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“I’m not really looking. Men just fall in your lap, you stub your toe on them. It just happens.” (Cher)
Could this rumor be true? I would be happy for her, I guess. But, she didn’t even call to tell me, which makes me doubt. In fact, she’s never even mentioned him before.
found at: SFGate.com (because SanFran knows this kind of stuff)
Cher Rep Laughs Off Rumors of Secret Vegas Wedding
Cher’s spokeswoman has blasted reports the pop star is planning to marry a younger man in a secret Las Vegas ceremony, calling the wedding rumors “crazy.”
The National Enquirer claimed on Wednesday that the 62-year-old singer will wed 38-year-old Tim Medvetz.
The report alleged Medvetz — who makes his living customizing expensive motorcycles — has sign a prenuptial agreement to protect Cher’s reported $600 million fortune.
But Cher’s representative Liz Rosenberg has dismissed the reports, insisting: “She’s not even in Vegas right now. She won’t be back in Vegas until August,” adding that the star is on hiatus from the show she’s headlining in the city.
Laughing off the rumors, Rosenberg added: “Cher promised me if she ever got married again, I could be the flower girl.”
Cher has been married twice — first in 1964 to Sonny Bono, and again in 1975 to The Allman Brothers’ Gregg Allman.
In recent interviews she has described her desire to walk down the aisle once again, saying, “The right man adds something to your life. I’m looking for someone who can make me laugh, who I think is cute and who wants to go do stupid things still.”
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I was correct in my prediction that Violet would be totally grossed out by the last paragraph of my last post. And so, for the record, today I am wearing freshly laundered underwear… right side out to boot.
After reading Sinclair’s post on undies last week, I went out this weekend and bought myself a handful of new boxer shorts and briefs. Out of my new batch, I was most excited about these new briefs in particular. They are both very cute and Violet approved (wink). So just now, I was off to see the whizzer and I noticed that the cute little lines in the band that sealed the deal (to purchase them) weren’t there. Which caused an off guard milimoment of panic.
Full knowing that there were other people in other stalls, I involuntarily spouted, “What the…?” which probably made them just as curious as uncomfortable. I too was uncomfortable with the little outburst but have a plethora of past experiences that allowed me to immediately realize that attempting to explain this would, in no way, by no means, make things better. I started tugging at them only to catch a glimpse of those cute little lines in the band that made me buy them in the first place facing my bod.
Oops. Next time.
Or! I can wear them the right way tomorrow – you know that ol’ trick: flip ‘em around n’ call ‘em brand new. It doesn’t rhyme but it does work. (I can promise you that Violet is sooo grossed out right now).
Violet read my last post and, via the wonderful world of g-chat
has just informed me that, “It wasn’t a pig that the Seal head butted!
It was a porcelain piglette!”
And, if you are curious at all, there is high probability that
your next question is the same as mine was: “How on god’s bountiful
green earth could you tell that this pig was a baby?”
Violet answered immediately: “Because of its face”
Now if you’ve made it this far, you, right along side me, might have
a new set of fair questions. One in particular might be why she
spelled it ‘piglette’. I didn’t ask. This is just one of those
moments- the kind you don’t mess with.
I’ve learned that when you question something so cute it hurts in that tingly- I-need-to-squeeze-something-or-scream-or-jump-up-and-down-until-I-am- totally-exhausted way, that particular cute might then get corrected, never to be seen or heard from again. So, when it comes to things like piglettes, I let them be.
My best guess is that “piglette” is the Frenglish spelling of a baby
pig, which happens with Violet every once in a while. Being fluent in
both English and French is extremely sexy but it can trip a girl up
every now and again. I’ve noticed that a side effect to speaking
French is the urge to gratuitously add letters to the spelling of
things. And, to keep things interesting, the French word for piglet is
‘porcelet’ which to me sounds like what should be the English word for
a porcelain piglette.
Unfortunately for this post, the title is the climax. Meaning, the story itself is simply a decrescendo(ed) explanation of the title and will most likely not top your interest any further than wherever your interest was by the time you got to the word ‘pig’. A bit like the Metamorphosis in that way, I guess. The idea, I mean. I’m not comparing myself to Kafka, just the idea of the story’s climax being right up front like that. But this isn’t like that as far as anything else goes. And the peak in the Metamorphosis was the first sentence and not the title. So, not like the Metamorphosis, really.
I’m sure comparing anything to a Kafka story is a kiss of death for any writer and writing medium, like, “I guess I look a little like Brad Pitt but…” even though I’m not comparing myself to Kafka (or Pitt) at all. It’s just that as soon as I wrote the title (which I did first) this post was destine to go downhill… but is not to say that the Metamorphosis goes downhill, it just peaks in its first sentence and sort of descends from there– which is brilliant and near impossible to do with a great story. And that is not me saying that I just did the impossible or have a great story. I’m just saying that This Post = title is the best part : Metamorphosis = first sentence is the most exciting part. That is all I’m saying.
So, there is this one route in particular that we tend to walk the Seal. And, for what was an unknown reason until a moment later, the Seal would tend to go a little nuts every time we’d go by this one particular house on this one particular route. She would start to pull on the leash and get a bit too anxious and jumpy. We have both noticed this and decided that there must be a pesky cat lurking that we haven’t noticed or a family of taunting squirrels in a tree that we haven’t seen. But we know that as we get close to that house we need to hold the leash a little tighter.
This morning, while Violet and the Seal went for their walk, Violet’s sleepy brain forgot to tighten the reins as they got close to that particular house. All of a sudden, Seal started to pull so fiercely and suddenly that Violet had no choice but to follow or let go.
While trying to pull back on the Seal, she saw no cats and no squirrels and had no idea what she and the Seal were lunging towards. The Seal continued to pull and drag Violet behind her as she charged forward, full force, until, very unexpectedly, the Seal rammed her head, at top speed, into the head of a life-sized, porcelain pig.
Violet said that it all happened so fast that she was terribly confused but that she also found her situation very amusing. First, she looked around to make sure that no one had seen our dog ram her head into this pig. Second, she made sure the pig was ok, which it was somehow. Then, they just continued on their walk, like they do, like they will. The Seal walked calm and proud, as if the war was finally over.
I have to say, even though all I did was find this, I’m feeling quite proud of myself today.
Happy Friday-eve, Happy Sophia day. Enjoy.
I’m down today with a cold or a flu or something. I called in sick to work and didn’t get out of bed until almost noon. When I checked my email I saw that I had several messages from different friends, all letting me know the same thing: Estelle Getty, who played Sophia Petrillo on one of the best shows ever, passed away today.
Anyone who knows me knows how much I love those girls. And I mean love, like Cher-love, the Golden Girls (this sort of declaration is not used, and should not be taken, lightly). The theme music, the lanai, old ladies eating cheesecake in the middle of the night together in crazy nightgowns, Sophia’s stories, Blanche’s southern accent, their utter loyalty to each other – there’s just something very nostalgic about it for me. Comforting. Familiar.
And the show was really progressive. There are episodes focusing on cross-dressing (yes, the terminology is outdated… but the concept of separating queer from being gay was addressed); a two part episode on Chronic Fatigue syndrome, which, at the time, was a myth of a disease; Blanche’s poly sexual character as a whole; Dorothy’s constant rejection of the idea that female = feminine; ageism; disability; sexual discrimination/ harassment; gender equality… and the list goes on and on.
Anyway, the show is wonderful for a million reasons and I’m sad to have lost one of my girls.
So, I spent today sneezing, sipping hot soup, eating toast, fading in and out of sleep, and watching a marathon of Golden Girls, like I do, like I will.
Goodbye, Estelle. And thank you.
(Here are some ‘best of Sophia’ moments. The music in the background might be a little annoying, but the clips are great- enjoy)
The event: All of a sudden Violet and I start jumping around, dropping
dog treats all over the ground while squealing “Treat Party! Treat
party! Treeeeeat party!!!” and get the Seal as worked up and happy and
excited as possible.
The reason: Supposedly if she is ever in a life threatening situation,
like bolting into the street to chase a squirrel with a semi coming at
her, we can yell “!!Treeeeeat Partyyyy!!” and she will stop whatever
she is doing and coming running back to us.
the main point.
When Violet first explained this whole thing to me I was extremely
resistant, as in no way, like I usually am with anything new that I
don’t understand or that will entail me acting like a moron. But she put
her foot down and said that we HAD to do this.
of dog treats, walked into the living room and started to hop and wale
and, in these unnaturally high pitched voices, began to
screech, “Treeeeat Party! Treeeeat Party! Treeeeat Party!”
Seal came running into the room and was so unbelievably ecstatic while
gobbling up her treats, hopping around with us and wagging her tail so
hard that she almost knocked herself over I started laughing that
laugh where you aren’t quite sure if you’re laughing or crying – or
some sort of combination.
My life at 7:45 a.m. on a Wedensday: Two girls and a Seal dog, all three of us, in our livingroom, hopping around chanting nonsense like we are totally crazy and out of control. It was awesome.
I have no idea what the Seal’s first two years of life were like but I
am convinced that if, at the end of her life, she wrote down her top ten
favorite moments, that her first !!Treat Party!! would probably make
I’m willing to bet the same for me.
*my dog’s blog name, ‘Dog’, just happens to be the same as one of my
favorite blog’s dog’s names, also Dog. And so, to keep some
distinction within these fabulous queer blogs, from here on out, my
dog, the artist formally known as ‘Dog’, will now be referred to as the
Seal (which is what Violet and I call her anyway, because that is what she looks like in the water and when she’s sleeping).
My new thing is to download the most recent This American Life onto my IPod and listen to it during my commutes to and from work. This new trend started because 1. I am sick of every single song I own and 2. It’s just a great show and the stories make my ride to work so very enjoyable.
So, last week’s show was titled “A Little Bit of Knowledge” and the theme was how people (everyone, at some point) will talk like experts about things they don’t know much, if anything about. The prologue covers several people’s stories of what and how they found out too late in life that they had false information about something they had been spouting about all of their lives.
Listening to this show this morning had me laughing hard enough to look like that crazy person on the bus and have mentioned it to several people since – who then offered up their own examples, which have been hilarious.
Mine you ask? Two have come to mind today:
1. When I was little my dad told me that the foam in the ocean was whale pee and it seemed more than believable at the time and so I never questioned this until my early twenties, while at the beach, running away from a very foamy wave, yelling to my friends ”AAAAH, WATCH OUT FOR THE WHALE PEE!”
2. Until two years ago I thought it was “for all intensive purposes” (rather than intents and purposes)
Two of the best I’ve heard so far today:
“Flash in the pants” (instead of pan, of course)
“Cufflings” (as in little baby cuffs, instead of cuff links)
Now it’s your turn.
This last weekend with my mom and my grandma in town, and then the unexpected guest(s), Violet’s brother and eventually his girlfriend too, went well. Good actually. Nice. And at times, fun. And, in a general sense, I feel a little closer to my grandma in ways. She was, as expected, difficult at times, but nothing major, nothing too over the top.
I watched my mom deal with her during those few moments when she was being a PIA (pain in ass) and I watched my mom be remarkably patient. I could tell that she was annoyed but she was so flawless in remaining calm and kind that I realized I had always just assumed this was a natural characteristic of my mom, when in fact her sincere, “It’s ok, no problem” is an intentionally practiced skill-turned talent. I observed (and admired) this in hopes of learning something, as patience is not free and my mom has always been bottomless.
After I dropped the two of them off at the train station my mind started to replay the last few days. I started to realize how much I don’t know about my grandma – and want to- and probably never will. There were moments where I wondered if she was apologizing for what she had said the weekend before, in her own way – or if she had just moved on and softened up that quickly? I couldn’t stop wondering about a lot.
I’ve talked to my mom about this before, and I wonder if my grandma would have been/ would be a lesbian if that was an ‘option’ for her? Despite several husbands, a few of us were never convinced. Is she a feminist? Has she ever had an orgasm? Has she ever kissed another woman? I started to see her as a whole person who has had a really big life… and I don’t know any of the internal stuff to ANY of it. I want to know but I have no idea how to know. I just can’t see her opening up that way and I also can’t see myself asking my grandma if she’s ever gotten off.
She was born in West Virginia and now in her 70′s, has ended up a fairly well off, twice widowed, retired woman living in Hawaii. How in the world did that happen? Did she MAKE that life happen or did it just go that way? She was in love with my mom’s dad, but ever again? I’m not sure. I’m not sure if she’s sure. I’m not sure that mattered.
I’m not sure how she came to think the way she does about anything. Is she a republican because of her money? Or does she really believe it that political philosophy? Does she really think gay people shouldn’t marry? Or is that just an unchecked opinion? What in the world does she really believe in? What in the world really matters to her? I don’t know. And I don’t know if I ever will.
On Saturday, while walking through Pike Place Market, my grandma asked a woman to take our picture, “This is going to be my Christmas card so sunglasses off and smile” she said to mom and me through her already ready camera smile.
The woman held the camera to her face and asked, “How do y’all know each other anyway?”
My grandma responded, “We’re three generation right here, out on the town together.” And it was right then, arm in arm in arm, that I realized I was in some pretty incredible company.