NOT SO PLASTIK?...FANTASTIK!

the very moment we take that slip and slide ride down the birth canal to be

greeted by all those annoyingly thunderous goo's and gushes in every nook and cranny from every granny Aiken's to the uncle Orlean's around the planet...we are told we're gett'n old and we as a society will go to whatever extremes to cling onto the past at any and all costs...regardless of the ramifications...unfortunately there is no magic wand nor fountains of youthful elixirs...

that will help turn back time...

to stop yer unfortunate age'n process rott'n corpse from become'n just a mere moment in someone's memory...

BUTT...there are options!

ever since i was a traumatized teenaged terror in a town full of total uptight

tit slinge'n fly trappers and pabst blue ribbon beer guzzle'n balance'n acts that frequented Roy's Little Nashville Bar kitty corner from the block i used to live on in some simple and small minded MN town...i made it my pre-unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe's life's mission not to tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen just to pour myself a cup of some damn ambition

though there have been many a queens thru-out the distance of time...

years before MADONNA would become the queen of the dance floor...

BOY was the queen of london...

and FREDDY was the QUEEN of  rock-n-roll...

however...the only queen i truly got to personally know on a one to one

weekly basis...the queen of all clays who was my go-to to give a backhand sammich to father time while clean'n out my pores in that under stated porcelain white tube topped off with her emerald green crown was QUEEN HELENE (however fuck that 33% more market'n scheme cuz it NEVER existed...it was just full of air)

of course this was mainly due to the barrage of magazine market'n and tv

jingles that traumatized our teenage insecurities since we were already the leader of our own personally destructive pity parade of our own personally awkward looks and then there was that one episode of Phil Donahue on skin cancer that didn't help matters

i can remember some years later when i was forced out on my very own 

and started out my career as a beauty school drop-out...my all time fav-o-rit teacher Anna Overland tell'n the class when it came to skin care to always moisturize...moisturize...moisturize then to switch up yer moisturizer every 3 months so yer skin would not get used to a routine much like a gym trainer would tell their client to switch up their work-outs every 3 months so their muscles won't plateau and i've pretty much stuck to that routine weekly fer the past 35+ years...though QUEEN HELENE and me have parted ways years ago thanx to technology

though i would be the worlds worst crack addict...just fer the simple fact  

that i hate needles...if i happen to notice parts of me crack'n as i climbed the ladder of life...i'd search out fer the latest and greatest affordable lotions to help keep father time from tap dance'n around me fer yet another year and fer the most part since i wasn't bake'n like bacon every summer since the 80's...eat'n a pretty clean lifestyle (outside of the occasional dirty throat plunger now and then) and work'n out off and on routinely...i've managed to fool the fools who thought i was a fool fer practice'n this lifestyle and now foolishly they wish they'd had practiced my foolery

however...don't confuse that with me degrade'n yer groom'n habits or choices in life...we ALL make them and we ALL must life by them...i'm not impressed if you think i'm not 50 or if you think i look 150 nor do i care if you think i've had any work done...i own it if i did..I AM in my 50+ check mark box of life now and still more fuck'n fabuless-than-the-goin-rate!

if yer insecurely comfortable use'n yer body as some experimental pin 

 cushion fer the latest botulistic jab putt'n yerself in debt just to make that perfect selfie that'll be ferever lost amongst the garbage piles of social media by next week...i say go fer it...we live in an alternate universe these days and anyways with the millions of downloadable beauty apps available at our finger prints we can all look like a fetus in a wig if we really want to...but don't wig out if you get called out in person...society has conditioned us to think that after the age of 20...florescent light'n IS NOT yer friend...after 30 back light'n IS NOT yer friend...after 40 overhead light'n IS NOT yer friend and once yer in yer golden age you outta just turn off the damn lights all together!

so one afternoon as i was hop scotch'n between all the diabetic paraders 

and fantastic sam hair disasters at some random eye sore mall while wait'n to get financially raped by yet another dipshitt'n dip stick’n mechanic...this adorably confused middle easternish Ariana fanniccino Grande thing stalk'n walkers outside some over priced skin care treatment enclosure try'n desperately to corral them inside had reluctantly put me under his spell by batt'n his butterfly lashes and give'n me a free sample of jack-off hand cream to get me inside to purchase some over priced delusional concoction to turn back time so of course i couldn't resist his ming ring and got all Dale Arden on his bubblicious A double snakes

now flattery at any age is always an ego booster fer anyone regardless

if you know they're lie'n thru their yellow stained meth teeth or not and trust me...he was spread'n it like a hooker would their legs fer a mink and a mansion and once inside his web of deception he pulled out a "new innovative cream" that says will help cure me of my crows feet...

ummmmm excuse...why Blanche...have you gone blind?

now even though my ego needs no booster seat....my ego also needs no 

crows feet kill'n cream since...well...i fortunately have no crow's feet to kill at the present time 

however when the times comes…i will deal with it how i see fit!

seriously...i mean i get the script is yer bread and butter at the moment

till you go home to yer parents basement to smoke a bowl and o.d. on a bag of stale jalapeño dorito's you found stuffed between yer couch cushions then check how many followers you got on yer latest tacky tiktok post and if Charli D'Amelio commented on it at all...but gurrrrrrrl PUHLEEZ...you think i'm SHOOK by suggest'n i need yer shitty over priced syrup sludge to smooth out my face?

i have not and DO NOT marinate in Ernest Borgnine beauty crème once a week fer the past 35 years to look this acceptable

when i finally find a crow leave'n their foot prints in my face i'll deal with it

not cuz society beats me down to put myself in financial ruin...think about it kittens...not everyone can age gracefully...some never get to age at all while some age with absolute grace while others are just full of demented DNA disgrace 

however...that's their choice to live with it so who am i to judge judy them

so with that in mind...GET OFF MY DRESS!

CALCULATE'N THE COST!

picture it kittens...it's 1984 and Miss Ciccone was the shit...sitt'n at #2

on the charts profusely proclaim'n "some boys kiss me...some boys hug me...i think they're ok...if they don't give me proper credit i just walk away"

it's not all that uncommon fer real common folk down on their luck or not

to expect to be pampered like a princess in exchange fer lower'n their standards along with their dignity just so they can avoid have'n to tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen...pour'n themselves a cup of ambition...yawn'n stretch'n try'na come to life

i mean who out there doesn't hate deal'n with the fuck'n rush hour and road closures on a daily basis?

and fer those point'n their fingers at those who desperately wanna know how to marry a millionaire...well they're just lie'n thru their jean nate' after bath body splash!

think about it fer a minute...we're all taught at an early age to tap dance

like a trained trollop in front of our gastric bypassed grand parents or our arthritic aunts and uncles every time they pop in fer a visit in hopes to earn some monetary affection in the form of a small gift or plain old cold hard cash even when it's not yer birthday

i outta know...i worked an easy 5 spot outta my aunt and soon to be uncle

separately on the same day at 9 years old in 1980 when they came to visit on the farm so i could get a lift to Kresge's store in downtown Winona just to be the princess lay'n between a Solo and Skywalker sammich!

i myself never gave it a second thought though i thought fer one second

what my life would've been like if i had an unlimited expense account at someone else's expense? then i remembered as i dug into the archives of the hippocampus trunk of my brain one lazy afternoon with a couple of stalkers while sipp'n on a spirits to lift my own spirits at a tacky tiki bar...i almost had!

the 1st time was in my very late early 20's when i became absofuckinlutely

addicted to the free phone lines when i spotted them in the back pages of the weekly rag i would read on my lunch break much to Peetrinella's giddy displeasure…well this one particular caller who i'd give'n my personal digits to desperately wanted to set up an afternoon delights of sorts...tittilate'n my thoughts with untold treasures i thought i would never receive in my lifetime at the time 

proclaim'n he could shower upon me a new car...a condo…a closet full of clothes...an endless atm machine…

and a multitude of european escapades over any rainbow i desired...

and the cherry on top of this salacious sundae was that i could personally pick from his bevvy of beefy bodied builders that built fer his construction company to meet all my rectal rendezvous needs in return to ONLY hold his hand in public...it all seemed like a simple request i simply couldn't pass up!

well...once the date was set...he politely asked me if i wanted anything

to drink of which diet coke was my heroin at the time and it was a particularly parch'n day so my wish would come true i was told...unfortunately...as i waited gleefully under the tree shadow outside my apartment build'n as not to burn my sensitive lily white flesh desperately hope'n that some diet coke "daddy warbucks" would soon be seen on the horizon...

unfortunately my dreams became shattered when i noticed some wart hog in a wind breaker carry'n a 20 once bottle of my thirst quench'n drug and as thirsty as i was that day i could not deal with my dungarees and my dignity on his damn floor like a callous calculated whore d’oeuvre

it would be 20 years later that i found out by trade'n war stories with my X 

bf's mom...that said wart hog was a married man who had passed away and that his wife had actually given a cool 5mill to her late meal ticket's "hand holder" in another state that she was well aware of as he had bequeathed his pop tart my promised lifestyle in his will if i'd only hold his blood sausaged phalanges!

BUTT wait...there's more

when the age of the dot coms started to burst at the seams...it seemed

only appropriate since i was now in arms length of my 30's to reevaluate my value and since Willy Wonka was the only sugar daddy that i'd ever known...i thought i'd experiment and expand my horizons and found myself fill'n out a profile as a joke instigated by a friend to fill my "sweet tooth" curiosity...never believe'n fer a cotton candy minute that the site was actually real let alone ever get a response...however a week later i did receive a message from some confectionary cash cow in a dusty grey mens warehouse bogo suit and a jazzy pink tie

i replied back with my new cell number at the time and soon i would

receive a call from some maxi pad invite'n me to my interested parties hotel fer a formal interview...i thought what in the  shit is this? i've interviewed fer many jobs but never fer ones beginn'n with blow! i of course bothered not to apply to their retarded request fer some inquisition acquisition

it would be almost 10 years later before i once again found myself at

the cash crossroads cross'n the road on a chilly nite before christmas to meet up with some money bags who tracked me down thru a facebook search with a private message that he was come'n to town fer biz and thought i was "adorable" (ummm...his words...NOT MINE!) 

my 1st instinct i thought before decide'n to accept his request to chat was

hmmm...i haven't been called adorable since one of my grade school teachers in the 80's had me stay after school to work on a paper machete project of Kermit the frog and Miss Piggy fer some valentines contest on the radio that she wanted to enter where she would eventually go on to take full credit fer my hard work and win herself a Maytag washer/dryer combo who told me how adorable i was and had the most beautiful bedroom brown eyes (true story) HEY! i didn't know if she was tell'n me the truth or not but the truth is i didn't really care...flattery will get you everywhere! then i thought...HOLD UP! this was my profile pic i had up at the time...

so was he tell'n me that he was some sorta pervie who wanted to manage me as one of his latest milk carton models?

suffice it to say...i decided to throw caution to the wind and leave the last

year of my 30's dignity at the doorsteps since he tried ease'n my cautious mind by sweeten'n the pot and offer'n me a pair of teardrop ruby earrings and what gurl can say no to that i ask you?

Madonna's 2nd X hubby's movie had just been released at this particular 

space in time and mentioned he wanted to take me to it after a fancy dinner at some spendy downtown eatery where you can't even super size yer fries so i knew this guy meant business therefore i threw on my best pressed lime green pedal pushers and topped them off with a snazzy sangria dyed blouse (compliments of some cuntessa at the christmas party fer work the nite before) then hopped on the #6 after doin a #2 

he texted me his room number and said he'd have the door ajar when i arrived and to just walk right on in...the only thing that went thru my mind

on the bus ride to my lottery ticket...i mean date...was that i hope this Bruce Willisey/Richard Gere-ish looker wasn't to pushy when it came to my privates...however as i exited the bus and the elevator doors closed lift'n my up to his room i thought who am i kidd'n...i'm no spring chicken...

my eggs have long been hatched and i'll most likely never get this offer again since my 4th decade was right around the corner plus he would be shocked as shit to finally meet the unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of their own universe in person so i threw all my moralistic endeavors down the elevator shaft and walked thru his door...unfortunately i would be the one who was shocked as shit cuz my money bragg'n Bruce Willisey/Richard Gere-ish guru

looked more like tv's polident pariah Ernest Borgnine lean'n back in bed with his head tilted to recreate the look that he looked like in his pic he sent me...that was take'n like over 200 years ago i swear!

i never liked fish'n as a past time however this was the 1st time i was bein'

totally fuck'n cat fished and he was ready to mount me at any minute...i mean why not? i ain't bragg'n (that much) nevertheless i was a total catch fer this fossilized fisherman do you understand me?

i figered i had 2 options at this point...i could either make him feel like

a geriatric genie that needed to be put back in his bottle...give'n a suppository after his lime jell-o and tucked into bed or stand my ground and put back on my purity shield panties i had subsequently stuffed in my blazer on the way to his room (hey i'm an optimistic opportunist...don't be some judgemental judy) 

turns out my spirits were up while sipp'n on the spirits with him durin' our

dinner...the movie was just the perfect chaperone i needed to keep him from clutch'n my crotch and as the even'n came to a close luckily my clothes would never end up as a puddle in the middle of his hotel floor though he wanted to see me the next nite to give me somethin' fer xmas unfortunately i wasn't available since i was celebrate'n it with my aunt Ellen but assured him the nite after i would deck his halls

it would be his last nite in town so he laid out all his cards on the table

the morn'n i arrived back to his room once again and he proceeded to tell me how he owned some chemical plant in some california city and that he was worth millions and that his last arm candy who apparently looked very similar to me was given $150g's as a severance package when they ended their relationship after 2 years...stunned i contemplated his somewhat generous offer then said "you think i'm only worth $150,000?" 

well i would ultimately counter offer him before i put back on my sunglasses and walked myself out the door!

flash forward to my current state of distress and the mess i'm in...hunt'n 

fer work durin' this damn panic pandemic still after gett'n screwed over by some snaky oil paint'n salesman and i received this very message in my insta account recently...SHIT! now what the fuck do i do?

eh! i'm done chase'n after that damn dream...my odds are probably better pick'n my own balls!

now GET OFF MY DRESS!