yard-salin' with gayboy

gayboy and i will be communing with the neighbours today as we attempt to hock our meaningless trinkets.

gayboy went around the hood posting signs advertising a yard sale that features "assorted trinkets" and "various thingies."

clearly he's going after the discerning crowd. i wrote this yesterday, while on the hunt for goods around the pad:

* * *

fuelled by pink floyd and this fanatical feeling that my life’s on the verge of something new and exciting, this compelling need has struck me to clean my closets.

yes, the skeletons (and dust bunnies) are tumbling on out, folks.

small children should rightfully be running in fear. lock up your kids and pull the covers up tight.

if you’re one of the few people who has not found the enlightenment that comes from being turned onto Swiffer -- oh, so deserving of capitalization -- then let me tell you this:

during this cleaning session, after six changes on the Swiffer mop-broom-thingie-thing, i have amassed enough fugitive dust bunnies to kill, easily, two dozen asthmatics.

you look in webster’s and there next to the word “effective” will be the Swiffer.

a cleaning revolution, that. dust bunnies, fear me! fear steff and the mighty Swiffer.

oh, the filth, my friends.

i have this partner in crime from work who has confessed to wearing a dust mask over his face when he cleans. now, that is digging deep for dirt. that’s the kind of cleaning you know is gonna churn up a few intriguing items.

and he, too, is a writer. i think if you’re gonna be a fly on the wall in a cleaning session, do it with a writer or a photographer. god knows i find all these little scraps of paper with weirdness on them. with a single uncrumpling i can be transported to a wine-soaked evening many, many months ago, or a lazy afternoon last week.

other than that, so far? i’ve found ten bucks and my hums of pooh. life is good. (oh, and the condom i've just found that expired on my birthday, sept. 29th, in 1999. something tells me it’s not getting used.)

gayboy and i are doing a yard sale tomorrow (sunday) and i’m sure it’s bound to be a day of debauchery.

three words for you: mojitos and marijuana.

we talked once about doing a “freudian yard sale.” i imagine it would have unfolded like this:

“excuse me, how much is this macrame plant holder?”

“what do you feel it should be?”

“uh... two bucks?”

“is that because of the painful memories with your grandmother prevent you from valuing it more than that? or is it because you’re worried about making the rent again?”

but naturally we handled that yard sale as our natural effervescent selves. gayboy kicked my ass and sold some $200 or something worth of goods.

tonight, i think i have at least a $50 bounty. we’ll see what happens -- in between the fog of the fun of it all.

geez. (cough, wheeze) that dust mask sounds like a good plan now. kid’s smarter than he looks. (sputter, hack)