Moosie May: In Two Parts

Part Une:

I knew that if I waited until I had x-mas with my kinfolk, I would stumble upon some blogworthy wisdom, or an utterly entertaining lack thereof. I encountered more of the latter, but the linguistic gem I surfaced with is the term "Moosie May."

Lemme s'plain.

My mother had just let her beagle, Berkley, in from a winter wee wee. As the dog shook off the snow, my Mom said, " You're liable to freeze off your moosie may." I shot her a look as if to say WTF? and she responded with a stupified stare. "Don't you know what a moosie may is?" I said I figured I had the general idea but was fuzzy on the specifics. Turns out, one's moosie may is their vagina. This term may only be applied in the feminine or transfeminine context, I assume. Feel free to use the term at will, as I am sure it is not copyrighted.

Part Deux:

To wash away the haze of redneck sensibilities still ingering in our brain buckets, we decided to go see THE LIFE AQUATIC with Steve Zissou. This definitely did the trick. It was a delightful tale, which was rife with exquisite attention to detail, except for one instance. One of the characters was from Louisville, KY, but sounded as if he was from Birmingham, AL. Why go to such excruciating lengths for detail, focusing on every font, every piece of equipment, every article of clothing, only to totally blow the accent of origin of one of the main characters? Did Wes assume that no one from KY would watch this film? I dunno, but I had to hold back a chortle every time the character called into the "loo-ee-ville" office in his slow deep-south drawl.

This movie also convinced me that I want to be Anjelica Huston when I grow up. She is a beautiful and sharp lady. I am also flattered by the fact that she donned one of my former hairdos for this part, blue streaks and all. I think she might be my mom, because I really don't resemble the one I have all that much. One can dream.

The film also had one really baaaadasssss scene featuring pirates and a Stooges song. You will know it when you see it, and if you're anything like me, you'll be hooting and hollering like a gaggle of monster truck drivers at a Schwarzenegger flick. Bill Murray might be my dad. One can still dream, right? Happy Holidays, Ya'll!