Girls, We Just Love Lucy and Lucia!!!!!!!

Now, I am not talking about Lucille Ball, darlings, though of course we love her. I am talking of course about Lucy Hardin, that good time gal with bad breaks immortalized by Joan Crawford in the 1964 classic "Strait-Jacket." Sweeties, there in NOTHING straight about this movie except a hunky uncredited Lee Majors and Carol's fiance. But more on him later.

Lucy just can't get a break. After hacking her two timing hubby and his mistress to death with an ax, putting in 20 years time at an asylum--read, running the Pepsi Cola company--Lucy is set free only to find someone out there is tryng to "gaslight" her--pinning murders on her to make her look bad. Poor Lucy! You just gotta feel sorry for Joan; it is one of her more sympathetic roles. Especially when like all us girls she dons that trampy 40s regailia strutting through town trying to look 30 when she is well past 60. And how those braclets jangle!!!! Then there is her daughter Carol, brilliantly played by Diane Baker, a Miss Butter Would Not Melt In Her Mouth type, and the most duplicitous social climbing bitch this side of Miss Veda Pierece. In fact I think she is worse than Veda; at least with her you know what you are dealing with, unlike Miss Carol who pulls the wool over everyone's eyes. And her wholesome act is so cloying no wonder her horny fiance, on first glancing Joan, wants to bang the old broad? Who could blame him, with Diane Baker looking so tight and repressed her legs are probably clamped shut for good!!! You know mine aren't, darlings!

I am telling you everyone in this film is a fucking bitch! Rochelle Hudson as Emily has ice in her veins and social contempt a plenty. The first time I saw this film I was convinced she was doing the murders. And how about Edith Atwater as Mrs. Field, Michael's Oedipal mother. That is one cold bitch; what with dueling psychos going at in her master bedroom, and she just calmly phones the police with all the calmness of a pizza order!!!! This broad is more ready for the canners than Joan; too bad she did not get axed!!!!!

But in the end Lucy triumphs and we love her!

Then there is that other Lucy--Lucia!!!! I am talking of course about "Lucia di Lammermoor," the fabulously produced Donizetti opera at the Met. This could have been written for me, girls--
a crazed hysteric abused by men who kills her husband on her wedding day, descends a grand staricase in a fashionably bloodied wedding gown, then sings herself into insanity, drops dead and dies. Only to come back from the grave and drive Edgardo, her true love, to suicide!

Darlings, I love Lucia. This is like a typical day in my life! And I am telling you, those vicious opera queens. I mean, at the Act Two intermission, I am in the bathroom doing what we girls have to do, and these two queens are at adjoining urinals discussing vocal subtleties while checking each others' members out! Honey, the only members the Met is interested in are its wealthy subscribers. If this is what you are after, head south of 14th Street. Or the East Village. Slap these opera queens silly!!!!!

But girls a night on the town with Lucia and Joan is enough to do even the most vigorous of queens in. So tonight it is time to put my feet up on the ottoman and curl my toes while applying shocking pink nail polish. Gotta get ready for my next big night out--whenever that may be!

Ta ta, girls!