i am not a neat, sanitary, hygenic woman. I eat food that fell on the floor. Sometimes the litterbox goes unscooped for kind of a while. But... ew. If 8 adults and 5 children were about to stay at my house, it would not be 8pm that night when i said something like, "oh! pillows! ...... somewhere in the basement i have some perfectly good pillows..." A ray of hope. I clutched at it. "Mamita. Where are these pillows. I'll wash them and dry them right now." Real pillows! But no. They were couch cushions and throw pillows from 1960. Sedimentary layers of mold crusted their hideously lumpy beige-itude... very much like a slice cut from a geode or a tree trunk's rings...
"Well, we can try washing them."
"You can't WASH pillows."
"Of course you can. I wash my pillows constantly. All the time. I'm a pillow-washing fool. I'm an expert pillow launderer." The cool thing about my mominlaw is that I can talk to her like this and it makes her laugh.
"I had no idea. I've never washed a pillow."
"I can tell. Duuuuuude."
"Is there, um... is there a sears... a target..a walmart or something...."
"No. there's the 99 cent store."
"They won't have pillows."
"Yes they will."
"No way."
"Yes!"
We drove 6 blocks to 116th st. yes! 6 pillows for 30 bucks. they are non-ideal. But they are relatively clean. They are not pillows composed entirely of the shredded carcasses of dust mites compacted together with human sweat.
45 minutes later Mamita came shrieking with laughter up the stairs holding something that looked like a deconstructed sheep. The old pillows didnt' wash.
As we made Moomin's tiny little pallet on the floor she crooned over the little quilt... "This was Chang-meh's when she was born... Oh. I guess that's gross." Chang-meh is like, 43 or something.
"You washed it a couple times since then right?"
"HA!!!! And THIS!!!! This flannel sheet was my parents'! " She exploded into diabolical laughter, almost screaming, enjoying the thought of my tortured sensibilities.
It's not that I'm snobby! I am fine with a 60 year old flannel sheet with a few holes in it! It's the dust and painful lumpiness I can't take!
Chang-meh and her husband are stuck with the air mattress. I can't imagine. I tried to sleep on one once and every time you moved some body part would squodge all the way through the air part so that it was like the floor was beating you up all night long.
So far we have had a great time. I just like to rip on this kind of thing. I am a delicate, decadent creature.
On the way from the airport I found myself thinking an evil Biff-like thought from my haze of achiness and airplane-induced exhaustion. "Oooh, lookit that bar. That looks really sleazy. I wonder where the really sleazy lesbian biker bars are. The tranny bars of R0ckkaway Beach. I'd borrow the car and go out for groceries, but really I'd have a drink and screw some drunk floozy in the bathroom of the nastiest bar in all of Broooklyn and come back to the family thanksgiving dinner reeking of smoke, tequila, and having forgotten the half-and-half." Not that I would. But that it even occurs to me and amuses me... well... that amuses me. My ideal floozy, one that would relieve the tension and minor tedium of a giant uncomfortable houseful of relatives all desperately trying not to piss each other off... let's see she'd either be a doe-eyed, shyly smiling, marshmallow butchy sort of girl, home for the holidays from northhampton... or a bleach blonde aquanet sort of girl with lots of makeup, an ex-stripper gone to seed... No, no, no. This will not do. I am full of virtue. I will make playdough and create treasure hunts with a passel of 5 year olds and will wash the dishes unobtrusively and often. I will not lurk in the corner in a surly way, or hide in the bathroom reading.
Instead I will slip off for a bit tomorrow and go make pies with SLJ. I'm so excited to see her! and I want to show off Moomin to her! On the phone just now she made me feel all warm as she said that she remembers my unusual skill with pie crusts (especially considering i'm so inept and careless with many other things and often burn my toast) and that I taught her how to stick the pie crust together again with milk. One of the few housewifely skills passed on to me from countless generations of female relatives (at least i hope my mom didn't like, learn it in home ec class or from watching tv. i picture hardy french-and-indian pioneer women, descended from Paris whores, in their log cabins gently brushing the tips of their milky fingers across the raw dough, humming tunelessly as they picture some unknown future female descendent of theirs on baking day. Yup. That's how it was.
Mamita saved me the NYT special bk review p0etry issue. and it pissed me off unbearable. Wow, it was just not very good or inspiring. And it was the most un-daring thing ever. WTF, c. milozzzz was big deal 20 years ago are they not tired of writing about him by now? I love him too but... jesus fucking christ. so boring. there was like, one person under 55 in that whole magazine and she is that one goldengirl editor with kn0pfff. I can't fucking believe anyone thinks that j0hn assshbury is worth writing about even for 2 seconds. nearly everything mentioned in there was utterly bloodless. it made me want to vomit. seriously it made my stomach turn. i do like james wriight. but. but. but. you'd htink it was *SCREAM* 1950. that paper reminds me of my mom in law's mildewed pillows; musty old "po3try" carefully hoarded. The east coast establishment must be completely out of touch with reality. that shit makes Dana fucking G101a look like a wild-eyed bomb throwing radical. oh and they put him and gary s. in there to be all westcoast but... no it's so fakey.
Comments