A FOREIGN AFFAIR

picture it kittens...the year was 1995 and my all time fav-o-rit foreign flick

at the time was released "MURIEL'S WEDDING" starr'n TONI COLLETTE as the family outcast who yearned fer a bigger better life fer herself with a new name and a new location from her small minded town (which was an all too familiar theme with me since it paralleled my own life at the time)

ANNIE LENNOX was tell'n us how she had "NO MORE I LOVE YOU'S" to give out anymore

and i saved up for a full year work'n 4 jobs around the clock from 5:30 am at the Hilton to Northwest Athletic onto Tidal Wave before end'n my shift at Bruegger's Bagels by 10:30 pm just so i could  jet set off on my own fer the very 1st time to my dream destination across the pond and begin my life long love affair with the likes of Big Ben... 

of course i had high hopes of runn'n into BOY GEORGE somewhere on the streets of London as well...why not!

after 3 anxiety riddled days bein' held as a hostile hostage in my palatial

room at the Conrad Hilton along the Thames thanx to no cell phone service at the time (well cuz i had no cell phone) and the queen ignore’n my incessant phone calls to let me crash at Balmoral fer the next 2 week to save my credit card from a coronary cuz she was deal’n with Diana’s mechanic at the time…

binge'n on british mtv countdowns and thee most absurdly hysterical comedy series about 2 boozy broads and the House of Lacroix…

stare'n forlornly out the window at the park'n lot down below from time to time til i finally had my CHER moment and checked myself into a hostel 5 miles away

unfortunately i had checked out without check'n all my belong'ns and left

behind my cherished 90210 hearthrobber Brandon Walsh tee that i bought specifically to wear on my vaca...before bunk'n with 3 middle easterner chums in basically a large closet with 4 cots in each corner and a miniature sink against the wall...they were in London study'n english with only one of them speak'n barely there broken english to me (who knows...maybe the other 3 could'a been fake'n it like my feel'ns fer gazpacho and pickled pork rinds) in either case...

while they were in school i trotted around the cobbled streets skipp'n the usual 1st timer's tourist traps and instead discover'n all the back roads and by-ways...nooks and crannies...chumm'n it up with the local drunk dames

til one afternoon i met this very frenched fry named Raphael at a local 

pub on one of my afternoon excursions who had me at "ellu" with his bedroom blue eyes and his very french savior flare'...i ended up spend'n most of the day and nite with him...he had shown me around the city to all the hidden hot spots til we ended up back at his flat (that's british fer apartment kittens) and after a few shots of chilled absinthe along with some brie on a baked slice of brioche…he showed off his "BIG BEN" and i...

and as dawn broke…my french connection so eloquently whispered to me "it's Raphael's sleep time...you will go now!" (and that is a direct quote) so i managed to figer out my way back to my hostel which didn’t make me hostile in the slightest as i felt i had lived there in a previous life and knew exactly my way around the city without any further uncomfortable incidents  

the follow'n nite i ended up at The RAW Club after find'n a flyer that said 

BOY GEORGE was goin to be there...so of course you know i was hyperventilate'n like a hyena all day cuz i had waited since 1982 fer this moment and after 3 hours that nite at the club with no BOY in sight...i was ready to leave devastated after i asked the bartender when BOY would be perform'n to which he replied "no mate...BOY's only DJ'n tonite" so of course my world shattered as i sucked down my shitty warm guinness and headed fer the front door until i noticed a large hat float'n thru the sea of mollied mary's on the dancefloor claw'n at the hat fer their attention...

til the hat turned around and vehemently shouted "FUCK OFF...I'M WURK'N!" it was BOY fuck'n GEORGE who i would indiscriminately dance next to him perched in the DJ booth fer most of his shift until on one of his musical breaks where he leaned in close to me and asked where i was from to which i replied excitedly "Minneapolis" to which he replied "Oh...i've bean thur before...it's a bit cold it'int it?" (i didn't have the heart to tell him i was the one who threw up all over his feet when he was there last perform'n at First Avenue)

on my last nite after 2 weeks on my own in London...i popped into some 

seedy underground club that i was utterly unaware was a BDSM/M&M sorta dance club...with dark black walls wrapped in chain link fence and red halogen lights indiscriminately litter'n the ceil'n...as i made my way thru the dingy leather clad crowd slowly sipp'n on my only bottle of miller lite elephant piss...i was sad to see my european vaca was unfortunately come'n to an end so as i headed to the loo (that's british fer bathroom kittens) a figure had emerged from out of the shadows to ask fer my name...

turns out his name was Neal and he was on his way out as well so we exchanged a few more pleasantries at the stalls til he asked me to accompany him back to his friends place which was right around the corner…he said i could stay over since his friend was spend'n the weekend in Provence...i thought EH! why not!

well if you ever been to London unlike myself at the time...i learned that

nothing is just right around the corner since most of the streets were in circles that seemed to never end and after roughly 20 minutes into our midnite walk i started to really think maybe i was on the guest list fer a descendant of Jack the Ripper

by the time we finally reached his friends flat 45 minutes later i had felt a

bit more at ease with Neal until he unlocked the front door to his mate's flat and all we both could hear was a loud and passionate "oh oui baise moi plus fort" echo'n down the long hallway (you can do yer own translation work there kittens) so i simply said "lemme guess...yer friend ain't in Provence?" needless to say...Neal was the perfect gentlemen that even'n as we both crashed on his friends unpolished hard wood floor as neither of us polished off ours and ended up bein great friends who would let me crash at his place in Muswell Hill in the suburbs of London fer the next 5 times i visited...exchange'n xmas cards up until 2005 fer some reason...oh how i miss London

BUTT anyways...

after sett'n up my very merry jingle jangles thru-out my humble lil shitbox

along with a candle opera represent’n my ghosts of fabulous past present and future encounters...i reminisced about my obsessional love affair into the foreign film genre…

when i seen my 1st foreign movie poster plastered all over the tiled walls of the London Underground which was “MURIEL’S WEDDING” and though that movie was filmed down unda…i started to rekindle about my many times cross'n the pond many moons ago which fer 4 of them were durin' the holiglazed season and though i only expanded my horizons outside of London once...

to see the 2nd incarnation of BANANARAMA open fer BELINDA CARLISLE who opened fer CULTURE CLUB down by the sea in Brighton in '98…i decided to marinate my love affair with the United Kingdom once again by visit'n outside the confines of BIG BEN's backyard via a mini movie marathon last week start'n with the UK's answer to Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger's love affair of 2005... 

with 2017's "GOD'S OWN COUNTRY" starr'n european heart throbbers JOSH O'CONNOR and ALEC SECAREANU set roughly 4 hours north of London in the town of Yorkshire and though i loved "BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN" fer it's scenery and storyline...just add a foreign accent to it and my knees pads instantly go weak

next up was filmed mostly around Hastings, East Sussex that is a very 

dark thriller from 2017 starr'n PAUL MCGANN and SEAN TEAL as 2 non heterosexual biscuit biters who pay the price fer bait'n a bigoted CASPER crusade'n owner of a modest country inn only to find misconception...mayhem and murder is on the menu in "B&B"

in order to lighten the mood...i stumbled across the movie "CONNECT"

from 2019 only cuz of the stunn'n scottish star all of 5'7 inches tall KEVIN GUTHRIE on the poster who deeply struggles with deep despair and a voice that haunts him no matter where he goes

and just so you don't think that my list is all about beards and ball sacs...

if yer a merry maxi padder...yer either gonna feel totally empowered or absolutely terrified by this 2022 british folk-arty horror flick "MEN" starr'n JESSIE BUCKLEY as a widowed women who decides to take a holiday in the countryside after her hubby passes...only to be terrified and tormented by the local nut scratchers

last up i finished off with 2019's "THE DIG" filmed in the irish countryside

starr'n beefy manwich MOE DUNFORD as RONAN CALLAHAN (which is all so gravy train whichever name he wants to go by) anywho'zll'ding...RONAN gets released from prison after 15 years fer the murder of Niamh that he can't remember commit'n and her father becomes obsessed with find'n her body on his land where he believes it's buried so RONAN decides to help out to prove his innocence until he goes on a bender one nite out in hopes it'll jar his memory as to the events of that fateful nite unfold

well there ya have it...my picks fer a lil european vacation from all the tired

sappy crappy kringy kringley lifetime holiglazed flicks out there...now GET OFF MY DRESS!

LOST IN TRANSATLANTICLATION

picture it kittens...it's the summer of 1981 and Miss Clariol shade #86 ultra burnt out...the one hitter wonder KIM KARNES was fly'n up the charts

with her melodic tribute to the silver screen goddess that sounded like she’d been gargle’n on lighter fluid in the studio

"BETTE DAVIS EYES"

Harrison Ford had turned in his growl'n sidekick and the millenium falcon

steal'n the big screen receipts as the treasure hunt'n daddy in a weathered leathered hat and match'n whip...search'n the nazi infested desert fer the golden box of lost souls in "THE RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK"

while George Jefferson and Helen Willis were move'n on up in the wildly

popular pre-BLM series "THE JEFFESON'S" on the small screen

and i was absolutely glued to the tv watch'n the royal wedd'n at my friend

Pat Cudahay's farm down the road from our farm on wednesday july 29th...as the pre-unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe...at the tender and supple age of 10...starr'n the beautifully enchant’n Princess Diana Spencer and the future follically fuck’d Prince Charles of Wales...absolutely in awe of not only Princess Diana's insane beauty and an even insaner train...but cuz it was take'n place in a land far far away that i had never heard of but desperately knew i wanted to go to someday so i could play with her tiara and tantrums

well...roughly 13 years would pass and by 1995...i would take that plunge

all by myself  by save'n up a boat load of benajamins from sell'n pencils in the park...turn'n em into shiny shillin's and book'n a room along the THAMES river at the conrad hilton...where another one of my worlds of wonder filmed his number 1 ditty that played in heavy rotation back in 1983...in hopes that i would have a chance meet'n with one (but hopefully bump into both) of my royalness's

since i was work'n for the hilton in the downtown Minne-Apple area...i had scored a sweet suite at a sweet price and after unpack'n my belongs...

i roamed around my palatial palace that was 10 times bigger than any shit box that i had ever crashed at...blown away that this was all mine fer the next 10 days..and came across not 1 but 2 tidy bowls in my powder room

i was a huge fan of the britsh series "ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS" thanx to

this guy Theo that worked with me back home and on closer inspection...i noticed that the one tidy bowl had roughly a 6 inch silver arm that had extended out from the tank and then i rememebred how Edie was obsessed with japanese culture in an episode...

and that i had that one pic of BOY dressed as a geisha girl from my star hits magazine in the 80's...so i just surmised japanese influences in britsh culture extended way beyond the runways of London's Fashion Week

well kittens...bein' the beauty school drop out that i was...i had assumed 

that after push'n in the lever and notice'n the water spray out like a drink'n foundtain (ummm keep yer finger of judgement to yerself) i DID NOT slurp on it like a kitten to a saucer of milk...OH CHER NO!...i merely presumed that this was some sorta fancy japanese way to rinse off yer teeth off after brush'n them from a vomitous nite out cuz you couldn't garner enough strength to make it in an upright position by the sink

so of course the mates i met at the bar on my 3rd nite out hadda good

laugh at my expense when i told them about my fancy schmancy teeth clean'n tidy bowl...all i gotta say is...i am ever so grateful that the brits don't use urinal mints to clean their shitters!

BUTT...of course...it doesn't end there

after 4 days at the condrad and 3 that were spent clean'n my pearly whites

in the loo...i decided to run as far away as i could from my utter embarassment and checked into a smaller yet quaint lil hostel on the other side of town that i ended up share'n with 3 roomates who wouldn't teach me a thing about british culture at all...well...cuz they were there study'n it themselves from the middle east and only one of my roomies spoke barely there broken english

i recall ask'n the hot front desk chap if he could give me directions to my

dignity...i mean my fav-o-rit place on earth and once we stepped outside to flag down a taxi...he asked me point blank "you bum me a fag man?"

i was a bit take'n by surprise...was this hot-to-trot some sorta psychic? 

how in the sam H-E-double hockey stix did he know i could tie his weine in a granny knot...with my tongue?

he asked me again...and then realized i wasn't catch'n on so he made

 the universal motion to light'n one up to which i figered out was a cigarette so i cautiously replyed "hey...i can find somethin' dirtier to stick in my mouth besides the ass of a cigarette" (he slowly meandered back inside)

i would also learn over the remainder of my eye open'n british invasion

that elevators were simply lifts...bathrooms were loos...apartments were flats...chips were french fries...bein' pissed is just a call'n card to the Betty Ford clinic and CUNT is a term of endearment

OMG...ps...call it the luck of the irish (which we both are) or whatever...

i almost fergot the purpose of said vaca...though i never had a DIANA site'n...the nite before i was to head back to the states...i came across a flier at Virgin Records say'n Boy George would be at the RAW club...so of course i was higher than any heroin addicted hussie and scampered on down in my new Dexy Midnite Runner jumper and ended up dance'n next to him (by absolute shere cowinky dink of course) as he told a gaggle of rabid stalkers begg'n fer his signature on his latest single we all had purchased to "FUCK OFF...I'M WORK'N"
(and that is a direct quote)

 

as he was the DJ instead of the live entertainment and dur'in one of his mini breaks from spinn'n...he asked me where i was from and i simply replied "from Minneapolis" to which he stated "i been there before...it's a bit cold idn't it?" (another direct quote) i nearly died!

cuz i had just blew chuncks all over his shoes at First Ave the winter 

before when he was perform'n live...support'n his brillaintly penned rocky pop album "CHEAPNESS AND BEAUTY" after i got not so graciously pissed from the multiple cocktails i had consumed all cuz of the twisted mgr from the GAY 90's bar who wanted me to "slob on his nob" in the loo before he would take me backstage to meet BOY...

even though i had won the tickets and his autobiography "TAKE IT LIKE A MAN" fair and square and was told that BOY would sign them fer me backstage...oh well!

i would eventually get to fulfill my life's destiny many times over since...

meet'n BOY on numerous random occasions...so cheerio mate...
now GET OFF MY DRESS!

Rotten to the Core pt.1

we all wanna have those stylishly cultured chatter box'n bff's that can

slay you with their "attempt" at humor look fer that perfect picture to "remember when" moments when yer reminisce'n with that colostomy bag bunk'n next to you as the staff changes yer sheets fer the 3rd time that day...while serve'n ya jell-o 3 times a day at the home (even though yer posse always ended up look'n more like a gaggle of throat plunge'n whores show'n off yer oral skills)...while yer on vaca atop a hot tin rooftop...on a hot summer day in the BIG APPLE...sipp'n sangria's and choke'n down cosmos til the cows come home...or at the very least...

til the cops are called to tell you to come down...even though you know yer rights...that you were entitled to 1 phone call and a strip search...but secretly...you knew you had no one to call...except hopefully him in the morn'n...cuz you remembered to wear yer Versace knee pads

it'd been some time since i had explored some far off city on my very own

last time was the early late 90's in merry ol' England fer the 1st time...London always felt to me like my kindred home...that i was supposed to be born in...in another dimensional universe and time...though who am i kidd'n...my whole purpose of said vaca was to hunt down the BOY and make him my own personal love slave (in a non slave sorta way of course...slavery is not fun kittens...just a lil FYI) that i could call at a moments notice if my electricity was cut off...due to insufficient funds...and i need a place to crash fer the next year or 10

a month before i left my job...i seen MISS GRIFFIN was finally goin out on

 tour after the whole humorously 1st amendment debacle with her hold'n a severed head FUCK'N MASK DRIPP'N IN KETCHUP of our unfortunate mentally deranged lie'n sack of pigshit currently disgrace'n the oval orifice in DC...

i'd never been to Carnegie Hall in NY and i knew it was gonna be an EPIC take'n down so this show was one I DID NOT WANT TO MISS!!

so i booked my flight...in the process...i found out a couple days earlier was NY PRIDE...and decided to check it out fer the 1st time on my own...why not!

hotels were thru the roof this time a year...and pay'n over $800 just to...

 shit and shower was frankly not part of my piggy bank budget...it crossed my noggin to save some coins and check out a hooker hotel...but even if Miss Kitty was host'n at her brothel...i just couldn't convince myself that it'd be worth it...

after experience'n my last mistake try'n save some coins in 2003 when i was in town to see the fantastically brilliant BOY GEORGE musical "TABOO" on broadway...return'n to my "hotel" at 3 am to make a quick run down the hall to the lil gurls room...

i would be greeted by some butt ass naked break'n bad bitch on the floor...slumped over the bathtub who started shoot'n the shit with me...while shoot'n up shit in her arm...that one could assume was her din din...and offered me an offer'n...to share just a small but polite portion...wave'n me down to pop a squat next to her "hey baby...yeh all goo'...come'on in"...hey at least she's wasn't a typical selfish shooter...so i give her props fer that...but with a twitch of my nose and the snap of my phalanges...

i was outta there!

chatt'n one nite on-line to the NY mo's to let them know that my presence

would be permeate'n their city soon and to please roll out the red carpet upon my arrival...well...one particular poker suggested to me that i should go AIR BNB route...i'd save myself many coins and get a more fulfill'n experience...so i researched the link he sent me fer the next couple days til i found the perfect "piehole"...i mean host with the most rate'n

and ended up find'n the purrrrrrfect russian body builder trainer...with high scores...and trust me...his went thru the roof after read'n his profile...his daily rate was cheaper than than a cut and color at Fantastic Sam's so i booked him out fer the duration of my vacation...a full month in advance cuz i didn't wanna take a chance...only to have him cancel on me a week before i was to fly out...

luckily...i found someone within the same cut-n-color price range that had even a higher rate'n...that was a bit closer to where i wanted to plant my A double snakes...so i contacted the host immediately and ironed out plans to occupy his pad

it would almost be 24 hours before i would be whisked off to the airport...

so i popped into my pubic library (and yes that was no freudian slip...cuz if you seen the island of ritual bathers i have'ta deal with on a daily basis where i write you this inquisitive and highly informative and motivational blog after all these years...trust me...you would agree) to print out my ticket...but unfortunately couldn't find the email

i've done my fair share of charity...more than i care to count...thank CHER fer those penicillin shots though!

after a mini melt down...i recalled see'n the Delta Delta Delta can i help ya help ya help ya symbol...so i immediately contacted the airline only to find out i had bought a one way ticket to the BIG APPLE...thought i love love love NEW YORK...i had no seriously plans of not return'n back to my shit box (unless i got the right lotto numbers from the nite before)

i frantically rushed home to call my sister to order me a return ticket home

and though it was more than i wanted to pay...this was no time to pinch those pennies in my nana purse cuz i was goin to NY come hell or high water some how...so i said just book it...only to get a return call from my sis 15 minutes later...well cuz she booked me a flight from the Minne-Apple to the BIG APPLE on my return date....

after another mini meltdown...i poured myself a major metamucil martini...in a BIG GULP and all was good in the hood once again
(thanx sis)

the day had FINALLY arrived fer me to get outta dodge fer a few days...

and as always...i packed light on those heave fly days...goin thru security was easy and breezy fer a change without the proverbial gynecological exam...everything seem to be tick'n along like clockwork orange...that is...until we hit the runway gett'n ready to taxi off...and all of a sudden on the over head speaker...the captain says so patiently..."sorry folks...but we seem to have a glitch in our system...and we radio'd the the tower fer maintenance to run out here quick fer a check up before take off"

well..only a short 10 minutes would go by and i could here the engines start'n back up again... minutes later we were ready to taxi down the runway...but we only make it roughly about 100 yards or so and another announcement from the captain could be heard "again i apologize folks but we are gonna be delayed a bit longer cuz there's too many planes land'n into laguardia at the moment...we should be in the air in about 40 minutes or so...so feel free to get up and stretch"...i hesitated fer a moment but figer'd there's no point in gett'n all bent outta shape like the anal wart behind me...since my broom stick was broken...when finally took off down the runway...i thought to myself...well...it can't get any worse...

or can it?

tune in next week fer the torment'n conclusion to:

ROTTEN TO THE CORE

now GET OFF MY DRESS!