Brava, Oakland

With the start of the new baseball season comes THE moment we–or at least me, have all been waiting for!!

Like the happy purr of a kitten or the loud thud when Justin Bieber eats floor, the sounds of boos and trash-can banging raining down on a squad of cheaters (who, by the way, still have never been suspended a single game for cheating) is so aurally pleasing.

That final score from that game, tho. (Although I shouldn’t throw stones, given what my team did last night. Ick.)

Even More Good News

My regular job is in massage therapy. I’ve been a state-certified MT for almost ten years (it will be ten years this summer), although I don’t know if last year counts towards experience. Then, I only worked for two-and-a-half months rubbing bodies (professionally, now!) before bitch-ass Covid shut down my industry and drove me to take up a temp job. I thought that since I did essential work, my kind would be one of the first to get the Covid vaccine. Then guidelines changed and us essential workers gotta wait (while sulking and bitching about it–oh, wait, that’s just me). Then, because I have the luck of being the last to know important things, I found out today, er, yesterday from my state massage board that they were able to have MTs be seen as healthcare providers (we’re seen as “Alternative Medical Practitioners”), thus allowing us AMPs to get the vaccine right now! Now I realize the importance of opening emails from the CAMTC. In my defense, they’re boring most of the time. 

Booking an appointment was tough at first, but, unexpectedly, my regular health care provider came through and hooked me up for an appointment next week. My mood right now: 

This will be the first time ever that I look forward to getting jabbed! 


Yaaasss Amanda

I didn’t watch the inauguration ceremonies live today because this night owl woke up late, as I always do on my days-off from work. (Blasted east coast time!) In between catching up on the inauguration stories and celebrating the birfday of Dwight Schrute, I saw headlines on Amanda Gorman, who happens to be the youngest poet to perform at an inauguration. I read her poem in full. Then I watched her recital. And my wig was snatched in the end. I heard J-Lo performed after her, but she should’ve gone home after that and continued arguing with people on social media about how legit her face and skincare products are (*snorts*), because Amanda set the bar high with that poem and recital that Maya Angelou would have approved. 

Just reading the text is not enough. Watch the video instead. Miss Amanda has this poetry geek swooning!


And it is official.

The news dropped right when I had to go to work so I know I’m the very last person on earth to celebrate this. Right now, all the congrats to Biden, to Harris, their families and friends, and to all who campaigned and voted for them. And special thanks to those who volunteered to work during this election (even the ones taking a little while counting the ballots).


Versayce And Whores, Darlin’

I’m a sucker for high-brow, award-winning entertainment. So it’s only fitting that I celebrate the anniversary of one of modern cinema’s truest gems of camp and cuntiness: Showgirls!!!!

Released twenty-five years ago today (get your whorish, doggy chow-flavored birthday cake out), I actually did not view this future Criterion Collection addition (it’s not part of the CC yet?!) until 20 years after its initial release. I know–escandalo of me. But when I watched it for the first time, I was not prepared for the onslaught of such tacky, mesmerizing divineness.

I mean, Cristal ain’t lying.  

If you’re wondering what my skill level of pole-dancing is, it’s at Nomi Malone. 

That GIF is small but the laughs from this remain MASSIVE AHAHAHAHAHA

It remains one of life’s greatest crimes in the past 25 years that while Showgirls bombed hard in theaters upon its initial release, years later we would see not one but three shit movies based on a poorly-written, shit book series that romanticizes manipulation and abuse between a rich asshole and spineless virgin chick top the box office charts. That alone proves that society further devolved from the mid-90s to the 2010s and don’t fact-check me on that! But while all those 50 Shits books and DVDs continue to collect dust at your local Goodwill, Showgirls continues to prove itself enduring. HoWood can keep churning out endless remakes, sequels, and comic book movies, and none of those flicks will have the memorability and charm of this one line:

If you’re gonna celebrate Showgirls‘ 25th birthday today and your only viewing option for it is on VH1 (assuming they started airing quality programming again), I may have to splash some champagne aka holy water on your face Cristal-style. If you take joy in scenes being skipped, badly-dubbed lines, and coverups over the nude bits that look so damn crude, it…is fitting for the movie, go and watch the VH1 version. But you’re better off with the DVD or uncut version wherever you can stream it. Also, give a listen to the soundtrack. It’s the tits and will make you wanna lick a stripper pole.

Kylie To The Rescue!


If you need some soothing eye (and ear and soul) balm after being ASSaulted by another unwanted serving of hackneyed hoochie heinies *cough*Cardi Blah and that other chick who seems to be no different than Cardi*cough*, just watch this video by thee Kylie herself and you’ll be healed! (And also craving glitter everything and your own gilded disco horse…or is it just me?) Praise be to Miss Minogue, and her return to alleviate us in these dreary AF times with her signature prescription of fun disco-pop and sparkly, colorful visuals that would make Lisa Frank jelly. Best of all, no fake asses in the video!