Don’t you ever just wish Ripley would come and pull you out of the slimy cocoon?

I’m tired. I don’t know why I’m still awake. Because I miss you. But I miss my woman too. But I didn’t get to go dance and so I didn’t get to vent any steam from my crappy 8 1/2-hour cleaning day. So I want to vent here. Ready?



So I’m not posting as regularly right now, because this is my busy busy workworkwork time of year. Every jerk in northwest hills wants her house cleaned RIGHT NOW and by the way, that bitch from the bad poem stiffed me my money. If she doesn’t pay up I’m considering taking her to small claims. On principle. Also on the fact that I need every single fucking cent I fucking earn right now, especially from jerkoffs who live in rathole cesspools. Today I cleaned for lesbians. It was absolutely no different than any other one-timer. Except they worshipped their cat and had two women’s worth of crap on the shelves, and the crap was pink Fenton Glassware about which they wrote in a note “DO NOT TOUCH THE FENTON!”

So when I’m not stealing Fenton pieces and selling them on Ebay I’m doing the job I really love, my art commissions. I get to work on them at my kitchen table while listening to Rocky and Mo play with Play-Doh in the next room. I love making art. I have this favorite client, a local small biz starter-upper, and she’s having me do her logo and a bunch of art for her business. She’s totally manic and bubbly and forgetful, and she calls me “Babe” and gives me great hugs. And she has such perky, tight little boobs. I’m in a mood. Am I in a mood? I’m in a mood.

Actually I cleaned another lesbian house today too. One of my regulars, a real nice law student exactly my age. I don’t get the lawyer thing. If I got up in front of a judge and jury I’d probably get all red in the face and start to cry. Because, when I’m under pressure, to quote Rock’s favorite movie, I’m not so good with the putting the words together and the making them come out good thing. I don’t think red-faced blubbering would work so well as an attorney. Maybe my client doesn’t make the words come out good thing either; she says she just wants a nice boring desk job. I definitely do not get lawyers. But they do get to do some cool things, like say “calumny”.

My mother and I cleaned houses together for a year, after I got out of college. I loved working with Mom. We would sing such hits as “Oh, I’m mopping my way back to you, babe” while we worked. We had this one client who was a used car salesman or something, and had himself a mint little car and nice things in his house, and was always telling us we weren’t doing a good enough job (my mother, by the way, is the second cleanest cleaner I have ever known – right after my sister) and one day we showed up and he was waiting for us with his hands on his hips and he held up two sponges and said, “THIS sponge is for the kitchen, and THIS sponge with the knotch cut out is for the bathroom. DO NOT use the kitchen sponge on the bathroom, ladies.” And my mother told him, in that nice way of hers, to go fuck himself. He stood there sputtering and as we drove off she laughed her ass off, and from then on we called him “Farting Through Silk”.

I wish Mom could come and clean with me until I’m able to quit. I think I could bear it then. But not only does she live 15 hours from me, but she had the good sense to 1)marry a guy with money and 2)get a new career. She’s an LICSW working with battered women and kids who’ve been abused. Me? I shine the chrome on people’s faucets. Name? Blue Ox. Age? 33. Occupation? Shit-Scrubbing Chrome-Shiner.

By the way, if you hear me say things like “mint” and “awesome” and “jerkoff”, it’s only because I’m an escapee from the prison-planet Eighties. Seriously, I barely got out with my brain intact.

Here is a picture of Ripleywannabe saving Blue from the planet Eighties. Obviously we were both a little younger then.

In the eighties I made out with skinny guys with names like Bagel in front of “A Clockwork Orange” and went to Zoot’s in Portland and “danced” in the mosh pit until my friend Rick got his nose broken by a bunch of skinheads for looking like a pansy. OK, that was only one night. The rest of the time I was writing LYLAS (“love ya like a sis”) on notes passed in Geometry to girls I actually LMLAG (“loved more like a girlfriend”), and getting stuck with boyfriends who slobbered on me like Saint Bernards when we kissed.

Then came the nineties, when I pierced my nose with a needle in the dorm bathroom, openly courted a violent thug’s gorgeous girlfriend and had a nice vacation in the psyche ward with people who farted a lot because of their meds and occasionally attacked a nurse or two.

Ripley, can you help me with that mean woman who owes me money? You know, with your flamethrower?

“Get away from her, you bitch!”


6 responses to “Don’t you ever just wish Ripley would come and pull you out of the slimy cocoon?

  1. I’m flamethrowin’ my way back to you, babe.

    Some random thoughts:
    (1) Post the deadbeat’s home phone number here on your blog and let us get creative about bringing her the gospel. It’s not illegal to share.
    (2) I’ll need to come get you BEFORE you wind up in the cocoon, or at least before the facehuggers get to ya and implant an embryo in you.
    (3) My second favorite line from any of the Alien movies (yeah, the first is “Get away from her, you BITCH!” is when, in Resurrection, a guy says “Ripley?!!! I thought you were dead!” and she replies tiredly “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
    (4) The young, brilliant actress who played Newt — that was her only role. Ever. She’s grown up and has a quiet life doing other things. Sometimes what we do to change the world is a one-time shot. And, as Stuart Smalley says, “That’s…okay.”
    (5) From “A History of Lesbianism” by Judy Grahn (in her volume The Common Poems):
    The women-loving women
    loved each other the best
    they knew how
    and for the best reasons
    They took care of each other
    and of each other’s children
    if they had any
    They worked, and worked, and worked
    In America, the women-loving women
    were called dykes
    and some liked it
    and some did not
    The subject of lesbianism
    is ordinary
    It’s the question of male domination
    that makes everybody
    (6) Rosa Parks mostly earned her living as a housecleaner. On December 1, 1955, she was coming home from working in a department store and refused to give up her seat for a white man so he would not have to sit in the “colored” section of the bus. As she put it “When that white driver stepped back toward us, when he waved his hand and ordered us up and out of our seats, I felt a determination cover my body like a quilt on a winter night.” Later, in her autobiography, she said “People always say that I didn’t give up my seat because I was tired, but that isn’t true. I was not tired physically, or no more tired than I usually was at the end of a working day. I was not old, although some people have an image of me as being old then. I was forty-two. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giving in.”

    You rescue yourself every day. Keep channeling Ripley, because she ain’t dead.

  2. I just need the name of the woman who stiffed you (and her address if you still have it). Seriously. E-mail it to me. You might not get the lawyer thing, but I bet she will.

  3. There was this loser who owed me money and who was refusing to pay me. So, I wrote her a letter reminding her that I had worked many hours for her and threatening to take her to small claims court. She sent the money right away–plus she apologized for being such a butt.

    Good luck with your own private loser-butt.


  4. I do hope you take evander’s mom up on her offer. And, if I may backslide into cliche mode for a moment: sometimes it takes more strength to accept help from others than it does to take on the world (or in this case one very overprivileged snot) by yourself. Besides, I think accepting help from your lawyer friend is a highly responsible move.

  5. Hey Blue,

    A) If you can get me a hair from the dirty stiffer, I will give her leprosy. All for you. It’s my standard offer to my friends who are seeking retribution. Since I’m not a lawyer or anything else useful.

    B) can you do illustrations that look like those engravings in 19th century books? Because I’m looking for someone who can do that…

  6. Oh my god, you guys crack me up, and make me all warm and things. If I’m going to have to keep facing situations and people like this, it’s you who will make it bearable.


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