clean up

Harry was in the throngs of dying, but he was taking his sweet time doing it. Harry, or Bio Dad as mom called him hadn't played much of any role in my life save a chance encounter a few years ago when he called my business to scrape out the remains of a dead body at his storage company.
some old derelict had taken to living in his storage unit and funny thing, you apparently die when you're a raging alcoholic with untreated diabetes. Harry got fed up with 3 missed payments for the unit and went to bust the lock off when he caught a wall of stink radiating from the inside. did i mention these weren't airconditioned units. fuck.
smart man my old bio dad he was... knew enough to make a hasty retreat and call the cops in. few hours later the cops and medic lackies take off and there's nothing left but the residue mess.
that's just it. no one comes to clean up the gore. no one appears with a mop and some bleach. it's all on you. or it's all paid by you when i come by and take care of it.
so yeah, harry grabbed the yellow pages and luck of the draw picked my business and i came by for the preliminary assessment.
after a couple of minutes eyeball fucking my name on my business card and looking me up and down he shooed me down a row of storage units to check out the damage.
One hobo pot pie plus whatever gangrenous skin was rotting off him already. Place in sealed cube for three summer months. boosh, not good. but it gets much worse than this. this is fucking great compared to what i could be peeling off the walls with a trowel.
he had his worn polo shirt hiked up over his nose and waiving at the air. "well holy fucking jesus christ! what a fucking stink! god damn, i knew something was up. i told that old son of a bitch no living in here. ah, god damn it! stinks like rotten hooker pussy after a sales convention in Vegas."
after that flight of tourettes i should have felt it in my heart that this was indeed my father. but as it was i left it at "batshit crazy client".
"Yep the smell just sticks to everything. I'll need to basically detox this unit and try to get the stink out. oh and i'll have to work on the cement too."
tepidly leaning in as far as he could take the stench he browsed the floor to see the mutated puddle of colours and wheel marks from the meat bag gurney rolling through.
"'Suppose you charge EXTRA for that shit."
"no, it'll all be part of the quote. let me write it up and you can call somene else if you want to compare prices."
"fuck it, fuck it... come back to the office and let's get this sorted out. phraauuugh! stinking old fuck!"
he lit a cigarette en route back to the front and wagged his head back and fourth. "oh jesus. and the fucking cops. oh don't even get me started. I said 'listen i don't have fucking homing collars on all these fuckers, how'm i supposed to know where they are let alone tits up in a garage?!'"
"naw naw, just making sure you didn't murder him."
"fah, they'd have asked less questions if i had killed him. fucking horror show."
still with a smoke lit up in his fingers he walked into the office and attempted to clear a path for me to sit. tallying up some numbers quickly on paper i gave a highball estimate to see if he'd nibble. he looked like some out of luck stock broker from the 80's with the dated jeans and leather loafers but i had clocked the lexus parked outside. that's the type right there, grubby but still packed to the tits with money. might as well toss out a number and see if he'll accept.
taking in a breath to do The Spiel he cut me off and yanked the paper out of my hand.
"muhuh, muhuh... yeah that's fine. you gotta start soon though!"
"Sure! I can start right now. i have the time." sure i did, i was starving between jobs so i'd take a mop job in a jizz factory at this point.
I was a one dyke operation at that time so it's not like i had to reschedule with my secretary. i suited up in my swanky white plastic work overalls and put my respirator on top of my head. Harry came out with a new cigarette burning in his fingers and watched me tape up the wrists around rubber gloves and a quick wrap around my boots. i'm telling you, there's no way you want some biohazzard shit lolling into your shirt sleeves. it's not just for show.
"how come you didn't put this shit on when we were standing over there?!"
"i wasn't up to my tits in it so no need for the rubbers."
he seemed amused at my response and gestured towards the row in question. i don't like an audience so i let him know if he needed anything to come get me otherwise i would come in when i was done.
how does one clean up the residues of death? a healthy knowledge of chemistry and its impact on removing containment and can i be honest here? you have to be a bit of a sociopath. it doesn't bother me in the slightest to mop up after a brain-splattering suicide. virtually untouched by the gore i just start working and get caught up in the actions of what i'm doing, not what's underneath the cleaning equipment. the details of the clean up are rather unimpressive. well, not with a job like this at least. straighforward area wipe down and trying to counteract the rank smell that can only come from someone rotting for months on end and essentially exploding like a contained fleshy volcano. sorry, did that sick you out? it's just work to me. rolls right on by.
i worked hard and tried not to get irritated from the sweat pulsing around my goggles and respirator mask. you really don't want to use your hands to wipe the sweat off you know?
i managed to get the unit looking more usable and less like you know, a dude died in it. i half expected Harry to have left for the day but he was chain smoking outside talking on a cell phone when i started dragging my equipment back.
"What's the news?"
"looking good, but the smell isn't going to go away in a day. i need to come back and do another wash down before i can let you use it again. you just gotta go back and lock it up."
"good! oh shit that's great..."
he silently puffed away while i packed up and kept clearing his throat.
"that's it for me today. i'd shake your hand but, if you don't mind i better get sanitizer on it first."
"no nooo problem. thanks...." he looked worried all of a sudden. dealing with these types of clean ups i'm remarkably sensitive for a sociopath. er, i think it's more because i'm a narcissist and i think that my soothing words can heal the most traumatized of customers.
"are you ok? it's honestly a lot to deal with."
"ahh... well no, but... so your last name is Stuz right?"
oh yeah i get it. i look more Asian than German. and people have such a hard-on to figure out what mutts are made of.
"it's just i knew someone called that. Marta?"
"that's my mother yeah..." sinking in my gut. all my mom would say about my father was he was a dick, she was glad to have gotten me out of the deal and he was Chinese. no, don't be stupid.
"ah. i see."
longer pause this time. fuck. no. no? no!
"don't. don't even... man."
"honest, i didn't call you here just because of that!! luck of the draw on the yellow pages and then i saw your name on the business card. oh, shit."
"okay, well for one, if you happened to have fucked a Marta Stuz 28 years ago then hello father. two, i don't do family rates so you're not getting a discount."
"ha! fuck, you have to be mine!"
it's hard not to feel a little twinge of discomfort when hearing that. i'm not YOURS! i'm Marta's and the byproduct of being a scary loner raised by books and the comic book store.
"no, that's fucking rude. i'm sorry, i don't know how to take this."
"you don't have to take anything. i'm not going to shake you down for money beyond this invoice."
"just, i just thought that i would be a little more, you know, heroic or say something intelligent."
"there's no one line that's going to smooth over 28 years of not knowing me. to be fair mom didn't really want you in her life anyway, so win-win-win."
"can we get a coffee or something?"
"no. no i don't like mixing business with my personal life. you understand, right?"
he looked shot down but nodded in agreement.
"ya hafta come back anyways so pop into my office for a bit will you?"
"deal." i quickly drove off feeling stunned but wanting to get as far away as possible.

/hrm, let's see if i'm motivate to write more later

oh delicious twinky...

twinky puppy: [tw.in-kee pu.peh] description of a cute gay person i just want to bundle up and lavish non-sexual attention on them like a king charles spaniel. ie) gee, i wish i had a little twinky puppy to watch henry the 5th with and drink coffee on this rainy day.

nosey fucker

the cat was locked out of my room due to repairs on the sump pump. he was not having this. AT ALL.
kitteh surveillance!!11!!!

pics because i feel so guilty about never writing pt. ii

out of sorts... and it's your fault.

i'm wallowing in a fit of blahs... which usually means anti-social grouch. Or at least on the inside since it's rare that I snarl at someone else unless their name is mike solomon. hi mike! i know you'll love that i dropped your name on a blog you'll never read. Oh! hey, that was grouchy. there you go. i am currently obsessed wtih this song. it's so over the top but applicable.

He Poos Clouds - by Final Fantasy
Lazy, you lazy poet, your words are reckless, and I can't feel it
But hey, hey, all the boys I have ever loved have been digital
I've been a guest, on a screen, or in a book!
I move 'em with my thumbs, I move them with my thumbs
I write his name in nothing, he whispers to the author
That I will be the only one

Escape! Escape! This time, for real!
We fool around in the service lane
He's the only friend I have who doesn't do cocaine
And all the boys I have ever loved have been confidential
Had a broken home, or a seedy past
So I know it's gonna last
And move him with your thumbs, I move him with my thumbs
He needs, he needs my guidance, he needs, he needs my time
Though I am not the only one

He swam! To the edge of the wall of the world!
Followed my voice, and he cried
Master! The answer is maybe... Maybe not... Maybe not...
Maybe not! I have goals!
Gotta fulfill the seven prophecies!
Gotta be a friend to grandmother!
Gotta rescue Michael from the White Witch!
Gotta find and kill my shadow self
Gotta dig up every secret seashell
You may have been made for love...
But I'm just made.

....

we had managed to bullshit the lady at the horse farm into letting us do a trail ride without any supervision. i had enough lingo down to compensate for being a mediocre at best rider. what i lack in experience i make up in blunt optimism that nothing bad'll happen. i almost forgot to secure my saddle before trying to haul myself up. that would have been awkward.
my initial nerves about riding a horse flap away the minute my hand wraps around the horn and i toss my hefty ass up and onto the saddle. it was my guilty pleasure when riding to shimmy into the curve of the saddle for the first time. that purr-inspiring minute where you stretch out your legs and loll back and fourth to feel settled.
the trail horses could have done the trip on auto pilot but i still held the reins like i was a needed part of the process. nope, just a parasite sitting up and smiling at the open space and knowing that we had 60 minutes before even needing to turn the horses around. i'm going to be so bowlegged i won't be able to bend over to pick up a nickle after this...
i tried to enjoy myself and not fixate on the thought of looking like an ass in front of Magda who was pushing a head without a thought of what i was up for. my pride squeezed boots into flank and we took off to catch up. probably didn't breathe in once until we caught up. what a charlatan country boy. while i spoke in rich pastoral myths when thinking about where i grew up, i was still shakey to the core over some things.

amber necklace for mp

originally made this with 4 seeds around the large orange pieces but one broke off. so yanked 3/4 of it off and re-did it with a more sturdy type of bead. probably one of my fav pieces to date.

i know. kitty pics. what else is new?

do you know where your children are?

i was a small time criminal in my youth. the stout middleman smiling as you passed the goods off and willing to fill in the awkward silence before a delivery with relevant chit chat. there is a swell of pride in my chest when i think about how easy it is for me to engage even the dodgiest of scamps in conversations. glad to say that it's served me well over the years and on into my more domesticated corporate incarnation.
"that's a resume builder," Steak always said. "it'll come in handy beyond talking a cop out of arresting you."

i still get the willies when i hear the metallic whir and click of handcuffs being secured. funnier still to watch me induce a panic attack in a back seat of a car if my legs are too cramped. i once hopped into a cab in the morning going to work and immediately started sweating. after the third pull on an already loosened collar the cabbie said i looked about three shades closer to death than when i got into the cab. this is a heavy-handed statement since i'm so bloody pale.
"I just don't know... i just feel sick all of a sudden you know?"
his voice crackled with smokers cough and chuckled. "you been in trouble before?"
Indignant scoff. "Well, HARDLY anything of note."
"this is an old cop car from an auction. the seats' welded back and yer choking on your own breath trying to get comfortable. and i ask you again, ya been in trouble with the law before?!"
my legs were already propped up on the back seat and stretched out. i patted my forehead with a kleenex and willed my red face into being tame.
"god bless the young offenders act that's all i gotta say."

if i was a timid criminal, my friend Maggie was a bold bitch. while i was jostling change in my pockets waiting for a trade off in a parking lot, she was driving her fathers lexus to toronto to do much more sinister dealings.
Sweetie Maggie-pie was immersed in rich girl fixins, but her rebellion laid in the company she kept. hard living blue collar types wafted around her circle of friends and we were never surprised when a new hard as fuck boyfriend clomped over to shake some faggot hands. even those guys were laughing by the time i was done with them. sure i drink tea with a pinkie raised, but i'm more than competent in the arena of butch boy talk.

the hardest motherfucker of them all was Huu... who won extra points from me having "Phuoc Huu" tattooed across his shoulders. Originally i thought it was pun on "fuck you" but it turns out it actually means something along the lines of "one who deserves to be lucky". who knew? regardless he talked even less than Maggie - if that was possible - but once he got rolling he never shut up.

they waltzed in one night after a trek down to visit some of his relatives in toronto and asked me to come bring some bags in. "great, it's a fucking dead body and i'll have to call my lawyer. i'm going to put his kids through university and grad school. ugh."

The bags were way too light though... i thought they were taking the piss out of me when Huu opened one up for me to take a peek. weed. garbage bags filled to the tits with weed.

"wow." i signed wow for Maggie to join in on my surprise.
"i know... my cousin [it was always a fucking cousin... how many can a man have?!] got me a good deal on this."
"So you drove in a Lexus from Toronto to here with 3 garbage bags full of weed. wow."
"it's great stuff too!"

I assumed that the sensation i was feeling was akin to a stroke. i could sit in a bathtub full of this stuff in one bag. [cue herb alpert music with me lolling around in this like a dog on a dead fish]

I signed "wow" again and shook my head. "Well let's move it in before the neighbors think that it's a body."

Huu guffawed loudly and smacked me on the back. "Body! give me a break. I wouldn't bring you a corpse. you don't even have a shovel here do you?"
"No. Definitely no shovel." Note to self: hide shovel in garage.

i turned out just fine. JUST FINE thank you very much. There's nothing to worry about, but you can get a laugh watching me fidget when a cop is walking past me. that's my gift to you.

pics because i feel so guilty about never writing

newest mix making the rounds

summer lessons... too bitchy to leave on facebook

What did i learn this summer?

That a dream job can devolve into a nightmare.

That friendly people at the office are more often than not trying to solicit information to gossip about. Thankfully i know who the honest people are if i want to speak freely.

That i'm not liked by everyone... this is tough for someone like me, but again, good lesson to work on.

Fashion-sense means more than good work to some people... and those people will be amazed when i wear a shirt and tie every day.

Failing upward is a career path for some... but hopefully that's not what i'm doing!

i actually caught myself thinking more than once a month about applying at the smut-shack again for a job.

i am now a full time smoker again... 'tis better to take a butt-break and chill out than to bite someone's head off.

people within the community have no shame in asking me when i will get laid off... "Do you ask this to ANYONE ELSE?" "Well no..." "Why??" "I... I guess because it's rude?" oy.

There's no replicating the old team i started out with last March... and it's time to let that go.

Being The Other Woman isn't as bad as I thought it'd be... but still nothing thrilling.

I am thankful for the good souls in my life who are available for sushi/coffee breaks/taco tuesday attendance/msn conversations.

i am sad that i have [multiple] relatives who have mocked my family for having a gay child. and this queer child has never said anything to be open, just had a short haircut and no boyfriend.

Realizing that my parents have nothing left to be disappointed in other than my sexual orientation... and that they would rather dwell on that than all my achievements.

Understanding that I'm never going back "home" again without being on the defense and tight-lipped.

For as much as I'm distant to family that remain, I am still so over-whelmed in emotions when i look around my grandmothers old farm house and barn -> see photo gallery

For the first time I've wanted to go to China. Like, really bad. And not tourist Chingy China, I want to go see some shit that will throw me on my head with culture shock.

By the end of 2009 I will need to go to Las Vegas to see the Liberace museum. I have come to the epiphany that it's my Graceland pilgrimage.

I like living where i am... i know this is tough to fathom. just try.

lack of sleep makes me loose my mind.

smoking the good stuff ensures i sleep... which is scary, but it's how it goes.

going sober for over a month didn't make me feel better, sleep better or save any money. i just dumped the cash into comic books and stayed up all night reading them.

i am in a negative mindspace but it'll sort itself out by end of year or else it's time to pull up stakes and make another major change.

i also realized that a strange assortment of people actually read these things...

don't be disturbed by the pessimistic slant, i'm always like this. I just don't let people in on it that often:P