Friday Swoon

Kristin Hersh
——

There are very few things in life that give me heart-pounding giddiness. It’s not that I’m above having that type of response to a given stimulus. It has more to do with the fact that my heart is only this big –> . This morning is the first time I’ve experienced that giddiness in seven months or so.

50 Foot Wave/Throwing Muses are playing two east coast shows in August!!! I’ve purchased my tickets already and I’ll be trekking up to Boston and NY for both shows because I’m obsessed like that.

And to my family and friends in Boston and NY - I’ll touch base with yous guys as the dates get closer.

I know will probably appreciate the following more than anyone:

=====
You purchased 2 tickets to:

Throwing Muses with Special Guests 50 Foot Wave
Middle East, Cambridge, MA
Friday August 11, 2006 8:00 pm
Seat location: section GA
Total Charge: $49.50
=====

You have purchased the following:

Throwing Muses
plus 50 Ft. Wave
at The Bowery Ballroom
GENERAL ADMISSION Saturday, August 12 (8:00 PM doors) 2 Will Call
Ticket face value: 40.00
Service fee: 8.30
Total charges: 48.30
=====

Thursday Morning This and That

The rat eviction notice is still posted as of this morning, but I’ve been unable to serve it directly. I think perhaps the peanut butter bait is not going to work this time around. Lady Friend feels that I would have more success with the traps if I baited them with Newports, lotto scratchies, crack vials, and empty Utz crab-flavored potato chip bags. I think she might be on to something.
—–

LF and I aren’t your average dykes. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but anyway. She and I went to our version of the Farmers Market - the gun range. It was a very quiet night with only a few other guys out on the range. None of them idiots or poseurs. I was super-nervous though because my Dad Crush was also at the range and watching my point shooting technique from behind the glass. I graduated from his Personal Protection in the Home/Defensive Shooting class with a 98%, but still…I don’t want to disappoint him. LF and I weren’t out on the range long because it was hotter than hell in there and my shooting glasses kept fogging up. Plus, I was out of .38’s and running a box of .357 rounds through my gun made the cylinder extremely hot and the blast-back from the repeated muzzle flashes became a bit much after a while.

I did make an exciting purchase for my dirty girl while there though. I got a new 14-gauge steel safe with an electronic keypad and a spring-loaded door. It’s also good for storing other critical items like my passport, deeds, backup hard drive, stripper cash, and favorite sex toys. And the only things I really need stored in a safe place, yet still within reach of my bed, are lube and my Smith & Wesson. Even if you don’t own a handgun(s), it’s still a great purchase. Oh, and BF’s mom, a retired law enforcement officer, gave me a new cylinder lock. It so much nicer than my old lock and much more fashion-forward. And whenever you can combine fashion and function, it’s usually a good thing.

Here is the sexy safe:

And the sexy lock:

On the sexy cylinder:

Of the sexiest bitch in the business:

A Problem in My Crack

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I have a rat problem in my back yard that will soon be remedied. To briefly summarize, I live deep in the inner-city and my mostly dirt back yard abuts an alley blooming with garbage. This is my first summer in my house and my yard is one of the few that is not completely slabbed in with concrete. So basically, the rats are loving my easy-access yard and my even more accessible cracks.

It could be another week or two before my concrete guy comes over and opens up a can o’ wup ass on my yard. In the meantime, I’ve got to manage the alley bunny issue on my own and keep those fuckers from making their way into my house.

I thought it would be best to provide, for my two readers out there, a brief photo essay of the situation. It should be noted that my crack is not Section 8 zoned. It’s not government subsidized and I am not receiving any tax breaks. And WIC cards will not be accepted in my trash can.
—–

A view from the alley:

This is the main condo under the stairs:

This is where they work:

—–

My contractor is going to break up all of the existing concrete and pour a new slab from the foundation of my house all the way out to the alley. He’s going to build a rounded form and pour around the big juniper tree in the corner. And where the dirt is still exposed under the tree, he’s going to put down a heavy duty screen and cover the screen with small flat stones so that 1) the tree will still be able to get water from above ground and 2) the rats will find somewhere else to dig.

There will be no slumlording in my future.

Obligatory Vacation Pictures

Since I have recovered from my plague, I thought I’d share some more pictures from our vacation in the D.R. I’m sentimental like that.

When we walked out of our suite,
it was all peaceful and tranquil and shit.

There were all of these pretty flowers growing
all around and shit. It was soothing as hell.

Yellow ones.

And pink ones. Awww.

Blue ones.

And some white ones. Yawn…

There were even some that gave me
a weird tingle when I looked at them.

We took a ride one day and we saw mountains
and palm trees and poverty and shit.

—–

Here is the beach where we free-titted it all week.

Can you even process the hotness of my Lady Friend?

I have a raging fever here, but I still look good.

Look at what a hot couple we are. We’d totally hit that.

tumbleweave: A-H’s Word of the Day

Main Entry: tum·ble·weave \’t&m-b&l-”wEEv\ noun

1. a hair extension that breaks away from its roots and is driven about Washington Blvd by the wind as a light rolling mass

Example Sentence:
Nurse J swerved to avoid running over a cat on Washington Blvd, but when she got up close she realized it was just a large tumbleweave.

Random Weekend Blah Blah

Lady Friend and I watched Brokeback Mountain Friday night. Neither one of us were really moved. We wanted to be sad and stuff, but we could only understand half of what the characters mumbled so a lot was lost on us. Heath Ledger sounded like Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade. Really, this movie should have been called Slingback Mountain because it’s a much more accurate description.
—–

My cousin, with whom I am very close and is more like a brother to me, became a father for the first time on Saturday morning! He and his wife had a perfect baby boy and I feel more like a first-time aunt than a second cousin. Honestly, my face hurts from smiling. My cousin is one of the sweetest guys you could ever meet and he will be the father that everyone wishes they could call their own. I will be heading up to Queens soon enough. Fuhgetaboutit.
—–

Yesterday my concrete/masonry contractor came over to finalize plans for my back yard and front steps. I’m having the ancient concrete in the back broken up and removed and having a new slab poured, which will fill almost the entire yard. This will be a good thing because I am having a rat issue and am waging a futile war in my yard. It’s not that I’m dirty, it’s just that I live in Baltimore City and having a dirt yard abutting a garbage can lined alley is not the best thing, no matter how clean you are. The “alley bunnies” like to dig where there’s dirt and they are taking up residence in the cracks of the existing concrete in my yard. I really don’t want the f*ckers to find a way into my house.

Anyway, my contractor is probably about my dad’s age and he has the biggest arms and chest I’ve ever seen on a non-body builder. It’s kind of shocking. I mean, this guy is totally jacked and he has no worries or concerns about working in my neighborhood. Plus, he’s off the boat from Italy and has the best accent. I love the way he says my name. He’s taken me under a paternal wing because he says I remind him of his daughter. He’s concerned that I live alone where I do, especially because of “zah rats.” In fact, he’s so concerned about “zah rats” that he’s not worried about payment. He said I could pay him half (or whatever I could afford) when he finishes the job and pay him the rest by December 31st. When discussing the logistics of the job, he said he won’t be able to get a Bobcat tractor through my gate to break up the old concrete. With that, he pointed to each bicep and said, “But thatsa gonna be-a okay. Don’t you aworry ‘cos I’ma bringing my owna Bobcats.”

Weather permitting, he’s going to start the job in the next week or so. I hope the job gets done sooner than later because I saw baby “alley bunnies” under the steps Saturday night. They didn’t even make an effort to run away from me. They just kinda gave me the “F*ck you, lady!” look and squeezed into the crack. Gross.

Vacation Hangover: The Abridged Version

This is the best way to sum up what the the last ten days have been like for me.

If you are at work, you may want to turn down the volume. Actually, turning up the volume would be best.

Vacation Hangover: The Denouement

Things I am thankful for today:

1) Pharmaceuticals, especially Cipro.
2) Indoor plumbing.
3) Quilted Northern brand toilet paper.

Wonder of wonders! I am back in the office today! Dare I say that I’m actually happy to be here? It’s true. I never thought I’d say that. It’s funny the things that e. coli makes you appreciate. I’m still on the clear liquids only and rice/toast/bananas/apple sauce diet for another day or so because I’m two years old again.

Gotta go! My Pull-Ups are drooping. Time for a temper tantrum and diaper change, followed by Sesame Street and a nap.

Vacation Hangover - Part 2

I sorta lied in my last post. I actually did get the runs in the Dominican Republic, beginning last week, but I didn’t think it was that big of a deal then. Why am I sharing this wonderful tidbit with you? Well, it’s kinda funny, but kinda not. I had to break down and go to the doctor yesterday because the runs were getting worse and worse with each passing day. It usually works the other way around, right? Um, yeah. Turns out I have e. coli poisoning. Isn’t that fantastic? It’s amazing what you can bring through U.S. Customs in your colon.

I couldn’t get just regular old traveler’s diarrhea. Oh no. That would too easy. I have to have bacterial jihad declared in my large intestine. I don’t even want to know how or where I contracted e.coli, but Lady Friend is sure it was from the buffet on the beach last Monday/Tuesday. Gross.

Funny thing is, I am so fastidious about hand washing in general. I’m that person who keeps hand sanitizer in my bag, in my car, and on my desks. Don’t you just love life’s little ironies? While at the resort, LF and I were doing an informal bathroom survey. It seems the only other people washing their hands after using the bathroom were other North Americans. And there were very, very few North Americans at the resort. Draw your own conclusions about the potential for passing e. coli on to other tourists.

So it’s been good times here. I’ve been afraid to leave my house since last Friday. I even brought a change of clothes with me yesterday to the doctor’s office just in case I couldn’t make it there without crapping my pants. Hi, I’m two years old again.

Anyway, I’m on these mega-antibiotics now and I actually feel better after a couple of doses and lots of Pedialyte. The demon is nearly exorcised. You should see the bathroom in my bedroom. It looks like Jackson Pollock stopped by and left a masterpiece in reddish-brown paint.

Vacation Hangover

I’m back from the Dominican Republic!

What a wonderful vacation! It was exactly what Lady Friend and I needed, which was to do absolutely nothing. We really had no idea what to expect when we got to the D.R. and I have to say it exceeded all of our expectations. We definitely plan on going back there someday and perhaps checking out La Romana.

The only complaints I have are the following:
~ Drinks melt fast and insulated mugs are sold for $45. Yes, that’s forty-five American dollars, not D.R. pesos.
~ My Spanish skills suck. Need to brush up before going back.
~ I got really (I mean really) sick.

How sick was I? Let’s put it this way - as we sat in the Punta Cana airport waiting for our flight out, I was the only person in the waiting area who had flies on my lips and eyelids. In one of my feverish visions, I could have sworn I saw Angelina Jolie approaching me and looking at me like I was the next refugee in line for adoption.

Seriously though, I don’t know what happened to me. I was fine fine fine and then started declining Wednesday afternoon. Thursday morning I woke up extremely dizzy in a cold sweat with a fever that didn’t actually break until yesterday (Sunday). I’m still not quite right, but at least the fever is gone, I think. So much for the perfect vacation, right? Ah, but such is my luck. I still had a great time in spite of my delirium.

Ever the reluctant optimist, I still look at the bright side of things. At least I didn’t have the pukes or the runs while in the D.R. And at least I was at a really nice resort with an eternally patient LF. And, since it was really hot outside and really warm in our suite, I didn’t get the feverish chills. If you’re going to have a raging fever anywhere, what better place to have it than in a tropical paradise, especially if the view from your chaise lounge chair looks like this:

And this:

This:

And also this:

As I mentioned in my previous post, LF and got seriously tan. Here’s a picture of her and one of me. Don’t we look fantastic?