Dorothy has a gambling problem and Rose might have AIDS


If you don’t know who these two people are, then get the fuck off my blog!  

You sluts know I love me some Golden Girls.

Last night’s re-runs were about Dorothy’s gambling problem and Rose’s AIDS scare. Two separate episodes, BTW.

Dorothy was stealing from her friends and lying to everyone to feed her horse racing addiction.  No fear, she re-joined Gamblers Anonymous and was back on the wagon of decent society and embraced by uppity women, once again.

Now, as for Rose. Rose was fretfully worried that she had contracted AIDS from a blood transfusion.  She was angry, in denial and emotionally abusive to her friends.  Finally, she agreed to get tested, but only if she could use an alias. In the event she had the AIDS she didn’t want to be ostracized from the community.  The testing facility agreed and she used the alias “Dorothy Zpornak” which was really funny in context because Dorothy was standing right next to her at check-in.  Anyways, long story short, Rose did not have the AIDS! 

Maybe you all remember when Rose had to fight her own addiction to pain pills.  She went rehab for 30 days and everything.  This is one of my fav scenes.  Jump to 2:05 for the lead in and 4:00 for Rose’s blow up.  She’s going through the withdrawals and looses it!  It’s not so much funny as it is real.


Show me how…

Do people really watch sex how to’s to really learn things?  I always thought they were church-types porno tapes. You know, they would never own a porno video, but a video of two people fucking…along with bullet points and instructor guidance is completely harmless.

This is a long story…I’ll make it short. I was looking for Eddie Izzard DVDs on my library’s website.  I found one such DVD, the British sketch comedy “We Know Where You Live.” I place it on hold.  Weeks go by. I check my library account and see that a DVD called “We Know Where You Live” is in, but I’ve forgotten what that was.  So I search for it on Amazon, and BINGO, found it and remember. 

Next, because I’m always curious as to the other items purchased by those who also purchased my search item, I scroll down. Here are the first three titles I saw.

lie wtih meLie With Me (2005)






candy girlCandy Girls, Vol. 3 (2008)






elements of desire

Elements of Desire





As you can see, these are all porn tapes (probably soft-core).  Well, you know me and porn. My curiosity piqued and I clicked to “see more51K092P659L__SL500_AA240_” and found myself perusing the sex how-tos.  I get that you can learn techniques.  Like a “Learn to Blow Like a Pro” video would be helpful.  I made that title up, BTW.  But, a video titled “How to Make Love to a Women” can’t be a good idea. I mean look at the fucking chair she’s on.  I’m not taking advice from someone with taste that putrid.

But, maybe I’m too judgemental.  Maybe I should give the video a spin in the old VHS.  After all, listen to this women’s review of “Nina Hartley’s How to Make Love to a Woman.”

5.0 out of 5 stars
Oh my god that’s good, February 1, 2005
By  A. Alhino (Berkeley, ca United States) – See all my reviews

To all the men who think this DVD is a waste of time:

My husband watched this DVD at a hotel without me, and when he arrived home, we had one of our best encounters ever.


This DVD explains in detail — concise, careful, easy to follow detail — techniques that worked better than I’d ever dreamed. As a matter of fact, he’s reading this over my shoulder right now and…actually…I’m going to log off. WATCH THIS VIDEO.

Wait a minute, he’s reading this over your shoulder?  And you have to log off right now?  Well, A. Alhino, that isn’t your husband reading over your shoulder.  It’s your dad.


-bye lovelies…it’s almost time to leave and I think I‘ve worked hard enough for one day.

Thank you. You’re welcome. Bend over. Fuck off.

I don’t know what it is about me, but I am irresistible to men of color and older white men. The Hispanic men love me, the Middle Eastern men love me, and the black  men love me.  Oh, I forgot hippies, they love me too. The older white dudes, like most white men, are hard to read.  Sometimes they stare, hard, from across the way.  Or they peek at me through a magazine or book.  I suppose, they’re being discreet.  Discretion is not at all what the other gentlemen practice. They are blatant and abruptly to their point. Which, in the end,  their point is a compliment, I think.  And, like the lady I am I accept graciously.

Today, such an abrupt moment happened.  I was waiting to board the bus when an older (50-60) black man approached me.  He said, “Thank you.”  Remember I have my ear buds in, so I removed them and replied, “What’s that?”  He repeated, “Thank you.”  I said, “For what?”  My suitor says, “For showing that figure off.”  The only thing to say was, “Thank you.”  Then he started in, it’s like they can’t contain their words.  He told me I was the kind of woman that makes a man cheat.  Again, your welcome and onto the bus I went.

This got me thinking about the other lines I’ve heard in the past. And I know this sort of thing happens to others. You know who you are, my fellow hookers.  Ms. K is a prime example.  We’ve been together and heard some things from dudes that is fucking ridiculous. I guess they think they’re complimenting us, or telling us about their “powers”, I don’t know. Maybe we have friendly faces or maybe its are boobies.  No, it’s our friendly faces.

It’s been explained to me that men who are into me, are men who have had many women. You see, because they have so much experience they know what they want in a women, physically and sexually, that is.  Again, I think these are compliments. At lease that’s how I’m going to take them. I  have a feeling that when they think them in their head, they just don’t realize what it will sound like when it comes out. Or maybe these lines have worked on chicks before.

It all goes back to “getting in my pants” something my dad warned me about when I was ten.  (I had all my “coming of age” talks early because I’m the youngest.  My sister is three years older than I, and my parents were really overworked and tired.  So killing two birds with one stone, or ruining two adolescents with one talk was preferred.)

not a hero, but she has my shirt onOkay, so maybe I dress like a slut.  Or have a face like a slut.  I’ve been told on three occasions, by three different men, well one teenager and two men, that I have “dick sucking lips.”  Okay, now that I’m writing this, I must look like a slut for guys to talk to me like that.  Maybe it’s the pumps, maybe it’s the tight skirts or the red lips.  Or maybe it’s the shirt that reads “I’m a slut and open for business.”  In any case, I’m in good company and I’d rather be a slut than a bore.






So, I’ll continue to put some bass in my walk.  Some of my heroes and fellow sluts…













In case you didn't know, this is Koko- the sign language gorilla- with Mr. Rogers. Both are my heroes.



Bea, I love you.

If, in 50 years, some young person ask me where I was the day Bea Arthur died I would say, at GayBingo with my cross dressing dad.  It was kind of fitting.  As the news came in through text messages, the Queens honored Bea and lifted our spirits with song and dance. 

I was looking for things to commemorate the moment and found a Golden Girl necklace from Sad news hookers, the necklace sold out. 


Other GG paraphernalia include GG playing cards, GG lapel pins, and GG pendants. All at

Here’s a clip of our friend, doing a parody of Sex in the City.  She’s with other lovely ladies… Mona from Who’s The Boss, Sally Struthers and Mrs. Garrett.

Know your fee, hooker.

On the train this morning, a gentleman of questionable means, started to chat me up.  Know this, when I’m on the train I do everything in my powers to look unavailable for conversation.  I wear ear buds, even when I’m not listening to anything.  I read a book or magazine. And, I wear sunglasses.  Regrettably, these barriers don’t always hold everyone at a distance. Back to this morning.  I avoided his conversation as  long as possible, until he started in with, “Miss?  Miss?  can you hear me.” What a fucking moron.  I pulled my ear buds out and, while still wearing my sunglasses, said, “What’s wrong with you?”

He started complimenting my hair, and my neck, and my purple shirt.  I’m thinking, get to the fucking point. So, I say, “Thank you. What do you want? Where are you going with this?”  He replied, “Oh, you’re so direct.” 

(I should point out this dude’s appearance was all-in-all pulled together; he was approximately 25, a little bit hipster and a little bit bohemian. I’m not going to lie, I was diggin’ his style.  He was not homeless, but he was definitely trite. If he was homeless I would have said, “thank you” and put my ear buds back in and he would have respected that.)

Anyways, I just repeated myself, “Where are you going with this?” And then he started telling me about his photography studio (room at his mom’s) and this new “photography study” he’s “embarking upon” that tries to place two “juxtapositions” next to each other.  I know, he didn’t even use the word correctly.  Maybe this line stuns and appeals to his other “subjects”, but I could care less about his new study.  I told you he was trite.  Long story short, he asked me to be one of his “subjects.” And I asked him, “How much are you paying your subjects?”

(A girl must always know her fee and never be flattered out of money.  That would be fucking ridiculous and an insult to all the hardworking hookers that came before us. )

Of course, he started in with his rhetoric about art and expanding people’s minds and how I would be part of this great experiment. Alas, he and I will never be.  The only experiments I do to expand my mind are drug experiments, and I expect the same from others.  I told him, with a smile, “Your study sounds interesting and your intentions harmless, but I’m not in the mood to negotiate my fee. This is my stop. Good luck with your study.”

Maybe I missed out on a opportunity.  But, I think not.  Maybe I’ll see him again.  Maybe we’ll be friends.

Don’t be Jealous of My Boogie

This is what I’m listening to and watching today.  DWI (deal with it)


I’m totally into RuPaul and the drag world. I’m thinking I need to infiltrate this world, get in, get dirty, and become these hookers bitch. Think of all the things I’ll learn.

I’ve already started to pick up the lingo. You know, like “That slut is giving me shade.” and “This sno-cone makes my world go ’round.”

Oh, rainbows and unicorns.

These Queens make my world go ’round. Maybe this is how me and dad will connect. If fact, I think I’m going to plan a weekend around a drag show. He needs a Queen mentor, he’s flailing in the proverbial straight wind. He’s left to his own demise.  He has no help, no make-up tips, no witty one-liners. He needs some guidance.

Get ready to be jealous of my boogie.