Pondering Turds at New Moon

I don't understand people who hang on to their anger like it's the only thing they can trust.

When two people are intimate friends there will be occasions of conflict and anger - sometimes big conflicts. The friends might get so angry at each other they don't hang out for a while because it's too difficult.

When I've needed space from a friend or s/he from me, I always try to understand the situation to see if the rift can be repaired. True friends are so few and far between that I can't understand tossing them away as if a new one will appear like the street car that comes along in a few minutes.

Maybe what I can't understand is someone flushing me down the toilet. In my adult life, I've only done that to one person besides Buzz Kill who I would still be married to if he didn't keep pissing me off every time he gets the chance. And that's mostly about money which is serious business. If that person weren't so intent on fucking with me, I'd still be friendly with him.

He called me a lying whore on more than one occasion and never took it back.

I didn't like it when he called me a lying whore, but I can see why he felt that way at the time. We have a friend in common who says he has a blog where he's assassinated my character from time to time. I know it's there because I ran across it one day when I googled a phrase he and I both use, but I never took the time to read it. If part of his individual process for emotional growth includes blogging about what a lying whore I am - Hell, I'm happy to help.

There is another fellow who can't stand me. Let's call him Hamilton which is nearly as pretentious as his given name. The Man from San Antone met him at film school years ago and they hang out when Mr. San Antone is in town. Hamilton is a Park Avenue Trust Fund Kid who refers to me as The Cunt from Hell just because I poured ice water into has lap at dinner a few years ago. He had been tacky and sexist all night long. First he bragged about barfing in Daryl Hannah's room at the Cannes Film Festival, then when asked what kind of girls he dated by one of our dinner companions, an African American female in her mid-twenties with an undergrad from Yale, he answered "M&A." She played along and asked "Mergers and Acquisitions?"He delivered the punch line, "Models and Actresses."

I could easily have tossed the glass of lovely red wine at my finger tips right in his face, but I decided against it because that would have stained his off-white corduroys and by rights I would have had to pay for the cleaning. Much better to toss the water instead because it would dry as if it were never there. Pouring ice water on his crotch seemed ideal because that pecker needed punishment instantaneously. The Man from San Antone then required us to swear a loyalty oath on my breasts which meant I was in the middle of Sparks Steak House with two men resting their hands on my rack like it was the Bible. A scene was not avoided. That was four or five years ago, and he's still pissed.

One of the first axioms I taught Velvet was, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." I stand by that judgement, but in my more reflective moments, I pity the fools with no sense of humor. Undoubtedly, Hamilton is a fool with no sense of humor. We can only hope his trust fund has survived the economic downturn.

I don't hold it against Hamilton that he's a dip shit. I don't even hold it against him that he calls me The Cunt From Hell. As a matter of fact, I kind of like it. Feels very powerful and proves that sometimes I'm a little wicked.

Tonight is the new moon, which means it's a good time to get rid of ideas that get in our way. Once the moon begins to wax, then we cultivate that which we want to grow.

I have to get used to the idea that if somebody thinks it's a good idea to flush you down the toilet, you may as well float on out to sea. You can't jump out a toilet in real life like Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo.


I can't imagine anyone would stay angry at Mr. Hankey - but I guess some people are most comfortable being uptight and angry, defensive and suspicious. Bummer. I'd rather have the freedom to relax and be myself with a real friend who knows I can be perfectly awful sometimes but still speaks to me - even is that friend is a turd because, like Firesign Theatre said, ". . . we're all Bozos on this bus . . . "