`Today I finished painting the kitchen. This involved five colors of paint. I figure if you're going to paint a kitchen why not make it really difficult. And every color that's dried gets taped for the next color. It's a time consuming bitch. Three days of painting and cleaning up after painting has turned my hands to sandpapery claws with little infected splits at the tips of my fingers. I'll take pictures. Today I worked fifteen hours.
Then I started cleaning blinds. Holy fuck, that's a nasty job! And time consuming too. Then I washed the bay windows in the fireplace room and I notice that every window sill is filthy. Those damn kids.
I won't be able to participate in the current political conversation and a lot of things of are happening. I feel left out. I have three more long days of cleaning.
Don't forget me while I'm gone. All I'll need is a day of two of total vegitating and I'll be good as new.
The house and I may be too old to fix. But I'm trying to keep us both patched up with as little money as possible considering the need for much work. Now that the new countertop and sink and fixtures and cabinets are in, I need to verathane the unfinished wood or paint or stain it. But I'm going for the quick cheap fix. The whole kitchen needs to be painted. And if I can put it on the bill, I'm going to try very hard to get my handyman to help. He's painting elsewhere today. I have some of the paint I want to use. I want to paint the wainscoting a medium warm gray. I'll paint the walls a pale neutral close to the color of the wood and a fleck in the countertop. The upper cabinets will be brown. That is, if I can get the help and pay it off after the rent starts coming in. I had to pay cash for the cabinets.
But the bad kids left the house uncleaned. The carpets and rugs have gone unvacuumed the hardwood floors are dirty. The windows are smeared with dog nose mess. Feathers and dog hair and dust drift and every surface and drawer is dusty and gritty. The blinds Ms M and I cleaned before the kids moved in are all dirty again. Blinds are time consuming to clean. The tub looks as if it hasn't been scrubbed since Ms M last cleaned it. I'm afraid to think about the toilet. And my back and knees are giving out. I have cracks in the ends of my fingers. The kids left the fridge full of long-ago-rotted food. I tossed it all today. The oven is... Well, just thinking about it is about to make me cry.
And lest we not forget, I have to buy a new washer and dryer and get them installed. I'm worried about the floor under the old washer. Now that I'm thinking about it, I was going to get my laundry done today, but just didn't make it. But I did buy a couple of rolls of quarters. I'm going to bed early. I have an appointment with the Terminex man tomorrow morning.
The two handsome young men move in a week from today. And I want things to be finished by then. This is going to be tricky. Too bad I don't have a man in my life.
I've been given this award for the third time and asked by the lovely Menopausal Stoner to give up 10 more things you don't know about me. At the moment I can't think of ten things you don't know about me. I tell all just about every day. And lately it seems I'm repeating myself a lot. So here is more or less what I said the first time.
I think I was the first American blogger to receive this award:
What makes this especially important to me is that Eizzy K is an Ugandan poet and a reader of my poetry. I write poetry so seldom that I have neglected the site. I don't know when I got this award the first time exactly, but I'm really thrilled that it came from a young poet to an old woman who hardly considers herself a poet. And Eizzy K, called me "Savage Queen" which makes me cry. It's one thing to write the occasional poem, but some of the poets in the blogosphere write a poem a day. That amazes me, since I only write poetry when a poem presents itself to me and gives me no choice. It's like having a vision or a little stroke or a mild seizure. So thank you Eizzy K.
One of the things I love about this award is the muscularity of it. It has an industrial, workman-like aspect that appeals to me esthetically and politically--it reminds me of my fondness for the labor movement. I love the wage earning working men and women of this world.
Now I have to think of ten things you don't yet know about me.
1. I fantasized a life as a labor organizer. I'm completely pro labor, and damn proud of it. I read The Jungle, by Upton Sinclaire when I was in my early teens. That was the beginning of my desire to be a labor organizer. Yet I have never been a member of a union.
2. Kindness makes me cry. I have toughened myself over a lifetime of cruelty from my family to be unmoved by the carelessly tossed off insult, but a kind and loving word brings tears I can't control.
3. I'm a socialist. I think the public utilities should be owned by the public. Water should not be sold. Nor should the oil and coal be owned by a company with a profit motive. If Alaska owns it's oil, why don't the rest of us own our oil? I'm not a fan of capitalism. Capitalism has given us a meltdown of the world's economies. What the financial services industries have done amounts to an enormous Ponzi scheme. Those responsible for the collapse should be prosecuted for gross malfeasance. I wanted single payer universal health care. I want the rich taxed like the rest of us. I want an end to corporate wellfare. I want an end to tax havens for rich fuckers trying to avoid paying their fair share. I want to see the end to obscene bonus and salaries for those who do nothing but find ways to fuck us over while raking in more millions for their billionaire friends. I want a redistribution of wealth. I'm a dreamer.
4. I love the underdog, literally. I will take an animal no one else will, just to give it a bit of happiness and security before it dies. I'm sentimental for the person or animal who has been treated badly. I would love to be able to rescue all those needing rescue. But I can only rescue one creature at a time. And at the moment I need rescuing.
5. I care little for wealth and have never been ambitious enough to strive for money. It shows now. I can't even get a line of credit on my unencumbered house to do long needed repairs. I worked in a industry where the pay is enormous for merely being pretty and showing up for a couple of hours of easy work and knowing how to move on a runway or pose for a photo. I was always embarrassed by this profession. Why so much money for something that is actually bad for society? I worked as little as possible.
6. I purposely avoided getting academic credentials as a way of pissing off my mother.
7. I married three men I did not love, and if asked, would not have married the one man I always loved.
8. I do not like my fellow humans much. I like people online more than I like people in the flesh. I like a few people very much, but generally I avoid places where there might be crowds. This will make political demonstrations difficult for me, but I may just have to gird my loins and participate, since there are so many things to demonstrate either for or against, like financial reform with very tough regulations on financial institutions deemed "too big to fail," or to my way of thinking "too big to exist." I fear the growing clamor for deporting "illegal immigrants." It feels like fascism to me.
9. I see everyone whose ancestors came here seeking a better life as illegal immigrants and I've told you why many times. I'm a descendant of indigenous people. I feel related to the indigenous people migrating north for the opportunity to make a living and feed a family. Once there were no borders on this landmass. Once this land was populated by indigenous people. Since you guys came here you've tried to exterminate and marginalize us. Well, fuck you. We're here to stay. Get used to it. And if you're one of those so righteously claiming that the white culture is the best culture, I can't wait for the day your favorite child calls you to say she just married Jesus Morales in Las Vages and is pregnant with twins. Cheers!
9. Poems take me like possession. They come on me like bad weather that can't be ignored.
10. Twitter has taken me like a favorite lover. I can't get enough of it. I have no idea why twitter claimed me and not the rest of you. But twitter is where I expend my political energy
Since this is the third go round on this award for me, I'm going to refrain from tagging you. I probably got most of you the first and second time I was fortunate enough to get this handsome award. I hope Eizzy knows how far and wide this award from her has gone. But I don't think Eizzy reads this blog. Eizzy only reads my poetry. Bless you Eizzy. Every time I write a poem I think of you.
Then the instructions for the 'chosen ones:'
1.You must brag about the award
2.You must include the name of the blogger who bestowed the award on you and link back to the blogger
3.You must choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.
4. Show their names and links and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog.
5.List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself.
Then pass it on with the instructions!
Remember, I did not make the rules, I just pass them along.
The credit union I've banked with since 1975 has turned me down for a line of credit secured by my unencumbered house. I'm now officially fucked. I can do nothing to take care of the problems with the house, and the boys have said they'll move in on the fourteenth, after the construction is done. Now there'll be no construction. And who knows how this will effect their decision to move in.
During the five years I was taking care of my mother, my own financial life went down the toilet with my sanity. I ended up with a bankruptcy. It's five years later and I have been a very good girl. I haven't any debt at all. But in the world of banking, that means I have no credit score. And with no credit score, no current debt and record of payment, despite the fact that my collateral is an unencumbered house means no credit line. With no credit line on the house, I can't do the repairs I need to do. I'm fucked!
And let's not forget those medical bills rolling in after my horrible hospitalization. And for a moment I forgot all about Comcast. I really am fucked. And saddest of all, I'm not alone.
My doctor appointment went well. Kristen and I always chat as she goes about pricking my finger and testing my clotting factor. She thinks, given the shit, both literal and figurative, that's going on in my life, that I'm doing very well. I'm coping. I haven't spun off into thumb sucking depression or raging lunacy.
I've talked about the problems with my departing tenants. This would be mostly of the literally shitty kind. Three days of cleaning up other people's shit. I felt like the Sisyphus of Shit. They knew they were leaving then. It seemed so very deliberate and mean. His response was little more than a shrug. They'll be gone by tomorrow night.
Now I have to replace the dead washer and dryer. And since they flooded the laundry room floor and the basement, I may have to make repairs before I can replace these appliances. Shlepping laundry to the Laundromat is a bitch. It's costly, too.
In taking a look at some of the things that needed repair in the main house we, the handyman and I, found what seemed like termite damage under the kitchen sink, and into the cabinet. The kitchen dates from the very early 1050's, maybe earlier. You don't fuck around with termites. Though termites are not all that common in this dry climate. But the damage is in a spot where there has been a water drip. We won't know how extensive it is until we tear out the cabinets. My handyman has a sink that will work there. Sad that I don't get to design the kitchen of my dreams for that house. But it will probably be an inprovement. Hopefully more convenient, cleaner looking, better organized for a cook. I hear the Dartmouth boy likes to cook.
The handsome young gentlemen with nice personalities and sense of humor will still move into the house. Only not until the 14th of May. But in the meantime, there will be some costly remodeling going on even if it is fast and on a severely restricted budget. So today, after my doctor appointment, I went to vist the branch manager of the branch of the credit union I have a banking history going back to the mid 1970s. I have a house that is unencumbered. It's a big lot in a nice part of town. You'd think that would count for something, but still it will take two weeks. Two fucking weeks might as well be two months. I need money now. She asked me about family. I have none. She asked me for references. I must have given her a blank look. She said, "Friends?" I had to think about it. And though my friend and neighbor lives only three houses away, I don't know her address. Fortunately I do know her phone number. I don't have a cell phone with a bunch of programed in names and numbers. I'm a relic. I hardly exist. She asked for another friend. I wracked my brain. I thought of a couple of people, but didn't know phone numbers or addresses. I was ashamed and flustered. I had documentation for proof of property tax and tax valuation of the property. I had proof of homeowners insurance. I have little credit history anymore. But if she googled me, she'd see that I do exist.
I had to call my new tenants last night to let them know I'm going to have to tear out the kitchen cabinets to repair damage done by termites. So the day the new tenants were to move in construction will begin on the kitchen. The termite situation is due to bad calking around the sink. Water has dripped on the wood supporting the sink and this is where termite damage is visible. Having termites anywhere in your house requires the hiring of a good exterminator to surround the house with pesticide specifically targeting termites. It's expensive and a royal pain in the ass. And all this needs to be done quickly. I want the new tenants to be happy in their new home, and I want the house clean and in good repair. This is going to be expensive. After my doctor appointment today, I'm going to my credit union to apply for a line of credit on the house.
And to make all this just a little more painful, it snowed all night and I awoke at 7:30 to see snow on the ground. It's been snowing all morning as I've been making calls to exterminators setting up appointments for tomorrow. Now the snow is really sticking. This comes after I've taken houseplants out for the spring. If they die, they die. I have bigger problems than a few dead houseplants.
The bad tenants are slow-walking their departeure. Despite the fact that they have access to their new place, they are not going to be completely out of my house until the 1st. There is no way they'll be able to get the place as clean as it was when they moved in. I'm not sure they know how to clean. So I have scheduled a cleaning person to come Saturday morning to start cleaning the bathroom and both bedrooms. While were in the kitchen making a gawd awful mess, she'll be upstairs cleaning a gawd awful mess. I'll make sure the kitchen is sealed off from the rest of the house with both a closed door and a plastic seal.
I didn't find out about the termite damage until Tuesday when I took my handyman into the main house to have him look at a couple of small jobs there. I had the first of three exterminators look at it yesterday. I have two more inspections scheduled for tomorrow. So this place is going to be very busy for the next few days. This will seriously cut into my writing time as well as my twitter time. Damn.
And for some reason spellcheck isn't working on blogger. So if this is full of spelling errors, it's blogger's fault, not mine. I've never been able to spell well and don't notice typos.
We're looking for a few brilliant writers and organizers to join the email team at Organizing for America and the Democratic National Committee.
It's a challenging role that requires the ability to think strategically about advocacy and elections, write at a high level on tight deadlines, and manage sophisticated national campaigns. (A working knowledge of HTML is also really helpful.)
The salary and benefits are competitive, the team is great to work with, and the gig offers a historic opportunity to help President Obama and millions of OFA supporters change our country for the better.
Since most of you are descended from illegal immigrants of Eastern European ancestry, I propose that we preform a simple DNA test on everyone who claims to be a "citizen of the Untied States," and only those with Native American DNA may stay in this country. Simple, and relatively cost effective. Those Native American descendants moving north will be fine. Yes, there has been some intermarriage with those of mostly Spanish ancestry, but so long as the DNA shows that they are also descended from indigenous peoples they would be welcome.
I find it comical that there is such hysteria about "illegal" immigration. It is the people who self identify as "white" who are most hysterical about "illegal" immigration. This landmass was populated by native peoples for many thousands of years before it was "discovered" by the English and Spanish. Then came the hoards of others of mostly Eastern European descent. All these immigrants were, "illegal." We did not invite you, but we were not hostile to you until you started killing us, stealing our lands, and making and breaking treaties with us.
Let's be clear about a few things. You stole Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, and California from the Mexicans. You claimed it was your "Manifest Destiny" to move from the East Coast to the West Coast, gobbling our land and "giving" us the least habitable lands on this continent, the poorest of soil, and without much water. You "gave" us the lands where little would grow and our livestock could not graze. You tried to exterminate us. Well we are now sick of you and we want you to go home. The only immigrants among you we will keep are those you captured, transported here in ships, and sold into slavery. These people are our brothers and sisters. The rest of you should start packing. Your time has run out. If you cannot claim ancestry on this continent (which does, by the way, stretch from Canada to Argentina) prior to the early 1700's consider yourself served with an eviction notice.
I took a nap yesterday. I got a good night's sleep and woke up naturally and dreaming good dreams. I love dreaming. I love the way I feel when I've been dreaming and wake up in my own natural time. I didn't have a list of dreaded chores and faced no looming deadline, didn't have a list of errands to run. So this should have been a wonderful day.
My friend and neighbor who likes to take Marley with her when she and her husband walk their Chihuahua every moring, called to let me know I needed to put Marley's harness on and send her out. That was fine. She's a good friend. But she's married to a man who can't stand me. I seem to have that effect on a lot of men. She offers to do things for me. I accept her offer. But eventually he gets pissed off that she's spending so much help either over here or on the phone with me. She'd talked me into letting her screen prospective tenants since she thinks I'm too easily charmed. She says I give too much information and that I tend to be too nice. Hard to believe, isn't it? But rather than argue with her, I say, "Fine. You do the initial screening." This means that her phone number is on the information sheet attatched to the For Rent sign in front of the house. Now her husband is pissed off that she's taking those calls. So she sets up a time to meet the poeple when they make an appointment to see the house, but he has forbid her from entering the house. He claims the recent plumbing problems have made the house potentially hazardous to her health. There was raw sewage in their kitchen sink a week ago this past Tuesday, but the New Kids were told by the plumber they had to wash everything that came in contact with the sewage with bleach. They're still alive. And there were two days of raw sewage flooding my bathroom/solarium. I cleaned it up and she's been over here several times drinking beer. I think mainly to get away from him and to drink beer without having him count the number and add up the cost. I buy beer and borboun for her so she can get her coping buzz on. Who the hell am I to judge? I thought part of the reason she offered to help me was to get away from his controlling behavior. But now it's her safety he's worried about. I won't let her help me anymore, since it always turns into a problem. I won't call her house since it seems to put her on the spot with him. My world grows ever smaller. But I'm sick of the bad vibe and the hastle. Seems the more contact I have with the world out there, even if it's with girl friends, the more my happy day gets ruined. I've had adrenalin poisoning all damn day.
I want to go back to sleep and dream it all again, have at least one good day this week. Is that asking too much?
First thing comes to my mind is a gay couple. That would be ideal. Or a man who can do things. A man who knows how to change a furnace filter or insulate the attic. I'm not crazy about the idea of the young. I know that's ageist... But god dammit I'm sick of dealing with naughty children. I'd like someone who really liked the very old house that doesn't have a dishwasher but has a great back yard, the patio, the hammock, the shade, flowers, great neighbors, off street parking for two cars. And it's the best little neighborhood in the city. A real locally owned coffee house, The Coffee Garden. There are good restaurants and Salt Lake's first art theatre, The Tower, where I rolled around naked with my first boyfriend who worked there after school. I was thirteen. Nearly. But I digress.
Where were we? Any suggestions? He or they could have cats but it would be best if they were inside cats. It's a doggy world back here. So, these new and wonderful tenants will love my dogs. And because of the dogs and the hardwood stairs, I think the house isn't child friendly. I grew up in it and if my parents hadn't lived there it might have been lovely. The neighborhood has improved since they died. But I digress.
When the shit hits the fan there's nobody like you to make me feel that someone feels my pain and wishes me well. There's nothing better than that, unless it would be a sweet, sexy, handy man in bed with me. Now that would be The Top! Make him a bass player and I could die happy.
I spent five hours cleaning my bathroom and solarium floor last night. Once all the sewage was cleaned up I bleached everything: the floor, the tub, the toilet, the sink and the legs of the furniture that's too big for me to move. By the time I was finished it was close to 10:30. I put the furniture I could get out of the Solarium back in place and then spent a little bit of time on twitter. While I was sitting at my computer I started hearing a bubbling sound. It was sewage bubbling up through the floor drain. And while I was listening to that disaster begin again, I could also hear the New Kids having a party in the backyard. This situation is getting very close to pushing me over the edge.
Phillip called me last night to let me know that he's getting spam type email from my facebook site. I've sent no one any email invites from FB. I don't know how to use facebook well enough to do anything with it. Turns out I have two facebook accounts, and one of them is sending out email. I now want to close out all of my facebook existance and stop that madness. By the time Phillip and I were through talking I was in tears.
I did a 1:00 AM clean up of the last shit storm of the day and then went to bed. I got up this morning to find the floor still clean and used the toilet. I flushed. So far so good. Then I got my coffee and took the dogs outside. I came back into the house to hear the bubbling noise. The bathroom/solarium is now flooded with about 3 inches of sewage water. I'm shaking with rage and grief. I called Joe's Triple A. Joe answered the phone and said his weekend crew is in Church but as soon as they're out, he'll send them to my house.
I walked over to the main house to see if there is sewage water in the basement there. It didn't look like there's new flooding there, but it's 60 degrees outside and they have the furnace cranking hot air. I'd bet money they also have the windows open. I'm shaking with rage. I know I can't talk to them now, or who knows what the next assault on the house will be?
Now the plumbing problem has worked its way to my place. Thank god the bathroom and solarium are a couple of feet lower than the main part of the little house. The floors are tile, so once I unplugged all the entension cords and lifted the fifty pounds of dog food and the good leather backgammon set and the rugs and stuff, it began to slowly drain, but now everything that sat in it, if for only a moment, must be washed with bleach. Bugger!
I had other plans for today. But if it weren't this making me put it off for a day, it'd probably be procrastination.
The weekend shift of Joes Tripple A only took an hour to get here, but now they have a tall, swarthy charmer who wants me to write a screenplay for a low budget film he wants to make. He sounds and looks Yugoslavian. I know that's so old school of me, but I spent a month traveling the length of the coast line, staying in people's houses. I thought pretty much everyone was interesting looking. This man, I'm guessing to be in his sixties. Maybe he's Turkish or Algerian, last name Vasiliou. But I'm guessing one of the parts of the old Yugoslavia.
He was the one of the two guys from Joe's who came into my little house to see the result of the problem. He asked me what I do, and I told him I'm a writer. Then he told me he's a movie maker. He works for Joe as a second job, but movie making is what he wants to do. He left me his business card and, as business cards go, it's well designed and looks serious. Biggest drawback for me is his politics. He's going to run for public office as a Republican. I think he's a Sarah Palin fan.
Friday the weather's going to be beautiful, but I'll be lugging five loads of drity laundry to a the Laundromat. Next week I'll start looking for a newish washer and dryer. I'll also be getting a line of credit against the house. I'll have to hire help with the garden and yard this year. Ms M, I miss you. She was very helpful with the yard work. The New Kids did none of the things they said they would.
I'm more interested in writing now than I have been in a long time. Chapters are lining up waiting for me to catch up and be done with life's dirty laundry. I want to go riding, so I'm taking one of my characters riding. None of my characters wants to do the hard work of moving the pile of bricks from outside the back gate to inside the back gate. It would be great exercise for my arms, but would kill my back. I'm going to hire a couple of the young men from the Ward to help me. One of my two Mormon friends in the neighborhood has given me phone numbers. Slowly I move forward. But only I can do my dirty laundry. It can't be put off another day.
This is the last month the New Kids are occupying the main house. The male part of the New Kids (I'll call him the New Guy) and I had a contretemps over an unpaid gas bill and an open door. Words were exchanged in anger and apparently no one has ever spoken to him in that way ever before in his life. I'm that scary I guess. Who knew? Now all communication having to do with their tenancy has to go through an intermediary. So this morning just as I was leaving the house to go buy a new washer and dryer, I got a call from the intermediary telling me that the male New Guy called her to inform her that water is leaking from the shower into the basement. I went over and took a look in the basement and sure enough the basement floor is wet. I looked around for a dripping pipe or some other source of leaking water and could detect none. I called my friend Joe at Joe's AAA Drain & Sewer Cleaners and he was here in half an hour.
Joe asked me to got upstairs and run the shower. This is the first time I've walked through the main house since they've moved in. I'm in shock. I've never seen a filthier house. The shower probably hasn't been cleaned since they moved in. I ran water and no, it isn't the shower that's the culpret, it's the washing machine drain. Joe's been working on it for a half an hour and it isn't clearning. I don't dare talk to the male New Kid since he thought I was horrible about the unpaid gas bill (since paid) and now will have nothing to do with me. I'm so fucking mad I'm shaking as I type this. How can people live in a house littered with trash. Everything in the bathroom is on the floor: wet towels, dirty clothes and debris of an unknown origin. The house smells bad. I'm shaking with anger and I know I can't get into it with the New Guy who is now home and feigning total innocence (ignorance) which seems fake to me.
Joe had his assistant ran water into the washing machine and that drain is plugged so bad Joe can't get it to clear. He asked me to check the kitchen drain. When I looked at the kitchen sink it looked like someone had been dumping a months worth of coffee grounds in the drain. I reached in to move the coffee ground looking stuff and it turned out to be several inches of backed up crap (possibly literally, since it is very slimy and stinky). Now I want to throttle the 6' 6" New Guy. He came home while we were trying to find the source of the plug and is Mister Innocent, all wide eyed and way too pleasant. I can't express my anger or disgust with the state of the house and the plumbing. I obviously will have to postpone the washer/dryer purchase until the plumbing problem is solved. I suspect sabotage. I suspect passive-aggressive bullshit as payback for my speaking harshly to The New Guy. I'm trying very hard not to say anything that will piss him off any more than he is already pissed off.
It's looking like I'll have to get a line of credit against the house and replace the sewer line. It will require digging up the sewer line and that will require a backhoe in the backyard. I had plans to spend tomorrow with my friend who has MS. We were planning a trip to Costco. I have a feeling I'll be spending tomorrow at the bank and then taking bids on a major construction/plumbing job. Anybody know a good plumber?
I took a challenge from a man to write a little erotica. Sure, I can do that. I have a lifetime of sex, good and bad, and scandalous behavior, and too many men, and some very crazy women to draw on. I have been pursued by both men and women. And though now I may sound like the kind of woman who always knew what she would do and what she wouldn't do, life isn't always so simple as yes to this and no to that. I might pull a gun on a married man who wouldn't leave me alone, and turn around to passively accept from another man what seems now, in hind sight, like the worlds stupidest bad behavior. I have actively participated in a three way with my significant other and another woman; a woman of my choosing. Bad behavior, willingly engaged in. And it ruined everything. At least for a couple of years it did. I became the woman who broke another woman's heart and made the man who wasn't sure whether or not he loved me jealous and insecure for the first time, maybe the first time in his life.
When I moved back to Salt Lake from Santa Barbara I started modeling again. I was a known commodity here and had for decades known all the women in the fashion industry in Salt Lake from the models to the agents to the buyers, store owners, and fashion coordinators, so I had a head start. The amazing thing was the change in the industry. Older models were in demand for the first time ever and there weren't any in my age group working here then. So I filled a niche. I was in demand. And I ran with the wild women. They ranged in age from late twenties to late thirties and I was ten years older than the rest. I was also the only one with a fairly large house and no husband to frown on our behavior. So we did a lot of partying at my place.
And like any segment of the population some of us drank too much, did drugs, had reckless and naughty sex with the wrong people and talked about it. The main difference is that we were great looking women. So what I haven't done myself I've heard about in detail from each one of those women. Some of the stories are legendary and the women in question notorious for having lived to tell those stories. There were parties I didn't go to that were so outrageous and talked about so long that these stories have survived like famous jokes from legendary comics. I could write about those parties I didn't attend perhaps better than I could about things that happened in my own house, even in my own bed. You see, I'm ambivalent about my own bad behavior, but not so much about someone else's. But can I turn the me character into a woman who wasn't so ambivalent? Can I give that character permission to enjoy her bad behavior more than I actually enjoyed my own, in point of fact? Am I a fiction writer or am I a woman who writes nothing but memoir and only changes the characters names and hair color. We shall see.
The first five chapters of The Masseur (a working title) were a breeze to write. But the sixth chapter is the real beginning of the women behaving badly in a way most of you will say is pure fantasy, grotesque, just wrong, couldn't possibly have happened, so it must be fiction and not that believable as fiction. But do some of the scenes turn you on, despite yourself? That's the part that interests me. Can I make these women real to you? Can I make your naughty parts tingle a little in spite of your disapproval? That's the challenge.
Is there an objective truth? Does anyone really ever tell the complete truth about themselves? Perhaps it's only when you stop telling your story and start make shit up that you get to the truth. Is anything in the new book really fiction? I'll let you be the judge of that.
I am a self-published writer of short stories, poetry, and politics. I'm a rescuer of dogs and stray cats. I believe everything is political—especially sex and religion.
`Today I finished painting the kitchen. This involved five colors of paint. I figure if you're going to paint a kitchen why not make it really difficult. And every color that's dried gets taped for the next color. It's a time consuming bitch. Three days of painting and cleaning up after painting has turned my hands to sandpapery claws with little infected splits at the tips of my fingers. I'll take pictures. Today I worked fifteen hours.
