Monday, October 8, 2012

A poorly made mask of Rose McGowan's face ...


On the second day of vacation, Chuck cleans the downstairs bathroom. He scrubs the floor and sink and through the partially open door I see him wiping down the full-length mirror. This bathroom is huge. It was the kitchen when Loreno Music's future wife Henrietta was growing up here. Now it's a small kitchen-sized bathroom with a huge purple claw foot tub in the corner, a setup that reminds me of a transient cowboy splashing in a metal tub while a shy teenaged farm girl adds bursts of hot water from a porcelain pitcher.

So I feel like kind of a dick sitting here watching "Grey's Anatomy" while he works. I start folding clothes to give me an excuse to sit here on the couch and when the show is over I begin a major overhaul of our bedroom closet. I get real with myself and my inability to let go of clothes I haven't worn in three years. I compromise and invent "The Holding Cell," a safe place for old clothes to hang out for a few months. If they're not missed, I will take them to Goodwill in the spring. If they are missed, well then it will be 2009 again all up on my body. I think this is how human beings do it.

***


Our rhythms are off. Chuck, who wakes at an hour reserved for people with roosters, is antsy and bucking like a Triple Crown contender waiting for the gun. Meanwhile, I'm cold and lazy and wondering if there is are enough blankets in this house to mummify myself into optimal reading conditions. He's mistaken the fact that I'm wearing eyeliner as a cue that I want to go somewhere. Really I'm wearing eyeliner because I got new eyeliner and wanted to see what it looked like on my eyes. We compromise with a trip to Pier One to buy a colorful footrest for The Atomic Lounge.

***


We stop in at Burrito Union for nachos, wings and a beer.

***

We take a nap. This is what we do now: Take naps.

***

I work on my novel for almost two hours and when I'm done I whip around in my office chair and explain to Chuck what I've just written: "Then confetti falls from the ceiling and Rosie is doing the robot dance and ..." It sounds way better than it is, which makes me feel both great and like a fraud.

***

We scavenge the cupboards for dinner food. I eat tuna on English Muffins. Chuck eats refried beans on corn tortillas.

***

We watch a horror movie starring Rose McGowan. Her face is distracting. It no longer looks like the face of Rose McGowan, it looks like a poorly made mask of Rose McGowan's face. And her boobs are positioned barely south of her collar bone and the whole effect is creepy. "Rosewood Lane" is about a psychologist who moves into her dead dad's home and is tormented by the paperboy. She's got an ugly boyfriend she is never not fighting with and his name is "Barrett," so I squeeze Chuck's leg every time she says it. Instead of investigating this kid and finding out why he thinks it's okay to wander around her house freaking the crap out of her, the investigators actually just get mad at her. They scream at her, long bursts of yelling and flailing. It makes no sense.

"This is the worst movie I've ever seen," Chuck says.

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