Ah, springtime, the season of pansies!
After a long, cold, dark winter, spring is finally arriving. Mother Gaia warms, the birds chirp and I begin to panic about love handles. (I tried Adderall to lose weight, but that just made me eat more food, faster). I know springtime is here because the light of sunrise had begun to annoy me earlier than it has in months. Not being domesticated or skilled enough to hang blinds or curtains, I simply flung a navy blue sarong (purchased 25 pounds ago on Fire Island) over the window. It's held in place with a ream of typing paper resting on the top sill. (My DNA lacks the gay gene that imparts style and design skills; scientists have recently linked this exact gene with the ability to grow ironic facial hair, and a passion for croque-en-bouche.) This represents a vast improvement over my old method of nailing and/or stapling a dark tablecloth over the windows. (I've spent my whole life working on the Great American Hovel.) It's like I live in a crack house, but with far less sexual activity.
Ah, springtime. So many interesting sounds to hear, such as spring peepers. No not frogs, I mean voyeurs bumping against my windows. Mind you, all they will see is me unconscious on my bed in a pile of empty bags of Utz Puffin Corn (an unholy, artificial food-like product, which is essentially comprised of salt, fluorescent orange food dye, and asbestos. I love it.)
Spring, a time of renewal! A time of new beginnings, and hope. For example, I hope I see a performance by drag duo "April Showers and May Flowers." They don't actually exist as far as I know, but I hope some clever young drag-zillas out there will take the idea and run with it. Oh, springtime has me feeling expansive! It is the season of fresh leaves and pretty pastel blossoms. I'm a total plant whore, and am just waiting to invite some dude over to see my "Baja Fairy Duster!"
Speaking of, I am working on a Fairy Garden. Did you know that's a thing? I used to just "fairy garden" the old school way; party hard all night, and awake to find a dozen half-naked homosexuals passed out in my backyard. All arranged in an artful tableaux 'neath the maple tree, of course. Oh, if my juniper could talk! I'd have to kill it.
Springtime, and all of nature's bounty! 'Tis time once again to see Robin Redbreast, who I just assumed was a Real Housewife of New Jersey with an extreme tanning salon habit. Apparently, its also a bird! The parks are lit up by daffodils, and populated by hordes of hot 30-year-old men pushing baby strollers. I so love that new dad smell (FYI, its baby powder and panic, with a top note of regret.)
And of course, there are so many holidays to gaily celebrate at this time of year. The high holidays in fact. Oh who am I kidding, I'm high every holiday! Really, I do get so confused with all the springtime religious holidays -- Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Guilty Tuesday. The only one I'm into is Good Friday, because I do love a good trashy movie about the disco scene. Oh wait, that's Thank God It's Friday. Whatever. All I know is at some point soon, bitches all over town are gonna be sporting some flamboyant bonnets, and that sounds mighty gay to me.
But the big, big holiday does happen at this most fertile of seasons. I don't mean Easter, Passover, or even Earth Day. I refer of course to Grace Jones' birthday! (May 19). Really though, I am just excited to hit Duane Reade the day after Easter to stock up on Cadbury Creme Eggs and Marshmallow Bunnies with which to gorge myself at 75 percent off! You worship your way honey, I'll worship mine.