Good Friday? My Fat Ass.

Gia Cerone

21 minutes ago

I know this is the oldest shtick in the book, (I like using "shtick", because I am speaking of The King of all Jews").

But why the fuck would the Catholics (Any other Christians too? Maybe? I suck at knowing who believes what - help a Sister out, if you know......),.......call this "GOOD FRIDAY"?

This was Jesus' WORST DAY EVER. It was like, the worst blood clotty period cramps, getting kicked straight in the balls, a thousand paper cuts immersed in lemon juice, having to put your pet down and trying to un-see something like "2 Girls One Cup" all rolled in one.

And, what about the poor people that really LOVED him?
I'm pretty sure there were more than 12 guys (I include Judas in that, I mean, he did stick by him for a pretty long time), and 2 women (one of whom, he was most definitely making out with on a regular basis - AT THE VERY LEAST!!!), who had to watch all this awful shit go down and STILL have faith. (Although Peter faltered a bit, denying him three time before the cock crowed. THREE times Peter? Really?...........heeeee I wrote "cock.)

So here is my point. Maybe, the people that wrote the moniker "Good Friday" made an honest mistake in their interpretation of the word "GOOD". I mean you had Farsi, Sanskrit, Hieroglyphs, Hebrew, good old Latin. (Maybe.- I'm going out on a limb here about which languages they communicated in, needless to say, there were shit loads.) So "GOOD" to one of these writers of the text that millions of people live their life by, might have meant "SUCKY" to another.

Possible. Very possible. Sooooooooooo, maybe it actually is "Sucky Friday" for Jesus. Makes more sense to me, as I'm a big fan of what he seemed to be, a really, really, good, loving guy, with crazy great abs. and a will for everyone to lovelovelove each other.

Heyyyyyyyyyy. Wait a second..... Maybe that means that "Men Shall Not Lie Down With Other Men" is badly translated too!!!!

Oooooooooo! AND, "marriage is between a man and a woman ONLY" is also off by a little. (Hell, I'm pretty sure that isn't even WRITTEN in the ancient texts/bible.)

And Priests can't marry. Gals can't be priests (again not even sure if that stuff is written IN the bible.)

Maybe there are more screw ups in those ancient texts, due to the fact they didn't have great paper, and nice Bic pens, plus a ton of different languages to keep straight. Not to mention every time someone wrote what they think they saw, experienced or felt, there was some crazy fucking Savage Ruler (or a guy with a bit of power), ready to kill them for not writing what the BigWigs wanted to be put down on papyrus (if the local Staples even had it in stock)!!! And by "killing" I mean stretching them until they tore in half, hanging then on crosses even in bad weather, and chopping off their head, and playing soccer with said noggin soon after.

So I am forever calling this day "SUCKY FRIDAY" because it's unfair to this beautiful, peaceful, man, Jesus, to minimize this awful, terrible, disgusting, day that happened a couple thousand years ago.

I thinks it's terrible to minimize the torture and insults and degradation Jesus suffered at the hands of narrow minded people.

Kind of like the way my Gay friends are insulted, degraded and basically made to feel like second class citizens EVERY FUCKING DAY.
Kind of like the way, I suspect a lot of good Priests (not PEDO priests that's a whole 'nother story), would love to be married to, and have crazy, sweaty, mind blowing sex another woman or man, and still spread the good word of Jesus, but are told to rid themselves of such disgusting thoughts, you weak, dumb bastards.

I also suspect there are a lot of Nuns who feel the same way! Maybe they don't even WANT to get married, they just want to SAY FREAKING MASS, or hear confession (why anyone would WANT to hear confession, is beyond me, but to each her own), for Godsakes!!
But noooooooooooooooo.
They are women and they are not up to snuff. Get that stupid, horrible idea out of your heads right now.

So until all the aforementioned groups, are clearly afforded the same rights to love and be loved. Live their lives with no fear. And receive respect from ALL other members of the human race, "holy or regular" (unless they themselves are cruel douchebags, then they don't deserve respectH "Holy" "Regular" Gay or Straight), I'm calling everyday "Sucky Monday" or "Sucky Tuesday" or "Sucky Wednesday"..............

That's my idea and I'm sticking to it. All for you Jesus. I really do believe your one hell of a guy. (Probably a mixed metaphor or something there.)

The Healing Powers of Laughter.....(Or) Yes. I Want to Screw Alan Alda

I ustah' say I would've screwed Paul Newman on his deathbed - that no matter how old he got, that man woulda' made me all "melty" & squishy. Still holds true.

Now, I feel that way about Alan Alda. He is still young, and thank God/Goddess still healthy. But, I'll tell you, that man, he just never disappoints. You can tell by the scripts and parts he chooses to play. I want to go to dinner with him in NYC, preferably really good kinda old school Italian. Maybe share a plate of Bacala with him and listen to him talk, while I coyly play footsie with him under the table.

Why this sudden confession? Saw him in the great comedy Wanderlust (also starring my REAL boyfriend Paul Rudd - we have a very open relationship.) Yes, Wanderlust. Aniston & Rudd with all the guys from The State. If you didn't think it was funny, fuck you.

M.O.M. And I loved it. Long Island's own Ken Marino is in it, and he is just funny personified.
So, we've been going through this awfulness with Aunt Rita and needed to escape into a funnier place. Wanderlust did it.

Alda plays the old hippy that owns the commune, and he needs to find the deed to the place in order to keep the evil developers from coming in and destroying what he has built over 40 years ago. He, and about 6 or 7 other hippies pitched in back in the day. One of them was Janet Wu. (There's a reoccurring joke about him repeating all there names.....just see it.) Anyway, the scene goes a little something like this:

ANISTON: You mean you have NO idea where you could've put the deed? Can't remember at all?

ALDA: You know, it's amazing. I can remember everything about Janice Wu. Over 40 years ago! Every curve of her body, every crinkle on her face, her smile. Yet, I have no idea where I put that damn deed...........But in all fairness, I never fucked the deed.

I can and will watch that scene over and over the next few days. It'll get me through these tough times.
Well, the scene, and a little kinky fantasy involving Bacala, Alda, myself and my boyfriend, Paul Rudd. (Did I mention we have a very open relationship?)

This one was for Andrea Barnett- Rosen the trues, most beautiful authentic hippy I know!
x

Jesus, You're Lucky (Aunt Rita)

My partner, my old man, the coolest mutha effa evah, verdant dude, earl....whatever you want to call him, well, his Aunt is dying. 
Aunt Rita. This whole thing stinks. I love my Old Man's family. They're a crazy Irish bunch, that party, enjoy really great food, drink like, well, they drink like a crazy Irish bunch, and they're wicked smart, each one of them. (Yeah, that sounded kinda Bostonish, but I swear on my life it is unintentional.)
The Old Man has 4 sisters and a brother plus they all have signif. others and boatloads of kids. They're seriously a clan. A really good kind of clan. My Old Man (going forward, it will be shortened to M.O.M), has a major regret that makes me cry whenever he says it. Ready? He says, "It breaks my heart to think Dad never got a chance to meet you. God, he would've LOVED you." I'm filling up just typing that. M.O.M. loved his Dad more than any other human that ever had the honor to be in my M.O.M.'s circle of energy. He died too young, just a few months before we met. M.O.M. is so much like his Dad. Everyone says so. It makes him proud. Which makes ME proud.
So, now onto Aunt Rita. She is M.O.M.'s Mother's, Sister. (Maybe this M.O.M. moniker is going to get confusing. Oh well, deal with it. I'm in no mood to give a fuck.) I love M.O.M's Mother BTW. She is always put together, but not in an "Aryan from Darien" kinda way. She just is a great accessorizer, and wears Chicos & JJill like a boss. She also enjoys life. With her sisters. They're always going to wineries. Seeing shows. Just being together. I love Aunt Raney (I'm sorry if I'm spelling that wrong), Aunt Raney is kinda like my favorite. Which I know is awful to say, but I just feel the love for her in my bones. She is strong and brave. Blah, blah. This isn't about her. She just rocks, and it kills me she and Lucille (M.O.M.'s Mother) are hurting so much right now.
So now REALLY onto Aunt Rita. Looks wise? Picture those Austrian stacking dolls. Really, good ones. Not made in China, by 6 year old starving kids. I'm talking antique, hand painted wooden gems that are a sight to behold. Aunt Rita looks like the number two stacking doll in that priceless set. The Mother figure. Round face, rosy pudgy cheeks, cutest kinda plump butt. That's Aunt Rita. Personality wise? A lot like a hardcore nun, that drinks great scotch, laughs easily and gives.....THE BEST HUGS EVER!! Her hugs can put you onto another plane of existence. You just want to melt away. Quaalude hugs. Really. Never, ever, ever, want to let go.
I disagree with almost every religious, philosophical, and social belief she has ever held, and yet I just want to be in her arms right now. Her hugs just emit pure goodness and joy. So, even if she disagrees with me on all the stuff like Gay's Right To Marry, or the Right To Choose, or priests marrying, the warmth of her hugs send me a completely different message. Her hugs are non-denominational, hippy, loving, left wing, non-judgmental hugs. (NOTE: I don't want to hear from any of you slagging on my "left wing" comment, I'm hurting and don't need the aggravation.)
It's like her hugs know better. Her hugs smile and wink behind her back. Her hugs whisper in my ear, "She talks that stuff, but c'mon, feel this. All there is is love and compassion here."
The hugs are right. I wish she had met a man that swept her off her feet like her nephew (M.O.M.) did for me. I wish she had more orgasms.(Listen don't be a hating on me for that comment. Maybe she had a Hitachi Magic Wand that I know nothing about, but I bet my love of The Yankees she didn't. Sad.) I wish she explored the world more and didn't put soooooooo much of her time and energy into the church. You're thinking, "Well, THAT made her happy!" Um, yeaaaaaah, but I get the feeling she talked herself into that happiness on some level.
I'm just pissed. She's only in her very early 70's and she had a massive stroke on her church steps in the middle of the night. There's a lot about that that pisses me off. I mean ON THE CHURCH STEPS? STILL SO YOUNG? RELATIVELY HEALTHY? NIGHTTIME? C'mon God/Jesus give this lady a break.
So let me be honest here. I'm being a selfish cunt. I don't want to see this great family suffer and mourn. I don't want to see M.O.M. try to be "strong". I don't want to Lucille and Raney (and Uncle DJ) to experience stuff without their partner in crime.
But mostly, I don't want to go on without those hugs anymore. I can't imagine not getting another one. Like I said, I'm a selfish cunt.
I DO take solace in one great thought. I know Aunt Rita, when she goes, will head straight up. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 rosaries. She will get to stroll past Saint Peter, with her heaven "Easy Pass", giving him a little "Wassup Peter" salute with her two fingers. And she will FINALLY come face to face with the love of her life, God/Jesus. And then, she will give him one of her hugs. And he will hug back, because that's what God/Jesus is suppose to do into those situations. And she'll get to feel what I got to feel all those times. And God/Jesus will smile and wink over her shoulder at the hugs that now get to hang around heaven and spread themselves around even more!!!
God/Jesus, Lucky Fucking Bastard.

For: Christine Curley-Morales Barbara Cremin Modica Michael Modica Rami Baghdadi (and the rest of the family Facebook member's yea or nay.)

Spill the Wine......

My love affair started when I was 3 & 1/2 years old. But I really got sucked in at age 4. My mother encouraged it. My Dad laughed. My sister wasn't around yet to be by my side. 4:51 minutes each time. So young and so hooked. "Spill the Wine (Dig that Girl)" by Eric Burdon and War. I would jump up on any table available and swing my non existent hips with jubilant ferocity. Pony tale whipping in circles like a tilt-a-whirl about to come unhinged. Mom bought me a cool paisley print mini dress with matching panties, white flat GOGO boots (age appropriate) and strung Christmas lights around my own "GOGO Booth" like on Wonderama. "Play it again Mommy!!!" "Okay Baby, one more time then I have to make dinner." Finally Daddy bought me my own orange record playa' and a stack of 45's. Mom marked the labels with little symbols so I knew which side to set the heavy, plastic housed needle on. This one had a little wine glass in red crayon, neatly sketched next to the words I couldn't make out. My parents unknowingly set me on this path of zero self-conscienceness and adoration of heavy, throbbing rock n roll. Thank God for them.

The American President: A Dishwasher's Irony

When my family and I owned our restaurant, we had a staff that became a beautiful extended family.
Lunchtime. Dad at the stove, me in "the front of the house" and Wilson at the sink.
I need to state emphatically........I love Central American people. Guatemalans in particular. They are a kind, peace loving, race. Hard working, honest, loyal and true.
Which is why I can't for the life of me understand why so many Guatemalan dishwasher's parents seemed to name the males after American presidents. OBSCURE American presidents.
We had Wilson, Nixon (not obscure, but really weird, no?), Harrison, and Cleveland. Sixteen years of business, and I learned more about American leaders, by the guys we had at the sink, than I ever did in school. Cleveland. REALLY? I thought he was a baseball player.
And mind you, these were mountain people. No televisions. No public libraries. Just tiny poor villages with healers that literally rubbed dirt on wounds when someone took a tumble. Wilson, by the way, was the hero of his "willage" because he killed the giant snake that ate two babies in the night. Seriously.
The guys from Guatemala City, who were better educated, actually worked the line with Mom, Dad and my Sissy. They read, they learned English, they tried new recipes. They were Sergio, Ceasar, Roberto, Jorge.
But the presidents? They washed dishes like lathered up tornadoes.
So I lay here asking myself. Is there some connection, some true, gleaming answer, in this vast sprawling universe, regarding the American President named Guatemalan mountain man, excellent, committed, dishwasher moniker, trend? I'm ready to accept any theories.

See this is why I suck at this blogging shit. What in God's name does the above post add to the world as we know it. Fuck if I know.

Sick & Weepy J.D. Story

My boyfriend in college and I got a black Lab puppy, and we grew older together. The dog and me, not the guy. He disappeared to Japan of all places.
I'm home, sick with pneumonia and I'm feeling sorry for myself, so if it bums anyone, I'm sorry in advance.

He loved chocolate and beer even more! My kinda' guy. I haven't gotten another dog since. He died in my arms. It was so weird. For the last year of his life, his back legs didn't work at all. Degenerative Spinal Myopathy. So I carried him around or boosted him up holding his legs like a wheel barrel. Then, I depleted any savings I had, bought him one of those custom built canine carts. He was a dog on wheels! I use to decorate the thing for the holidays with ornaments. He wasn't embarrassed enough, you see. At first when I finally got the building, and measurement specifications right, I attached him......and he just STOOD there!! Swear, he would not move an inch. A full hour went by. I was freaking 'cause I just spent 1700.00 to get this thing built and shipped, and all I succeeded to create was a very furry statue. Wouldn't budge. Anywhoooo, I couldn't take it so I went to the kitchen and opened a beer, and lo and behold, I heard weird squeaking, like Norman Bates' Mom's wheel chair. Turn around, and there was my boy. Walked through 3 rooms for a sip o' the good stuff! He lived another year and a half after that.
Then one morning, I just knew. He put his head on my chest and gave a big sigh. And I KNEW! I called my Sis in a panic to get over my house. She had to leave work, so I knew it would be like half an hour before she got there. So I propped him up on my lap, and looked him in the eye and said, "it's okay Chowie (crazy nickname for him) you can go now, I'll be sad, but don't worry you have been the best son a girl could have, and me and Dad, and anyone that knew you loved you. For all I know, your Dad is dead and not in Japan too, and you can hang with him up there! (moment of levity, I apologize, but it's true).
My Sister arrived and came running up the stairs and I swear on my nephew, he raised his head, and let out a big sigh of relief, and looked me in the eye, and then he was gone. I literally felt him let go. He waited. He waited so I wouldn't be alone. And now i'm crying again like a big dope because it was so goddamn beautiful, and miraculous, and devastating all at once.
And I held him and smelled him, and my Dad rushed over, and picked him up to take him to the vet to be cremated. And I have a tin of his ashes. I sprinkled some into the water at the beach near my house, then took a road trip to Oneonta and sprinkled some at Gilbert lake. And I still have a little more. About a year layer I got the tattoo of his name with a paw print on my foot. I have others, I mean jeez, tattoos and private piercings are a staple of my existence.
I was in bed for 3 weeks. And when some idiot says "over a dog?" I want to pop out their eyeballs and stomp on them, because what do they know? Yeah dude, have more kids and ruin the planet even more - to fulfill your ego or because you think it's the natural progression of marriage. Ewwwwwww yuck.
So that is the story, and I've probably ruined your day, but don't be too angry, because he was so loved until the end.
And his feet smelled like Fritos corn chips, and that makes me smile, even now.

Mike Dick, Oh, I mean Vick

I am LOVING the fact that Mike Vick didn't make it to the big show. Yes, he has the right to play, blahblahblahblah.

I wanted him to suffer a painful and bloody Joe Theisman style compound fracture, and then as he was being carried off on a stretcher, the papoose like structure flips suddenly! Oh my! He just landed on his hard to look at compound fracture, that has to sting.

I have my long deceased Black Lab's name tattooed on my foot. When he died in my arms, I wanted to go with him.

Nuff said.