This is going to be a serious post. A serious post about something I feel strongly about, something I hold dear to my heart, something so important I feel the need to spread the word. I'm going to admit this something, I'm going to admit it once, and I'm going to admit it here. I own the series box set of The Golden Girls. Yes I do. I love it. I watch it. I quote it. There are so many reasons why I hold it dear. I can't do it justice, but I'm gonna give it a try. For one, in high school, I watched it every Saturday night - 7pm - with my mom before I went out. Yes of course I would get tomato faced with embarrassment upon the mention of the granny g-spot. We would laugh nervously, but it connected us. Sweet. I know. Now I throw it on to cheer me up when I'm feeling down. Sad. I know. What can I say? It cracks my shit up. Blanche: exquisite beauty, confident woman, whore inspiring (and that's better than awe). Sofia: wise, foul mouthed, gutter minded, saggy-boobed spitfire. Tell me a fucking story, Rose: dumb as a box of hair yet smart as a whip. Make that a container of Cool Whip. And of course, my rock, my gal, my Dorothy Zbornak, or as Blanche says, Dar-a-thee: sensible, smart, pragmatic. And that's just her wardrobe alone. They sure don't make 'em like that anymore (the wardrobe and the show). Well written. Timeless. Risque. Poignant. Bring that shit back on HBO, and let's see what the GG's were really up to. I want granny panties, Depends mishaps, and denturless head. I want profanity, sacrilege; true tasteless, offensive old lady hijinx. Fuck Sex and the City! I want Sex in Dade County. Trust me. Tune in. Treat yourself. Laugh. Learn. And listen to how Dar-a-thee says die-a-purr. It's often. Too many to count, and enough to base a drinking game. Okay. Enough. For now on I'll try not to get so serious here again, but just felt the need.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thank You for Being a Friend
This is going to be a serious post. A serious post about something I feel strongly about, something I hold dear to my heart, something so important I feel the need to spread the word. I'm going to admit this something, I'm going to admit it once, and I'm going to admit it here. I own the series box set of The Golden Girls. Yes I do. I love it. I watch it. I quote it. There are so many reasons why I hold it dear. I can't do it justice, but I'm gonna give it a try. For one, in high school, I watched it every Saturday night - 7pm - with my mom before I went out. Yes of course I would get tomato faced with embarrassment upon the mention of the granny g-spot. We would laugh nervously, but it connected us. Sweet. I know. Now I throw it on to cheer me up when I'm feeling down. Sad. I know. What can I say? It cracks my shit up. Blanche: exquisite beauty, confident woman, whore inspiring (and that's better than awe). Sofia: wise, foul mouthed, gutter minded, saggy-boobed spitfire. Tell me a fucking story, Rose: dumb as a box of hair yet smart as a whip. Make that a container of Cool Whip. And of course, my rock, my gal, my Dorothy Zbornak, or as Blanche says, Dar-a-thee: sensible, smart, pragmatic. And that's just her wardrobe alone. They sure don't make 'em like that anymore (the wardrobe and the show). Well written. Timeless. Risque. Poignant. Bring that shit back on HBO, and let's see what the GG's were really up to. I want granny panties, Depends mishaps, and denturless head. I want profanity, sacrilege; true tasteless, offensive old lady hijinx. Fuck Sex and the City! I want Sex in Dade County. Trust me. Tune in. Treat yourself. Laugh. Learn. And listen to how Dar-a-thee says die-a-purr. It's often. Too many to count, and enough to base a drinking game. Okay. Enough. For now on I'll try not to get so serious here again, but just felt the need.
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the saggy-boobed photo is tres bizarre. and sort of sad. i can't stop looking at it. good find.
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