Saturday, August 1, 2015

6 Things You Didn't Know About Vaginas

The corners of the rooms were in all the right places.

It was perfect, and perfect in more than just a sort of feng shui kind of way. It was home from the very first moment we laid eyes on it, which just so happens to have been ten years ago this very day.

Home. Like the place came with our memories already inside it. A familiar scent we’d never smelled before.

The perfect number of rooms. The correct amount of closet space. Close proximity to all the right schools. The proper distance from Dana’s work. And with newly installed energy-efficient appliances, to boot.

There was only one problem.

The price.

It was too low.

Well, not to put too fine a point on it, the price was just north of the-seller-doesn’t-actually-own-it and just south of the-foundation-got-all-broken-up-during-the-recent-axe-murders. And Dana looked into it and it all checked out all copacetic-like, but still. The price was too damn low.

It was not until our third visit that either of us thought to ask the realtor about the locked door on the second story.

“Oh,” she said.

That,” she said.

“You cannot” – correcting herself – “will not go in there.”

Dana spun around to look at me. Spun back around to the realtor. “So we’re not getting fee simple absolute,” she said.

“No, you are,” the realtor said. She chewed on her lip. She waggled her pen around. “It’s just. Just. A covenant on the land or something.”

We all stared at each other in silence for a long moment and then the realtor said, “You’re also to put food on a red tray and shove it under the door twice a day. That’s all I know.”

And thus the mystery of the price was explained. Sort of.

So we bought the place and it was just about as perfect as we’d hoped, although our food bills went up a bit and there was nothing we could do about the hideous curtains in the window of that second story front bedroom.

It was home. For me and for Dana and for our ever-increasing collection of babies, home. And as Rachel and Angela grew up, one of their daily chores was to run up at breakfast and at dinnertime and slide the red tray full of food under the door.

If the food was late or if it included, say, green beans or anything Greek, there would come a slow steady thumping on the floor – Boom. Boom Boom. – until the offending  food was whisked away and something proper brought in its place.

It really sounds worse than it was. You can get used to anything in three weeks’ time.

I was fetching the red food tray from the hallway one morning when I heard a toilet flush from behind the locked door. Then something that could have been footsteps, I guess.

And I lay down, shoving my right eye up to the space beneath the door so I could see what I could see. But there was nothing. Just darkness. Pitch. I never took a look again after that.

One day, Dana took the kids and went away. Somewhere. I didn’t know where.

It was just me left in our big perfect house with the corners in all the right places. Thing was, I could hardly feed myself on what I was making. Filling the red tray twice, sometimes three times a day was too much, too much. The amount of food required to avoid the thumping grew and grew. And while I ate Ramen, I was slicing up ten pounds of baked chicken to shove under the door.

And so I decided, “Enough!” and I yelled it exactly like that: “Enough! No more!”

Hours went by. Dinnertime had long since passed. Finally, just as Jon Stewart was coming on the television, the slow steady thumping began. Boom. Boom. Boom.

For one hour. Two hours. Three hours.

I sat in the living room, which lay directly beneath the locked room, and I tried to ignore the thumping. There was the sound of footsteps on the ceiling and of something large being dragged.

And more thumping. Always the thumping. To the point where the corners of the living room cracked, thumping.

I held out for seven whole hours before finally filling the red tray.

Soon after that, Dana evicted me and moved back into our perfect house with the kids. I lived in a tiny apartment – a cute studio set-up – several blocks away from them and I forgot all about the locked room and the red tray and the slow steady thumping.

I even found a new girlfriend for a bit, although I did not try at it very hard, and it showed.  

But still, life moved on, as it tends to do.

Last night – which happened to be the eve of the tenth anniversary of my first glimpse of the perfect house – I was sitting in my apartment, dutifully getting shit-faced drunk, as I tend to do, and I was listening to Yes. It was not even good Yes, but that crappy early Eighties stuff without Jon Anderson or Rick Wakeman which can only be listened to while heavily inebriated.

And when the phone rang, it was two-thirty a.m. and I was too far gone to see who was calling me.

I said, “Hello?” but there was no one there at first.

Then “KATY?” and it was like Dana’s voice except more panicked and sort of whispered at the same time.

Hello?” I said again.

“WE. MESSED. UP,” Dana said, and she was obviously running as she talked and I could hear crying in the background.

“THE. DOOR. IS. OPEN.”

Finally. I looked around for my hat, my flashlight and my gun. “Get the kids out of the house and I’ll be right there,” I said.



*           *          EPILOGUE          *           *

This post’s title had absolutely nothing at all to do with its content. Just sort of testing a theory.

Also, there’s no Part 2.

I am sorry if you feel you have been deceived in some way. Good story, though, huh?  

50 comments:

  1. This list of six things I didn't know about vaginas changed my life and now nothing will ever be the same because I'd been doing it wrong all this time!

    (And, yes, plusgood story.)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I have perfected the art of the title and I believe I'm ready for Buzzfeed or Huffington Post now. My next post is going to be called "You Won't Believe What This Woman Found in Her Arm Hair."

      Delete
  2. Hey, are the two people tongue-twisting Chinese??? Who has less moral: the two acting it out, the photographer who told them to do it, or you copying and publishing it for personal gain without compensating the rest of them???

    Haven't read the story yet, BTW, is it any good?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Is that a rhetorical question?

      What have I done that you even have to ask whether a photographer or two sculpted heads are as immoral as I am? Have I taught you people nothing?

      Delete
    2. Hey, are you fucking watching The Tonight Show, series finale?

      It's great, very family-like, something you would enjoy, yes? Ha!!!!

      Delete
    3. Hey, are you fucking watching The Daily Show, series finale?

      It's great, very family-like, something you would enjoy, yes? Ha!!!!

      Delete
    4. Watched it. Haven't seen the show in years, though, so didn't really have strong feelings one way or the other about it. It was cool seeing some of the old correspondents.

      Delete
  3. Great story. Exciting and tense, and for some reason, I'm craving green beans and chicken.

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    1. Hi, Nessa! Thank you. And if it was you in the room all that time, sorry I was so difficult.

      Delete
  4. Wait a minute, Dana should be half brain-dead now, getting Socia Security, and her law firm's long-term disability, isn't it? And you KATY should be in the big house with your kids and Dana's new born, isn't it?

    And, no one in this great Capitalist country of ours, especially a back-stabbing corporate law attorney like Dana, would buy such a shitty-nonsense house, no way!! So what are you trying to pull?

    Are you freaking LYING to us? AGAIN!!!

    ReplyDelete
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    1. You know, you sound like someone I used to know.

      But you can't be THAT someone, because that someone assured me - not a week ago, even - that he was going to stop all communication with me. It was all very clear and laid out...

      So you couldn't possibly be THAT guy, could you?

      Delete
    2. Nope, not me. I don't have any other way of communicating with you, why would I even care to, LOL.

      But everyone would have noticed what I listed up here, that this story is just too unreal, not believable. Hey, do you want to read about me moving Mount Everest to Tibet because it was blocking the view of Manhattan skyline from my bedroom window in Hoboken? Besides, how big a gap must there be under that door for you to pass a plate of food through? What kind of person or monster would lock themselves in a room, in the dark, for ten years, right? And for ten years neither Dana nor you have ever thought about putting some heavy gauge deadbolt locks on that damn door, permanently welded shut?!

      So this was at best a nightmare you had. Damn it this would better not give me the same nightmare later!

      Delete
    3. I don't know, how big a space would there need to be under a door to slide ten pounds of baked chicken under it, as I claimed in this post?

      That would explain why we kept losing cats, though. It's a wonder one of the kids didn't crawl right under when they were young.

      Delete
  5. "When I look at the Internet, I feel the same as when I’m walking through Coney Island. It’s like carnival barkers, and they all sit out there and go, “Come on in here and see a three-legged man!” So you walk in and it’s a guy with a crutch." - Jon Stewart

    SPAM the other Mystery Meat (Stuff Vaginas)
    http://goodstuffsworld.blogspot.com/2014/12/spam-other-mystery-meat.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's a pretty good quote! And pretty accurate.

      It's a little like the Republican Presidential candidates trying to get attention right now. If they start warning us about the alien robot armies that are coming to enslave us, they'll get into the ehadlines, but is it worth the attention?

      Lesbians and cats, man. Anybody will click a link about lesbians and cats.

      Delete
  6. The buzzfeed title would probably have been 6 Things You Didn't Know About Vaginas (You won't believe #8). But the story is fantastic. Nail biting!

    ReplyDelete
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    1. Thanks. I tend to fall into sort of a default format and content for my blogs. My last one was like that.

      But I've been trying NOT to write in that mode lately. Which means that some of them are a lot better than others. That's what happens when you try new things, i suppose.

      This one was okay. I don't generally write this sort of thing.

      Delete
  7. I had gotten out a notepad and was prepared to learn at the feet of the master, too.

    This is like finding out that Santa, TheTooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, God, and compassionate conservatives are all bullshit made up to keep kids in line.

    I feel dirty. And sad... The loss of innocence is a hard thing, Katy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hey! That used to be one of my go-to jokes in my old, old blog posts. I'd talk about "Mythical creatures like Bigfoot, compassionate conservatives, and the female orgasm."

      Back in 2005, 2006, I believe I would sometimes add "the testicles of a Democrat" to that list. I don't know that I'd do that today. It seems like there has been a marginal amount of Dem testicle descent since then.

      Delete
  8. Being a straight married male, I clicked on the link for educational purposes...
    Not having a part 2 will only increase the ledgend of the story.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The information is actually all there if you only know how to decode it. The closed door representing the topic at hand and, well, you can figure the rest out.

      Delete
  9. 7) Even though vagina dentata is a real term, the vagina is not actually capable of growing teeth.

    I refuse to read anything but a post's title. After doing so, I write a generic comment under the assumption that what I said is relevant.

    Sure, it sounds idiotic, but if you're looking for the Buzzfeed/Huffington Post crowd I am pretty much right up your alley.

    Also, as a piece of constructive criticism... NEEDS MORE GIFS OF CELEBRITIES MAKING RELEVANT FACIAL EXPRESSIONS BETWEEN EACH SENTENCE.

    http://cdn2.mommyish.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Emma-Stone-yum.gif

    ReplyDelete
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    1. You know, an amazing thing about your blog (and to a lesser extent mine) is that it seems like everybody actually reads the posts before commenting.

      Most sites that get more than half a dozen comments per post don't seem that way.

      Certainly not political sites, which depend only on their headlines for fights to break out in the comment section.

      I might start posting gifs of Emma Stone, though. It can't hurt and who knows? It might even help people understand my point. Like a laugh track in an old sitcom.

      Delete
    2. Emma Stone: she doesn't always make great movies, but she does make great gifs.

      I think what helps is not playing "the comment game." You know, I comment on as many blogs as I can, with thoughtless, idiotic comments, and they all comment on mine in turn (with thoughtless, idiotic comments). Life is too short to waste my day scouring mommy blogs and whiny diaries, vomiting up insincere comments just to add a few extra "Cool post, guys!"s to our resume.

      I fear the day our comment section is overrun by morons saying things like, "Typical liberal" or "That's exactly what a conservative would say" on a completely innocuous topic like, "My wife dragged me to a wine tasting."

      When that day happens, I'll probably lock myself in my own room, never to come out again, only having someone feed me baked chicken under the door via a red tray twice a day.

      Delete
    3. My favorite comments are the ones that inform me that the commenter has been looking for this kind of informaiton for a long time. And that my blog looks like theiir old one. And that invotes me to come by their blog, which is mostly about selling handbags.

      Delete
  10. Tezen - The Créole “te” indicates the past tense, and “zen” means “hook.” It is about hooking and being hooked.

    “Tezen Nan Dlo” is one of Haiti’s most popular folk tales.

    I have linked to your post
    http://goodstuffsworld.blogspot.com/2015/08/tezen-nan-dlo.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Indeed you have! Thank you!

      This was a fun one to write and, considering how long it is, it happened pretty quickly. I wish I could write more like this, but it seems unlikely, since this is supposed to be a personal blog...

      Delete
  11. Holy moly! While you were dutifully getting shit-faced drunk and listening to bad early Eighties Yes without Jon Anderson, I was dutifully getting shit-faced drunk and listening to bad late Eighties Beach Boys! We should have been drunkenly texting each other, berating each other for our inebriated taste in bad Eighties music while constantly misspelling words and getting/giving all the wrong messages until the COMPUTER THAT LISTENS TO US ALL misreads your revulsion for Anderson-less Yes as a call for the extinction of all albino llamas and my revulsion for bad Eighties Beach Boys as a call for painting the testicles of all ancient Grecian statues lime green and we both get questioned for hours by THE AUTHORITIES and then let go with a stern warning that we should probably have been listening to the Clash or the Stooges or something like that the whole time. Gawk, we were drunk, huh?

    ReplyDelete
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    1. Asia. Neither of us was listening to Asia, so we can hold our heads high about that.

      I'm ignoring the fact, of coruse, that most of the people in Drama-era Yes were in Asia at one point or another. And also the fact that John Stamos was a sort of unofficial member of the Beach Boys in the Eighties.

      Oh God. I'm going to have to start drinking again, and it's only 8:30 in the morning...

      Delete
    2. Jayzus! John Stamos! I read your response and immediately his face popped into my barely awake consciousness. And I just got to work. Now, I'm heading back out to the house to fix eight or twelve (or perhaps thirty or forty) Black Russians in order to erase what you've done to me. But I still love you. And that reminds me ... back when Signe Anderson was lead singer for Jefferson Airplane, I knew that something needed to change. Then Grace joined and I was right. Actually, I was more than right ... I was signified! I don't know what the connection is among getting drunk in the morning, Jefferson Airplane, Asia, and John Stamos is ... and I fear the consequences if I ever find out. I may have to move to Nebraska and start selling insurance or something! The horror! The horror!

      Delete
    3. The fun thing about both yes and Jefferson Airplane(/Starship) is that they both have so many former members that at one point, two versions of both bands were touring at the same time, all with legit members of the bands. And actually, both of these bands might have had that going on in the same years... How many bands can say that? Maybe the Beach Boys, but how many Wilsons can there be?

      Delete
  12. Great read, especially with Ramen chased with a beer and Aquavit.

    ReplyDelete
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    1. Thank you.

      I assume that everyone who reads my stuff is doing so while getting drunk and eating Ramen. Of course, y'all have to eat the Ramen with a spoon, as they won't let anyone have a fork and knife there, for obvious reasons....

      I might be wrong about that last bit, but I don't think so...

      Delete
    2. You're right. They haven't allowed me to possess sharp objects for decades.

      Delete
  13. Red tray. See? *Red* tray. It wasn't the Red under the Bed, it was the Commie behind the door. Final proof: the curtains. Red, I bet.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, and I know a lot about vaginas, thanks

      Delete
    2. It was just a commie? Why was he hiding then? Didn't he know he was among friends?

      Delete
    3. Maybe it was a transdimensional commie.

      Delete
    4. The Reds are always half a step ahead of us.

      There's going to be a dimension gap if we're not careful.

      Delete
  14. I SAW that one! That was a Twilight Zone episode or an Outer Limits, wasn't it? It turns out to be an old woman looking thing that's made out of a bunch on small ant like creatures with big bulging eyes and van dyke beards just like skitch henderson wore except very black hair. Right? standing next to and on top of each other about a thousand of 'em the same color and in the shape of an old woman. and when they're after you they just melt into the floor like a wave of a thousand toothy, fat, bearded, ants wearing striped shirts and berets like the Zig Zag man swarming after you with their teeth chomping like wind up teeth but making a sawing sound as they rip through your flesh, right? Right?
    Or did I dream that one? Mighta been a night I forgot my metformin and had ice cream with peanut butter and skittles, now that I think about it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That sounds a little rough for the Twilight Zone.

      But yes, by some weird coincidence, that's exactly what it turned out to have been.

      Delete
  15. So I got all the way to the end waiting for the truth about vaginas and didn't find it, but I don't really mind.

    Are you sure there's no part 2? Think on it before you answer.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. If I never write Part 2, then you won't know whether I survived my encounter with the thing behind the door.

      Delete
    2. This is an excellent point that, admittedly, I should have made.

      Delete
  16. Katy. What a clever device to talk sex. I have always seen vaginas as a covenant on the land that is the Isthmus of Woman--a deed restriction with the authority to negate any fee simple transaction, as nothing is simple about vaginas. Vaginas are the most powerful single influencer on the face of the earth having started and ended wars, brought down kings and Presidents, and forced giants to their knees with a single whiff of their intoxicating perfume.

    As a man, I cannot imagine a serious interpersonal relationship that contains two vaginas, as the fallout from placing two vaginas that close together can have devastating effects. Which brings up a question. Is there a critical mass of conjoined vaginas that would start Armageddon? I think seventeen could cause spontaneous combustion, so maybe the number is eighty-four to create a chain reaction of catastrophic proportions.


    As for the metaphor of the beast behind the door, while I've never heard one stomp on the floor to be fed, I have heard them call my name. Sirens' songs they sing--sacrifice a lamb to make yourself deaf to the melodies.

    Maybe your writings are too deep for me. I have suddenly found myself looking to the fables of Aesop, Deuteronomy, and Aristophanes for more clues.

    Fuck Walmart!

    ReplyDelete
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    1. As Talking Heads once sang:

      "The world moves on a woman's hips
      The world moves and it swivels and bops
      The world moves on a woman's hips
      The world moves and it bounces and hops"

      Delete
  17. Replies
    1. Gracias.

      Hey, have you been doing updates? I need to go check to see whether you're dropping the ball on updates or whether my feed is screwed up.

      Delete
    2. The early Eighties? Are you fucking kidding me? Even by the late Seventies Yes (who by then included Peter Fucking Frampton as a sometimes member) was no longer listenable no matter how intoxicated one might be.

      Delete
    3. Haha. Hey, everything they did between "The Yes Album" and "Going for the One" is pretty great.

      Not sure that I could recoommend anything outside that period (which ends in 1977). I was listening to "Drama" the other night when I wrote this post, from the period when two members of the Buggles ("Video Killed the Radio Star") basically took over the band for a year. Compared to the "Owner of a Lonely Heart" era which followed it, "Drama" isn't as bad as it could get.

      Delete

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