Cause I heard it on the wind
And I saw it in the sky
And I thought it was the end
I thought it was the Fourth of July
That Soundgarden song has been in my head all day as I realized that the Fourth was upon us shortly. I still haven't recovered from Memorial Day. What should have been a nice day with friends was instead the day Thomas Friedman invited several of his right wing and lite wing cohorts over to introduce me to the concept of tranny or crossdresser or whatever it is.
Thomas Friedman playing dress up wasn't a shock. Thomas Friedman in full time drag was. I knew he'd planned to wear my hose to the picnic. I figured there would be an eye sore of a bathing suit. I was not prepared for the yellow micro, two-piece. Or the heavy make up. Or the wig. Nor was I prepared to see the other 'gals.'
Looking back, my explosion was over the fact that my husband Thomas Friedman is a cross-dresser. There's no denying that. I've gotten used to and accepted it. But what still makes me angry was seeing all those men dressed up as women plotting to overthrow governments. Is that what they think women do when they get together?
Or was it just one more way to prove how "macho" they were despite the Avon products? (Apparently, it's less intimidating for the gals to buy make up door-to-door. Beats going into a store and showing your face at the counter. So they're not only Chicken Hawks, they're also Cross-dressing Cowards.)
Thomas Friedman, at one point, explained to me that they were cross dressers and not gay. As if little me didn't know the difference? I explained to him that, yes, I was annoyed that he had ruined every pair of pantyhose I had (my thighs are normal size) and, yes, the bikini was shocking (his hairy ass may have been the only part on his body he didn't wax and that is a problem when you're basically wearing a g-string while people are attempting to eat). But what really bothered me was all this talk, with pinky fingers lifted, about attacking Hugo Chavez and destroying economic freedoms.
"If it were just the fact that some ugly men have dressed up and look like really ugly women," I explained, "it would be no big deal."
"Yes," Thomas Friedman said nodding. "They are ugly. I've told Robert Novak that he's far too old to continue dressing up as Mary Pickford but he refuses to listen. I don't think he's even aware that the movies 'talk' today."
As Thomas Friedman ticked off the costuming faults of every friend, or 'friend,' he'd invited and avoided the issue of what his not-so-trendy cabal was plotting, I finally lost it.
"You people are insane!" I screamed. "Take a look around -- you're all freaks!"
I was back inside the apartment before I realized I'd stolen Sarah Jessica Parker's one good line from "Ed Wood". I searched my memory to try to remember if any of the boys had been dressed up as Sarah Jess and, if so, I'd possibly blown their big moment?
I remembered Christopher Hitchens, with wig eschew, wearing a dress with an ugly print and insisting he was Sue Ellen on "Dallas" as he staggered around but I think that was really more of an excuse to get loaded than an actual costume choice. Other than that, they were all dressed up as movie 'goddesses." Except for Alan Keyes who came as Jennifer Lopez but insisted upon making Charo noises like "Coochy-coochy-coo!" Well, he's never made sense.
So I've been avoiding even thinking of this upcoming Tuesday. I did ask if possibly we could invite Nicky K and Mrs. K?
"Not a chance," he hissed checking the puffs on his white dress (he's trying to recreate Marilyn from the infamous "Seven Year Itch" image). "Nicky is a traitor, a wet blanket, and he's not man enough to put on a dress! You shouldn't feel left out, I'm inviting Alan!"
Because we're both Black, we should have something in common? It's that sort of nonsense that oozes out in column after column by Thomas Friedman. Take Wednesday's "The Cry of the Wild."
For starters, I do not serve on the board at Conservation International. Why Thomas Friedman put that lie into print is as much a mystery as everything else that shows up in his columns. I laughed as he wrote of a mythical night he spent in the Amazon rain forest. This is the man who tossed out my ambiance CD because he said, "All that rain noise make me have to tinkle!"
He did find someone better to quote after I berated him for his 'sources' last week. Whether he talked with the man over the phone or just in his own head, who knows?
He watched "The Misfits" a great deal before writing the column. Over and over. I think he's channeled Monroe's Rosayln again and that explains the column.
Like the majority of the media, he wanted to cover anything except Iraq. The mess they helped sell us into is too depressing. So Thomas Friedman cast himself as an enviro-Marilyn.
I'm usually in a better mood when I write in my diary but I'm just not in the mood to spend the Fourth with 'Marilyn,' 'J-Lo,' 'Cheryl Ladd,' 'Mary Pickford' and assorted Judys and Chers who swap make up tips while plotting the downfall of Hugo Chavez and in an attempt to enslave the working class worldwide.
Thomas Friedman sensed my displeasure and lack of enthusiasm. He suggested I cheer up and offered that I could dress up as well.
"Tucker Carlson's coming as Ronnie Spector, you could dress up as Phil Spector!" Thomas Friedman said brightly.
Trust me, he doesn't want me carrying a gun when I'm around him.
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