yard sale

I fretted for ages about this yard sale I was having yesterday – –

possibly the most humiliating thing ever as it also included an invitation to poke around in my basement for treasures, which I can best describe as similar to having someone root around in your underwear drawer – –

(there is also this whole additional story about how i misposted the thing on Craig’s List, but – with the assistance of some lovely friends of the parents of a former student  – that got all sorted out.  that is the advantage of living in the place I do, and knowing the people i know. i do not undervalue this reality.  it is very comforting.)

the early visitors were folks who probably run booths at flea markets or what-have-you – – – I sold four pickup trucks worth of furniture in under an hour.

My earliest customer – Norma, a sixty-something-ish woman with that distinctive way of holding her handbag TIGHT under her right armpit, showed up, looked around, sized up my prices – and then promptly called her husband to come with a trailer.

I am possibly more impressed with post-menopausal women who can call up men and make them appear to do their bidding than I am at younger women who can get men to pick up their children from school.

I did love Norma  – and she and John were here for nearly an hour – cleaning out my basement of table saws, chafing dishes, lawnmowers, power tools, bureaus, tables, chairs, African art, and shelves.

In the end, Norma untucked her “mad money” from her ancient and much-loved wallet of worn red leather (I always have me some mad money tucked away, she confided), put down her Regulation Handbag, and embraced me.  Hard.

She said, Honey,  You will be okay.

I needed that.

Anyway, yes, I probably could’ve made more money, but I was racing a storm front and I was desperate to get all this shit out of my life.  My gross net of $462 is even more impressive if you consider I didn’t price anything over $10 and gave away most of the things.

(I am a big fan of Free with Purchase.)

I was actually just getting ready to post an update on AB – who finally got off the porch swing – – but.

Okay, here is the uber-short version – as a Taurus soul given to the need for immediate gratification and pretty much sucking at being paced by others, last week, I was driven to finally take the bull by the horns – – 

This is Boot Daddy. He’s a bull. He’s the OFFICIAL bull for the Professional Bull RIders Association. I found out more about him when I ordered a special frozen custard treat named for him. You can find out more about him here – http://www.bootdaddy.com/news/meet-bootdaddy/

and so I said, in the direct, bovine way for which I am noted:  

Um, so, this is a little awkward – – and I want you to know that I am super-okay with ambiguity – – I am probably the BEST ambiguity- friendly American you know – –  but I’m just off the bench and a little bit vulnerable, so just let me know:  do you find me AT ALL attractive?

This being the Show Me state, I was naked  about12 minutes later.

So that was okay.

But, there are Other Things to Tell.

They will take a long time and – did I mention? – Luxury Ho has some other things to do today.

I’m not getting paid for this, friends.

Okay, okay, here is a very abbreviated version:

 in this relationship (which is, of course, in no way REALLY a relationship) – though we do share the quality experience of being broken idealists (it’s what unites us),  I am Sponge Bob

and AB is Squidward.

People who know me (and that will be all of my current readers, but I am unable to track stats for some reason that I must discuss with Toni, my tech support), will know that I am possibly the FARTHEST personality on the planet from Sponge Bob at most times.

So that I’m the one who is bouncing about saying “fun fun fun” is a little bit startling.

The biggest problem(s) right now for Luxury Ho is a nexus of lack of time (yard sale ate my brain), lack of internet connectivity, and a concern for the ethics of blogging.

I am much more darkly funny about the dysfunction of myself and others in person . . . there is a kind of permanence to the blog.

Also, after one month of being home and doing pretty much nothing but listing my house, watching all 7 seasons of Buffy, and trying to clear my house out for potential buyers


i wonder if there’s a Starbucks at this exit?

I’ve suddenly got my academic professional bug back on, and spent the entire Sunday morning in a coffee shop, listening to old Police albums and researching/downloading articles about new shapes of intergenerational subjectivity in the digital age and how media and technology transform domestic space and the materiality of personhood . . .

because someone has to write this damn book.  Even if no one will read it.

This lack of realism and inability to face things in a timely way is likely why i can never pay my bills.

I might need to revert to my statements of 2009, when I declared the next person I slept with would have to be a six-figure Republican who could pay for dinner.

(Actually, i said something else, but i can’t bring myself to type it here.  It was crass.  Again, the permanence thing.)


Maybe I can get it on with a Repo Man.

were we ever this young? did we ever just get high and sit around listening to the Talking Heads?

At least my baristas like me.

They’ve given me two free refills while I wrote this.