So Cookie got a power washer, because, you know, we have this big ass house with a big ass deck and miles of sidewalks and that damned basketball half court. I know, what in the name of God do we do with a half basketball court?
Its been two years and the only thing I can think of is set up a badminton net and invite the neighborhood kiddies to play pretend French Open.
Anyhow, I researched, I read and I went out and I bought what I thought was an adequate power washer that put out a stream of water like one of those European fountains of a cherub peeing than a real POWER WASHER should put out.
It was a bitter disappointment. Consumer Reports lied, again. And the Lesbians down the street laughed at Cookie and this piddling power washer.
"Get a new toy," they taunted.
Disgusted, I returned it, got in my car and went to Ace Hardware and said "I want a big honking manly power washer."
The butch woman helping me said "Are you sure you want the the BIG model?"
And then I saw it.
And it was large.
So I bought it.
And I brought it home.
And I lugged it indoors.
And I assembled it.
And the husband walked in and said "What they fuck did that cost us?"
Well, says I, we just bought the biggest honking power washer for under $500, and it came with a second helping of manly dignity."
"Besides," says I "it's Pride Month, right?"
So we read the instructions, noted the number of times that the instructions said "WARNING: Using the HIGH INTENSITY settings can cause damage to flesh is subjected to the discharge of...."
Not just "yeah", but "FUCKING AYE! Molly Hatchet Aye!"
So this morning, we gassed it up - oh, yes - this thing has a ENGINE, no pissy plug in for us, and went to work on the sidewalks.
Now I normally advocate the gentlest cleaning methods available, but like Joan Crawford, I was not mad at Helga...
...I was mad at the dirt. And wouldn't you know it, but like Steve Rubell to poppers, like moths to a flame, like drag queens to a pride parade, the Lesbians down the street heard a power tool sound and came out to have a look see.
We were half way down the walk and they cornered the husband to talk about pounds per inch and pump size while me and my chicken wing arms worked a square at a time.
They were impressed, but once started, the walk had to get done.
And frankly people, it was hard work. A lot harder than one would think.
The husband and I took turns down the walk, filled the gas tank three times.
We now have the cleanest walks on the street. Our arms, shoulders and backs are killing us, but damn it, those walks are clean.
In other news, I said goodbye this week to three friends. Two of which I will miss very much, because I loved their sass. They have found other employment, elsewhere. Danielle and Christina - I wish you well. I miss you madly.
The other friend, well, I just got tired of the bullshit and the constant need for approval and the imitation of life they are living. Do something that matters. Feed the poor, read to the blind, or invent a cure for something, write a book, do SOMETHING greater than yourself.