So how’s everybody doing this summer? Eating those Goya beans? Staying away from demon dreams and Satan semen? Have you joined the Mary Trump fan club yet?
Hard to believe we’re barely through half of this crazy sh*tstorm of a year. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that 2020 was just some grand, demented prank that the Universe was playing on us. Remember last December 31 when we were all hugging and clinking our champagne glasses with glee, yelling “Happy New Year!” We were all so confident that the next twelve months couldn’t possibly be as bad as the preceding 12 months. Then the dawn broke on January 1, and 2020 said, “Oh yeah? Hold my beer.”
So this is probably where you expect this column to veer into my typical anti-Trump rant, complete with wailing and gnashing my teeth about the latest indignity or atrocity that that Agent Orange has conjured in his stable genius brain. There is so much material to choose from. So. Much. Dumb.
But no. Not this month. This month I’ll be spilling metaphorical ink with a non-political subject. You can thank my better half for that. She begged me to devote this installment of “What a World” to something uplifting, something non-Trumpian, anything that will distract us from the Covidinous chaos that has enveloped us for lo these many months.
“Write something funny!” she implored. “People need to laugh!” she pleaded. “I swear if you write about Trump I’m going to punch you in the throat!” she promised.
She wouldn’t. But she says that when she’s serious.
So here goes:
Most of you know that a big part of my career has been spent on stage. A little comedy, a little music — the standard lesbian-with-a guitar schtick. Big, big fun, but much harder work than you might expect.
I won’t lie — show biz had its perks. One of those perks was free alcohol. Often a generous audience member would scrawl a song request on a cocktail napkin, and that napkin would often be wrapped around a fresh cocktail. To not drink it would have been rude!
One night after a show that was for some reason particularly request-heavy, I made my way home. Dropped keys, dropped trou, turned on the TV. This was before Netflix so, in that wee, wee hour of the morning, viewing choices were limited to infomercials or soft porn on Showtime.
Flipping through the channels, I happened upon one of those shopping channels, and this particular segment was pushing a piece of exercise equipment I’d been curious about, back at a time when I cared about such things. It was one of those tall contraptions with elastic tension bands to tone the upper body, and a fold-down bench for legwork. The price was right.
But it was being hawked on the Spanish Shopping Network, and unfortunately my Spanish linguistic skills were pretty much limited to “cerveza,” “gracias,” and now “Si, se pueda.” Thanks, Obama.
My purchase would have to wait until some Anglo chick on HSN with big hair and a lot of teeth could help me with my order.
By this time it was very, very late and I was very, very tired, yet still wound up from all the stimulation of the audience. And I had drunk a lot of requests that night. Many, many requests.
OK, full disclosure: I also smoked a joint. A girl’s gotta wind down, after all. So wind down, I did.
The next morning I woke up and stumbled into the kitchen where I found evidence that someone had enjoyed a plate of nachos the night before. Since I live alone, and since I woke up with salsa breath, I deduced that that someone was me.
In the living room, I found evidence of something even more mysterious than the nachos. There on the coffee table lay my credit card and a pen. On the back of an envelope, I had scrawled un código de confirmación. My Weider Flex Gym 2000 would arrive at my door en 10 Dias a dos semanas.
And that’s the story of how I miraculously became bilingual one night. I was thrilled! I’d always wanted to be able to speak Spanish! And all these years later, the best clothes wrack I ever owned is still with me.
So if you’re thinking about doing something constructive during this Covid-19 lockdown, like maybe learning a second language, don’t waste your time or money with a Berlitz or Babbel course. Just pour yourself a good stiff drink or five, and roll a fattie. Final feliz!
PS: Trump can still besame el culo.