MM checked out 50 years ago today. I’ve never believed she took her own life. Never. Marilyn may have been multifaceted in her moods but I can’t believe she would harm herself. It’s a Gemini thing, I think; we’re god’s gift. So holla to all the sex-crazed Geminis out there.

And it’s the gay thing, too, to identify with Miss Monroe. At least men of a certain age. Maybe nowadays young queens identify with, well…whoever they identify with. I do not know these things anymore. Nor do I care. I have vintage porn to watch, people.

It’s us old queens who never gave up on finding daddy and being covered in furs and diamonds. Just like in the movies. Only with more big dick attached to it all. And while some of you may tongue cluck this notion it’s still an ageless concept. There are those who want to have and those who want to give. So who’s judging? You better believe someone sucked a dick for an all weekend pass to Lollapalooza. Diamonds and furs now translate into iPads and vacation condos near a good beach. But I digress.

I’ve always secretly called myself “Marilyn.” In private. Like when I can’t seem to get my ass out of bed on a Saturday afternoon. Around two o’clock I’ll say something like “oh, Marilyn…puhleeease get your ass outta’ bed today.” Or when I’m late to meet folks I’ll think something like “Marilyn, your public is waiting. Pick up the goddamn pace.” It’s just silliness as my inner gay child runs from door to door looking for daddy or a life rationale. Or for any crumb of attention for that matter. When one spends a childhood engulfed in emotional abuse it plays out later.

Gosh. I don’t know where this post is going. But it ain’t good so I’m jumping off to pour a glass of Veuve. Marilyn knowingly approves from her peaceful crypt.