looking at other woman lately. The manner in which she stares isn’t just an ‘I like her outfit’ or a ‘cute hair-cut’ type of thing, but more of a lusty look. I haven’t said anything because I don’t know how to ask her what she’s thinking. She can be very strong-minded at times and to be truthful, I’m a little scared of her temper. How can I know what she’s really thinking?

Threatened Theo

She’s probably thinking that she’d really like to suck those bouncing breasts and bury her snotty little nose in those warm, scented, snatches, that’s what. Since you can’t seem to find the necessary cojones to come right out and ask your girlfriend (these are important communication/relationship things) then I’d let her go and lick the real pussies and leave you alone.


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