Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
stg-roadrunner-gfx
Monday, April 04, 2005

Tumble Grumble

My eyes sting. One curse of sobriety is my inability to fall blissfully into slumber immediately upon going horizontal. This clock changing nonsense may be a factor as well. So could the invisible waves from Planet X. I managed to sink into a shallow sleep around four this morning. That lasted until shortly before seven, when the condo construction crew began their toil mere meters from my bedroom window.

Most construction crews have the decency to make regular noises like hammer pounds, brick clacks, and saw grinds. Not these bastards. Their sounds are jackhammers, shearing sheetmetal, loud beeping, and some odd thing that goes "Gu-gu-gu-gralllp!" every twenty seconds. I wanted to rip out the window screen, aim my morning wood, and arch a bold yellow jet of steaming piss right onto a hardhat. I reined in the idea. I'm not getting arrested on opening day of the baseball season. There's no radios in jail.

I went to the laundromat on Sunday afternoon. When I arrived there were lots of people inside sweating and panting, so I took the initiative and blocked the front door open with a large trashcan. Air swirled in. I stood in the doorway, backlit by the incoming sunlight. I was Atmosphere Jesus, delivering a redemptive breeze to a stifled sauna of laundry hell.

I loaded my loads and looked for a camping pitch to plant my ass with a paperback. The only open perch was a ledge rimming the front window. I sat there in the sun's glare and read my book. People walking the strip mall saw me though the glass. I felt like an Amsterdam quarter whore. The arcade games behind me hollered inanities while I followed the fictional hunt for a serial killer.

Buzzers buzzed. I rose. I've been doing my own laundry for five years, but I'd never folded it before. I felt so grown up. I saw Polish and Mexican immigrants using the tables and decided that I would try the same. Folding clothing wasn't as theraputic as washing dishes, but it was okay. I might enjoy the non-rumpled look. We'll see.

I made my magic soup on Saturday. It tasted so good. So good. I can't even thesaurus about it. Words cannot convey. I ate so much. I want to relive Saturday in perpetuity.
9:02 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm

7 Comments:

April 04, 2005 10:55 AM, Anonymous sarcastrix said...

Thesaurus as a verb... It works!

Gratuitous verbification is my new favourite hobby.

 
April 04, 2005 11:02 AM, Blogger Dave Morris said...

As a kid, (age 11) I used to frequent the neighborhood laundry, and became friends with the attendant. She would let me sweep up and clean the place, and in exchange I could keep any money I found on the floor, between the machines, etc. If I hadn't found a full dollar a day, she would supplement the rest.

I would then go down the street to the liquor store and buy a couple of candy bars. "20 cent," the cashier would say. In North Carolina, cash amounts are spoken in the singular. $50 is "fitty dollah." $.20 is "twenny cent."

Anyway, your laundromat story took me back in time a little.

 
April 04, 2005 6:17 PM, Blogger Isabella said...

i've had weekends like that. feels exotic, novel.
i picked up a free washer and dryer this weekend, though.

of course, after unloading them i discovered that there is no 220 outlet in my house.

 
April 04, 2005 7:35 PM, Blogger ty bluesmith said...

it tasted so good.

that is classic. i never know if i dare. you made it alright. i'm glad i saved you for last.

although, YGWIN preceed you. she never talks about sad stuff, but her writing makes one kind of sad almost.

or no?

becuz if you don't feel that way, I don't either.

 
April 04, 2005 8:48 PM, Blogger Wino McHackenpuke said...

Fire Alarm, your invitation has been sent. We are awaiting your acceptance.

The Handsomes will be a good blog.....gooooood blog.

 
April 04, 2005 10:40 PM, Blogger You've Got What I Need... said...

Quarter whores? You must get better rates than the rest of us poor suckas.

 
April 04, 2005 11:28 PM, Blogger Lostinspace said...

i wanna know what is in your magic soup. i think i need some.

 

Post a Comment

left-arrow Home

stg-shark
I Mean It
Tinfoil Viking Science
Celery Stalker
Captured Again
Insect Necklace
Victimless Anthropomorphism
Yellow Light Warning
All Rise
More Idiocy
Dead End Street
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
August 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
February 2008
May 2008
August 2008
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
December 2009
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2010
August 2011
September 2011
February 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
October 2012
November 2012
May 2013
August 2013
September 2013
December 2013
May 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2016