[147] Screed City

[147]

06/02/2022 Thursday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

June, huh? G's last day of school is Saturday. They have to evacuate the school by 3p. I mean, I am sure it is for logistical reasons, it is, in fact, a boarding school. But what happens at 3p? Do they turn off all the lights and lock the doors? If your kid is still there, tough shit? I mean, they are teenagers, so they have to be happy about school being done, but do some students try to stick around? I mean, I feel like we never even went to school on the last day. I mean, maybe to sign yearbooks or something? I remember that last week just being a joke. A technicality. The teachers couldn't wait to ditch also. You know? Start their Summer jobs painting houses because teaching is a thankless and underpaid job. Glorified baby-sitting. I mean, I don't really mean that, well, I do, but I only mean that for the schools I went to. In Wyoming. You know the kind of place where you could get strangled for pissing off your geography teacher, go and tell your guidance councilor and she would tell you he was just blowing off steam, while she groomed and flirted with teenage boys. But I must have digressed. I mean, this wasn't the first paragraph, right? Whoops.

Anyhoodles dressed in noodles, June is here. My first Tickler Champagne will be ready to open tomorrow. And if that goes well, I mean, I am excited and nervous. But we'll see. If I can brew the stuff in three days and then make champagne with it two weeks later? And it's not just weird-ass booze-water that is sketchy as hell? Cross your butts.

Cooked all day yesterday. I guess baked is the better way to say that. I mean, I had a dream that I was successful at the Farmers Market. Like really successful. It was kind of a nightmare though. Last year I had a great system. I mean, last year I wasn't really working and the Farmers Market was and abstraction, but last year I had a system. On Friday I would get up very early and bake until 1p. I mean, how did I do it though? That is not enough time. I mean, I was making something like 60 of the things per week. How did I make 60 by 1p on Friday, that is impossible. I am missing something. I know I made 60 for the Publisher to sell when I went to Wyoming in July, and that seemed like a pain in the ass. I remember. I don't know. I must have baked two or three times a week, I am lying. I had no system. Disregard these last six sentences. Anyway, if I get really successful at the Farmers Market it will stink. I won't be able to increase my payload with respect to my purchase, if that is the way to say it. I mean, I can easily do 60, it is true. If I get up at 6a and start baking by 7a, I can do 60 by 3 or 4p. But it is a dough timing issue more than a baking issue. Anyway, I will cross that butt when I come to it, as the bridesmaids say. I've dug myself into a corner.

Today I worked with Scott on the New House. We are thisclose to being ready to pour. We need to frame out the stairs and that is it. I mean, today was cutting rebarb and bracing and windows and bees. Their bees ran away. The Publisher had to go to New York to get some new ones. She wore a bee suit the entire time. Which was pretty cute. I guess they like to sting. Even if you are doing nice things for them. Like giving them a forever home on a nice farm in Vermont. Bees, nature's rude dudes. That's what I call them. Like "Hey G, watch out, those flowers are filled with rude dudes!" I mean, one time when we were in Wyoming we got into PegLeg's truck one time. I rolled down the window. I said "That's a nice warm Summer's, Bees!" There were bees in the sideview mirror. We had to evacuate AYEC. It was kind of funny. I told the story constantly, but nobody else thought it was funny unless G told the story, but they were like 8 at the time, so everything they did was cute.

Professor Curly wrapped! 16 days of shooting! DAMN. That lazy bum finally finished something. Just joking. She does more in the morning than I do all month. But still, it is pretty insane. I have no idea how to pull something like that off. Anyway, I will be writing this thing from Sundance next January. Not to brag, but it will be my second time there. But this time it will be warranted.

Around 11a today I had to ditch work to meet with the New Landlord at Beaver Haus. Sorry, this thing is all over the place. I have fractured. All my "Projects" are colliding at an alarming rate and I don't have a narrative. I have become modern. I need to get a job driving for Uber. That would make the transformation complete. Anyhoodles, dressed in noodles, he, the New Landlord was at Beaver Haus putting in fence posts with his dad. Marking out their land. And by their, I mean, his dad and mom's land that the New Landlord manages for them. Where my rent check actually goes. The CEO of the LLC. I mean, ugh. Don't get me started. But let me tell you about what I think about owning land and renting it out! Just joking. His dad seemed nice. New Landlord Senior. I mean, it was funny to see the NL as a middle aged man. He may want to take this as a warning. I mean, whatever, he just looked like a middle aged dad of a hippy pot smoking trust funder. Works for a bank or something. I mean, he is in town with the NL's mom. Staying in Hancock. When I heard this, I asked:

"Does it piss your dad off seeing me just living here while he sleeps on your couch?" I mean, it was very much a joke. They did plan to Air B&B this house but then the Pandemic. And the idea was that the parents had a place to stay when they were in town. Also, they own the place. He said:

"No, they are staying down in Hancock. That place next to the hotel. I mean, they are in town for three weeks, so, I don't think it would have been the best idea for them to stay with us." Then there was some conversation about their Tiny House. And everything just kind of curved off to the side.

But we were able to finally have a look-see about the insulation. Which is why I ran down to Beaver Haus in the first place. The New Landlord is a slippery son of a bitch. Did I tell you about the last time he was supposed to show up? How he was really breathing down my neck about meeting. Because he thought rent was due and he wanted to buy a riding lawnmower. And I made sure I would be around because I really want to get this insulation thing figured out by Winter. And then when I pointed out that we don't owe rent until the end of July he just never showed up. And I sent him a text and he wrote back:

"Oh man, I totally blanked. Next time." I mean, once there wasn't money involved he couldn't give two shits. Did I ever tell you what I think about people buying houses just to rent them out? Let me break it down for you! Just jokes.

I mean, luckily Scott was there when we were looking at the insulation problem. He was able to give the NL some decent arguments for doing what I was thinking needed to be done that I wouldn't have articulated very well. But the plan is now to cut a hole in the wall in the tertiary haunted part of the house. Go in there. Remove the existing insulation. Make some holes to blast in some fiber fill and be done with it. Also do the same in the attic. I mean, there is no holes to be cut in the attic. But we need to blast that with fiber fill too. And now I can clean up G's room, finally, and just in time. Because Professor Curly is coming home on Saturday. And the last time the house was a mess when she got home, I mean, in MY defense, and this is a lesson to anyone in a relationship. Really, no hyperbole, when are out of town for a few weeks or months even and you say you are coming home and your SO has been living alone for that entire time, DO NOT SHOW UP A COUPLE DAYS EARLY. You will regret it. Things happen as a couple, and things happen when the couple is not together. It is facts. There is no judgement. But relationships are a constant struggle. It is just human nature. Basically two divergent beings held together by a common interest. And when you cut that tie, I mean, things diverge again. It is natural. So, if you say, "Hey, I am coming home on Friday." And then you show up on Wednesday instead, you are not going to be showing up to the Friday house. You are showing up to the Wednesday house. And that house is not going to be ready for you to show up. It is basically like showing up unannounced. Which is as rude as bees. Nature's Rude Dudes.

I mean, after that we kind of stood around the front of the house. I said the thing about his dad being pissed that I was galivanting all over the place when he was sleeping on the NL's couch. But then I mentioned that, shit, now I forget her name, Lisa? Call her Lisa, the painter showed up yesterday. Out of nowhere. In the afternoon. I mean, Katy! I mean, I was standing in the kitchen. Baking. I looked out the window. There was suddenly this fierce looking woman in her late 30's standing outside the window. Then she started walking around. At first I thought she was mistaken. That she had seen the for sale sign at D's DogHouse and thought this was part of the deal. I mean, she had the same bone structure, face-wise as the New Landlord's Wife. And I knew she had a sister, as sister the I had mistaken for her once one time when I drove by their house. And I honked at her. But that was not the NL's Wife. I mean, it was embarrassing. But I never got a close look. But this Katy, she kind of looked like she might be related to the NL's Wife. And maybe she was thinking about planting some trees or something. She had a notepad and a pen. She went around the side. I lost interest. I was in the middle of baking. But then the Cubby Bubbys were finished. The first round. I took them out of the oven. Moved them to the cooling racks. Went outside. I was wearing a t-shirt with this cool black and white tiger on it. A white apron folded in half on my waist. The oven mitts. Which I was taking off when I got outside. I mean the front door was propped open. Who knows what she saw and heard when she ambushed me. I live very much alone up here. When Professor Curly is out of town. I don't really censor myself. And nobody, I mean, nobody, just shows up. But Katy did. I went outside. She was very intense. Like too intense. Like, I am not saying that I was intimidated by her. But I was, intimidated. Like, she was Vermont-style grouchy wrapped in a no-nonsense Lesbian vibe. The last thing she wanted to deal with was straight White male energy. In my defense, I was wearing an apron and oven mitts and a cool tiger shirt. But still, I am middle aged White guy. The America of Society right now. I mean, get this. So she told me she was there checking things out. She said:

"Oh, hey. I guess [The New Landlord] didn't have time to give you the heads-up I was coming over. But here I am. I am just making an assessment." I mean, I am not paraphrasing. She talked in complete sentences. With periods in-between here sentences. I mean, I had figured out who she was after I was very confused. The NL had actually told me about her. That she was ready to paint the house. Which is why I had spent some time scraping the siding that day. A couple weeks ago. Before it got too annoying and was too difficult to gold brick because there were too many staples to deal with. I said:

"Oh, right, the paint job. I did some scraping in the back for a little while, it kind of sucked. I hit a lot of staples." She said:

"Yeah, it can be tedious. I am Katy. Just so you have a formality." That was a very odd way to put that, but I don't know. She was an odd one. "I think I will come this weekend and start working. If that is okay with you." I said:

"Oh, sure. I am Joey. Yeah, come whenever, I will be around or not. The door will be open, fill free to use the restroom or whatever." Which, I mean, I don't know, at the moment I was just saying that she could feel free to use the house as needed, but because she was a woman, and this was the middle of butthole, Vermont, I mean, I feel like it came out weird. Like I wanted her to use the bathroom. Like I had some weird kink about woman painters coming into my house and using the bathroom. I mean, I fucking called it a "Restroom" for crying in the night. But, I can't stress this enough, she was the epitome of No Bullshit Vermont Lesbian. Like, I thought that she probably was a Marine or something. I mean, all I was really saying was that my house was her house so feel free, but because of how things are these days, I mean, I am sure I am over thinking it, but it was pretty funny in the end. I mean, we will see. If she comes over on Saturday. Starts working on the house. Then what? She is up on a ladder. I get back from the Farmers Market. Not having seen Professor Curly in two months. Or however long. So long I can't even remember! And then what? We are bonin' in the bedroom, I look over. Katy is painting the siding. The windows are open. She says:

"Oh, hey. Don't mind me. Just doing some painting. Nice bed spread. Those are cute earrings. Where did you get them?" Then Professor Curly goes to the window:

"Thanksss! CatBird. Joey actually bought them for me. I got this wristlet from there too."

"Oh, cute. My friend Dozo works at CatBird. He will get a kick out of this." Then Katy will look over at me and say "Remember the clit. Don't be greedy." Then Professor Curly will get back in bed. She will say:

"She's so cuuute!" And then I will be bonin' PC from behind. Katy will be staring at me through the window. Painting. Then doing that upside down "V" with her fingers. Pointing to the crotch in the "V." Shaking her head. And I will adjust my moves until she nods. Then she will go back to painting.

Anyhoodles dressed in noodles, my sexual fantasies aside. Me and Scott went back to the Compound. I spent a couple hours making four inch holes in the bottoms of the window frames with a hole saw. A four inch hole saw. Which. most of you won't know what this is, but it is kind of the worst thing to ever have use. I mean, it cuts a hole in a piece of wood. Which is nice. A good hole is a good thing. But the bigger they get, the more unruly they become. I mean, after about an inch and a half they like to break your wrist when they catch wrong. So using them is more about not letting the thing catch than it is about cutting the hole. Which means you have to have something to stop it from bucking. I mean, from experience, I always use my leg when I can. Your leg can handle more torque than you wrist can. And at when you are using your leg to stabilize the thing, that gives you an extra hand to push down on top of the drill. Making the work tedious, but you won't have to go to the emergency room. THAT IS as long as the drill and hole saw has a place to go. I mean, three times the thing caught onto itself and the woods and ended up wrapping my elephant skins in it. I mean, I was even using a cordless drill, which is saying something. But I did it. I did a great job. But then, there is another contingent to all of this. You are basically rubbing metal against wood for like three minutes at a time. The kind of thing you would do to start a fire. The metal gets hot as balls. Hotter than shit. And the wood, the thing you are cutting out, it gets stuck in the hole saw. And then what? You can't touch the metal. It is too hot. So what can you do? I mean. there were puddles of water all over the New House. Because it had no roof. But the second you cool down the metal it constricts and you can't get the wood out. But you can't not cool the metal down because you need to get the wood out. I mean, whatever. The job was hard. I had to keep burning myself. Then unscrewing the hole saw from the pilot bit. From the drill. Rolling it around in the puddle of water. Taking it to the second floor. Whacking the wood out with a hammer and piece of rebarb. I mean, there was like 13 holes I had to make. Woe betide. I really can't catch a break.

I mean, when I did catch a break, I ate a bean burrito. 23 left to go. I mean, the shame of 40 burritos unsold. That first Farmers Market. All waiting for me in the freezer. But hey, I make a good bean burrito. I mean, I am not complaining. The joke is on the jerks that didn't buy them in the first place. But, and I admit this with true humility, they DO need cheese. Scott and Professor Curly were right. I was wrong, and I am foolish, and I am sorry. Nobody needs a dry bean burrito. Nobody!

[Insert Fact is Fact and Fiction, Fiction]

On a more and I don't know, sidewise note, I sent Donkey BOT [Book on Tape] to Johnny out in Wyoming. Who, if anyone cares was the inspiration for Sugar Beets [italics], who, although he does not actually make an appearance in the book, he is also the impetus for even doing the books on tape, because he drives a tractor 1,000 hours a year, who, one time when I told him I was writing books, that he should read, he said:

"Yeah, man, I don't read books. You should put that shit on tape! I'd listen to that shit all day long." I mean, it was basically a Mitch Hedberg joke:

"I don't know. You know? I hear they got these books on tape. That is fan-tas-tic. I don't read. Reading is like talking, but for your eyes. Hey, Eyes? How about I give you A Break. How 'bout instead, I read this mother fucker for You? And my eyes get all lazy and shit. And start to throw a Par-tay. And then my Ears wake up, and the are all like, What's this shit? Now we got to do all the work? And sud-dent-ly, I went deaf. Now I just have to read things on the sly. You know? Making sure I don't say the things I am reading Out-Loud, because I am afraid I might go deaf at any Mo-Ment. Like I am reading the Win-Ning numbers of my lottery ticket and Sud-den-ly I am deaf. And the devil shows up and says "You lose, Mother-Fucka."

Anyhoodles, dressed in noodles. Me and PegLeg were trying to figure out Johnny's address, because we knew where he lived. We knew where he has lived his entire life. That dude, I mean, that fucking dude drove to middle school. He was 13 with a fucking driver's license. 13! Imagine Vinney Junior going to school in that fucking truck. Parking in the parking lot. "Hey, guys, what's up? I mean, even back then it blew my mind. But still. I hope Johnny listens to the thing. I will talk to him in August when I get to Wyoming. I mean, the guy that read the book, the very fantastic Shane, he must see Johnny all the time. Because he runs the hardware store near Johnny's farm. I do wonder what effect that will have. I mean, I am not saying that I am laying the groundwork for insurrection, but there is a notion that reality is stronger than fiction. I mean, maybe I will put that song her instead of before, or maybe both places. It is important. Butwhatever. I'm out. See you on Saturday. If I don't break my dick bonin' Professor Curly. While Katy gives me the grief with her "V" finger.

[Insert Fact is Fact and Fiction, Fiction]