Thursday, January 26, 2006
Rats and Bitches
This is what I luv about MZA—I am Very Tall—5’11—and so not really a shrinking violet, but I got out of the car and knocked on the door and said, “I just saw a RAT!” and MZA, because he is a buff scrumptious manly man, came outside and walked right up to the offending crevice in the wall and jammed a big plank in there. He was not afraid of any old RAT!
I scampered back into my car where Annie Lennox was wailing this exquisite song, "Into the West." Ian came outside in his socks, wearing a blue sweater with "CAR" written on it, and waved and I blew him a kiss and he blew me a kiss and I mimed catching it and he threw back his head and laughed.
The rat made me think of Ratalie, whose best friend was Retro Slut.
I have this very good friend who reads my short stories and gives me effective insight on them, but he gives me a really hard time about, well about being a misogynist. Isn’t that weird? Seriously, can a woman be a misogynist? Discuss.
He said, “I kind of wish I could apologize for all the nasty little bitches you have had to deal with over the years so you would stop punishing them in your fiction.” OUCH! And punish them I have! And it’s been fun!
But, actually, I don’t feel like I’ve been punishing them, it feels more like I have been purging them from my system in a cathartic, exorcistic kind of way, you know?
The truth? I have been way more hurt by WOMEN than by men. Seriously! I love men, I really do. I love women too, and I am very fortunate to know many spectacular dames. Honest engine. But they’s a lot of women out there with axes to grind—issues, competitiveness, jealousy, pettiness—and men are not always privy to these dastardly traits in women. They tend to get the neediness that manifests itself in nagging, clinginess, and desperation.
They don’t get the undermining and the measuring and the greedy eyes that scout for flaws because women love a flaw. Why? Because some women cultivate little interior abacuses in their heads and they slide the little beads over—counting each flaw, click, click, click—in an ancient mathematical form of feline calculus. Each reappointed bead represents a flaw in you, but an asset in them. Listen for those little tell-tale Mandarin clicks, girls!
I don’t like competitiveness. I DON’T LIKE COMPETITIVENESS, SAM I AM. On a boat with a goat or under a moat.
Ah, but let’s cleanse our minds of all these negative thoughts on this sunny frigid morn, and concentrate on the LSDs…I mean…LDS’s (that’s Latter Day Saints, to you)…the temple
was gleaming this morning, all shimmery gold spires and sharp pointed edges—a parachutist's nightmare.
SURRENDER DOROTHY!
Xoxoxo, and je t'aime les femmes…parfois.
posted by zinalasvegas at 7:11 PM
Cynicism is another word for reality
Email me, you derelict wastrel
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