Posts
Welcome to my blog!
The story you’re about to read is an
excerpt from my last book, “Escape From Houdini Mountain”. My latest book, “Showgirl
Condfidential” just came out on Punk Hostage Press. Scroll down to the bottom
of this post for info on upcoming readings and purchasing either book in hard
copy or Kindle.
TO HELL WITH HOUSEWORK
Perhaps it was the lack of
sleep, combined with PMS and a slight hangover, but I woke up feeling like I
had to do something -- anything -- "worthwhile" so I could prove to
myself that my life wasn’t a total waste. Looking around, that task would have
to be cleaning the house, a chore I not only loathed and dreaded but also was
no good at, anyway. I mean, I've been blessed with a lot of talents but
housework is definitely not one of
them.
Dragging my pathetic carcass
into action, I washed a week's worth of scummy dishes. Filled with a sense of
responsibility and accomplishment, I decided that vacuuming would be in
order. No sooner had I started, the
vacuum bag burst, scattering
who knows how many month's
worth of condensed dust-bunnies, cat hair, and general filth all over the room.
I went to the pantry and
knocked over a bunch of seldom-used and haphazardly stored cleaning products.
Unfortunately, there were no vacuum cleaner bags among them. But I was on a
mission, goddamit, so that meant I had to go and get some. Popping a couple of
Midol and fortifying myself with a shot of tequila, I walked to the store. It
was unbearably humid and the moment I got outside my allergies began to act up,
causing my
eyes and nose to run.
I made it to the store,
sneezing and wheezing, with period cramps from hell, but of course they didn't
have the right kind of bags. A clerk suggested I try a hardware store that was
fairly close by. "Close" turned out to be seven L-O-N-G blocks in the
glaring noonday sun. Sweating and sniffing, I got lost in the maze of faucets,
toilet tank covers, lighting fixtures, fan belts, screws, nuts, bolts, and
tools. The machine that grinds keys was whining at a supersonic volume,
insulting my increasingly bad hangover, and the entire place smelled like some
lethal solvent. Even though the store was incredibly crowded, there were no
salespeople in sight. Finally, after about twenty minutes of mindless
wandering, I found the correct aisle by myself.
I was so dazed at this point,
I could barely remember what I was looking for in the first place. Luckily, a
rotund, balding little man in a dirty gray smock came up to me, offering
assistance. Even though he stunk like garlic and B.O., and had an abundance of
hair sprouting from his ears and nostrils, I was happy to see him, feeling more
like a damsel in distress with every passing, agonizing second. I told him what
sort of bag I needed and he nodded sagaciously, pointing out possibilities,
riffling through the bags displayed.
"You have an upright
model then,” he said, as though I'd be pleased at his vast and all-encompassing
knowledge.
"Yup," I said,
monosyllabic by this time.
"I don't see the right
kind of bags,” he said. "Do you?"
"No, that's what I was
hoping you'd help me with,” I
replied.
"Well, maybe if you
can't find them, then maybe you need a
new vacuum cleaner."
"I don’t think so,"
I said. "My vacuum cleaner is brand new."
A few months ago, a
department store had been foolish enough to send me a charge card, and I
immediately went and bought all sorts of household items I never would've
purchased with cash. I bought this particular vacuum cleaner because it had
pale blue and purple New Wave splatters all over it, and was called The Boss. In a perverse way, I thought
it would be funny to have an appliance named after Bruce Springsteen, even
though I detested his music.
The troll didn't seem to get
it though, and pressed the issue.
"If you need a new
vacuum cleaner, I have lots of them,”
he said. "I repair vacuum cleaners. I have a whole garage full!"
"How great," I said
vaguely, discreetly wiping allergy snot onto my sleeve.
"But my vacuum is brand new, I just need
the right type of bag."
I was beginning to feel
lightheaded and dizzy from the fumes inside the store. Who was I to think that cleaning the house on a Sunday morning would
add any meaning to my life? What was I thinking? What I really wanted was more
Midol, a slushy margarita, a foot rub and an afternoon filled with trashy 1940s
movies.
A Valium would
be nice, too, and maybe some Fritos. Oh, and a maid.
"I could get you a nice
used vacuum," Rumplestiltskin continued. "I have lots of them!"
"I already told you,” I
said, losing what little patience I had left, "I don't need one!"
Just then, I noticed two
clerks standing at the end of the aisle. Both of them were young, tall, and
lanky, wearing nametags and t-shirts emblazoned with the logo of the hardware
store as uniforms. They looked nothing like this horrible small old man in his
greasy smock. He looked like an industrial-powered, perverted Munchkin.
Regarding him carefully, I noticed he wasn't wearing a nametag, either. His
garlic breath singed my nostrils and I noticed that his cheeks and scalp were
covered with moles and liver spots, as he leaned in close, standing on tiptoes
to reach my face.
"I could help you," he said in an urgent
whisper, stroking my arm and simultaneously raising a propositioning eyebrow
meaningfully.
All of a sudden, the
horrifying reality of the situation dawned on me and I couldn't control either
my repulsion or my tone of voice.
"I'M NOT GONNA FUCK YOU
FOR A VACUUM CLEANER!" I yelled.
A few nearby customers
whirled around and stared at us in shock. The little man winced but stood his
ground for a second before scurrying away in humiliation, his pick-up attempt
foiled. I laughed dementedly at my own outburst as the other customers pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had
happened.
On the way home, I rented a couple of videos
and grabbed some margarita mix.
The pile of filth in my
living room sat there for, oh... a couple of weeks, I guess.
 |
| Book release party at Skinny's in LA: flanked by my Graphic Grrrl Maharet & Punk Hostage Press publisher Iris Berry |
Upcoming “Showgirl Confidential” readings/book
signings:
MONDAY OCT. 14, 2013: AUSTIN, TX
The Continental Club
1315 S. Congress 8:30 pm
Free
WEDNESDAY, OCT. 16, 2013: LA, CA
Skylight Books
1818 N. Vermont Ave. 7:00pm
Free
“Showgirl Confidential” paperback on Amazon:
Purchase “Escape From Houdini
Mountain” for Kindle on Amazon:
No comments:
Post a Comment