Before we get down to business, I need to post a disclaimer: I don’t think YKW knows that I write about her and YKWElse, so it’s probably only safe to tell you a few secret details as long as you promise not to tell anybody. Seriously. Raise your right hand. DO IT. Now say, “I’m your pal and I’ll never tell.” Good. Here’s the dirt:

YKW has had this clothes-off/clothes-on-again relationship with a man I’m only allowed to refer to as YKWElse (secret: she named her doggy after him!), as referenced in an earlier post about the Wet Party. He’s kind of a big deal in Hollywood and you’d definitely know his name if I told you, which I can’t, so don’t even demAnd, Solicit, Harp, requesT, wONder, asK, rUmmage, beseeCH or sEaRch for a hint. Just know that his elderly wife wouldn’t think too highly of his seeing YKW, because their marriage was an arranged marriage – she’s been his beard – and she’d be PISSED to find out all these years later that he’s not actually secretly gay but just wanted her money and was repulsed by her goosefleshy skin (this is all second-hand, but obvious to the keen observer).

This weekend we went to DisneyLand because YKW has this addiction to those giant turkey legs you can only buy in Adventure Land. So we’re walking through the park on the way past the shooting gallery and YKW has this huge chunk of flesh-on-bone in her hot little hand, when as we rounded the corner near the jungle cruise safari entrance, there was YKWElse with his grand-wife, surrounded by smallish tourists snapping photos. He made eye contact with YKW and quickly looked away like he didn’t know her – like she was just another asian tourist. It was ill advised, but YKW shouted out, “I LOVE YOU *******! DITCH GRANNY AND MARRY ME INSTEAD! HER PRUNEY OVARIES CAN’T GIVE YOU BABIES!!!” Next thing you know, YKWElse‘s betrothed stomps over, rips the turkey leg out of YKW’s hand and whacks her across the face with it, leaving a smeary, sticky, BBQ streak! It was a scene straight out of an Aaron Spelling series … two women cat fighting over a man near a pool … in front of an audience of shocked foreign tourists. YKW ended up in the duck pond, one hand holding her now-retrieved turkey leg, the other holding YKWElse‘s wife’s wig (her real hair is gray!!!). Security showed up a few moments later, but because tourists thought it was one of the famous DisneyLand street shows, they just and clapped and threw money … and YKWElse‘s wife acutally bowed and posed for pictures with children if you can believe it! No charges were filed. We made our way to the exit, found the car and drove back home to her Hollywood hills condo, safe and sound (albeit stained!). YKWElse called later that afternnoon to tell YKW he wanted some ‘time apart’. So we sat and drank margaritas until the sun went down in the hazy, polluted sky, singing from track #7:

That’s the story of … /
That’s the glory … /
Of … /
L O o o o v v v v v e …..

After YKW finally passed out from a combo of sobs and tequila, I threw the laundry in the wash. But I couldn’t get the BBQ stain out of her top, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Ain’t it the same way with love?