Material Girl

I have written before how very much I hate shopping. In my incredibly advanced years, I pretty much don’t need anything new. And yet, my correspondence with Amazon lately has just been a flurry of activity with parcels showing up almost daily. Turns out I’m an American.

I don’t know how old my original Cuisinart food processor was. 25 years? More maybe. It ground along like an absolute champ for all this time, even though it had a flimsy little plastic catch that had to be engaged for to work. As soon as I saw that little nib, I thought, “Well that’ll never last.” Instead it made it through four presidential administrations. The old girl finally just gave up the ghost, but that little plastic bit never did break off. Amazing. So I bought a new one, so very shiny I am sort of intimidated by it. “Would you mind mincing up this carrot if you’re not too busy? Or I can come back later….”

I also got some new shoes, I am simply a wild man. Some new red Converse, because in my universe you have to have red Converse, and also a pair of Vans since that’s what all the cool kids wear. I know it seems unlikely that I would be adopting the sk8r dude lifestyle, but actually I’m just too lazy to tie my shoes.

While this is not a new purchase, I want to mention it just to show how cool I think it is. Many years ago, we had a friend who, one evening, was telling us about her exasperating mother, all the while rolling her eyes like the wheels on a fucking slot machine. I have quite some experience with exasperating relatives, so I was busy being empathetic but then she mentioned, as one example of her mother’s crimes, that her mother had been the Cotton Bowl Queen.

I was floored. In the Texas of my youth, a Cotton Bowl Queen was literal royalty. She was chosen to reign over some big deal football game between the University of Texas and the University of Oklahoma. Great big beefy muscles and teeny tiny brains. I forget the details, but somehow she was gifted with this decanter set as part of her royal regalia. Our friend was totally dismissive of it, but I saw the fabulousness in it. She gave it to me and I have clutched it to my greedy little bosom ever since. I think it exudes a glamorous, Zsa Zsa Gabor style, but what really elevates it from simply dazzling to the exquisite is its magic trick.

under regular light, it’s lovely in lavender.

but under fluorescent light, boom-kazoom, It turns minty fresh green. WHAAAAAT? I’m telling you.

Lastly, my excessively talented friend Hot Foot made me these bowls as a thank you for feeding her gigantic kitty. Seriously, I think he’s a mutant. I picked him up to say hello and it was like lifting the front end of a Honda. It was very generous of her and I love these bowls. They’re groovy.

Men of the naked variety.

Meaty, and too dumb to figure out how to put on a tee shirt. Just the way I like ’em.

Speaking of meaty….

Listen buddy, I will show you what to do with that tongue.

Indeed.

I recognize that reedy grass from the swamps of my youth and know it has a serrated edge that scratches like hell. The idea of breezily lounging in it in your shaved nakedness makes me cringe.

I think I might not use enough butt chop pictures here. I will do better.

Ooh la la. I don’t know why this guy makes me think he’s all Frenchy and stuff, but I do.

I think that wary look in his eyes is thrilling.

Butt chops.