Sunday, August 03, 2008

Bitch Slapped By Karma Twice?!

What is going on with my Karma?! I'm not cunty dame, or so I'd like to think. So, what the fuck?! The past few days I've been in Karmic hell and my K-Rolodex is yielding no insight. I'm trying to dig deep and figure it out.

Let's begin with the chair Odyssey. Today, I schlepped my ass in 90 degree weather to a chair joint. My car doesn't have air conditioning, it's a vinty number, over 30-years old. Love it. Schlepped it from NY and I'm not giving it up, period. Anywho. I met with the owners of the chairs I wanted. Lovely black and white 7o's high camp chairs. I was thrilled, hoping to walk out of their with my new chairs. Mind you, I had cash in hand ready to complete my transaction.

The owners sat me down with a clipboard in hand. A fucking clipboard. Their house was hotter than it was outside. God forbid they crack a window or use a fan. GOD FORBID. I admit it, I was a bit snippy. But, nice. Keeping my snippiness to a low roar. I pushed sarcasm aside and kept telling myself, Katie, stay open. Maybe it's just a few simple questions.


Meanwhile, I was shvitsing like a dawg and dehydrating as each moment past. Natch, I broke out a bottle of water. Chairboy sat across from me with his legs crossed and said, I kid you not, "I need to ask you some qualifying questions." Shocked, I asked, "You do realize I'm here for the chairs, right?" He said, "Yes, I do. These questions must be answered. I have 10."

10 fucking questions. Oy to the vey. Fine. If it meant I was going to leave with my chairs, the trip would've been justified.

"Should you be granted guardianship of these chairs, how do you plan to care for them?"

My mouth dropped. Guardianship?! These are chairs. They aren't living, breathing beings. I held my tongue and said, "I will treat the chairs with respect."

Nice answer, right? I thought so, too.

He asks, "How will you treat these chairs with respect? What do you define as respect?" I wanted to call my psychiatrist and ask him to fill in for me. This was becoming an emotional transaction and I was sweating like a whore in a Bikram's yoga class. My sister kept touching my arm, as a reminder to keep breathing and not rip him a new rectum or provide him with insight into the acquisition of cock and balls, something he failed to receive in this lifetime.

I said, "I'll tell them every day how grateful I am for providing comfort to my tuchas." Inside I said, "Take your chairs and shove them up your mothah fuckin ass. I have a feeling that if anything spends 10 minutes in your anus, it's sure to come out a diamond and I can use the cash flow."

He said, "You're doing great," and touched my leg while saying it. I wanted to sever his fingers with my vagina dentata, I was that furious.

"Do you have any other questions for me or can we have closure", I asked.

"I have a few more questions I need to ask you." He said, and continued "How will you care for these chairs? Will you wash them daily or weekly? When you relocate, will you take the chairs with you and if so, will you bubble wrap them to ensure they sustain limited damage? If you get rid of them, will you make sure they go to a good home? Will you send me pictures of the chairs on a monthly basis, so I can keep an eye on them?"

I smirked at my sister. She knew the look and stood up, ready to be kicked out of his home.

I said, "I am going to to post signs on the chairs and request that strange men jerk off on them, so they're dripping in foreign (God willing) disease laden cum stains. I'll also make sure that every man I fuck, dines at the Y while I sit on said cum stained chair. If I relocate, I will hold a seance and use the chairs as kindle for the massive fire, we will sit around while conjuring dead spirits. Will that suffice, sweetie?"

He was so appalled, he clutched his clipboard and said, "It's time for you to leave." I said, "Honey, it was time for me to leave the minute you referred to guardianship in relationship to owning your chairs. And YES, I would own the fucking chairs. Own them. Own them. Own them. They would be MINE, all mine, to do whatever the fuck I wanted with them. You can take your chairs and shove them up your God damned ass. Because I don't want your fucking chairs, anyway. I hate you and your God damned chairs!"

We left. He was so furious, he said, "You don't deserve the chairs!" I said, "I have news, toots, neither do you. You need help. Serious help. Get therapy because it's time for you to develop a healthy relationship with inanimate objects."

We slammed the door and ran out of his house.


Fran said...

What kind of chairfuckery?

Holy crap sister!

bizQuirk said...

You didn't deserve the chairs, Katie. You have to wash them and have a webcam with a permanent IP address.

Seriously, was he like an old, lonely man or something like that? Maybe it was his first kitchen set after he got home from WWIII, and he bought them with his GI bill money!

Strange, people are. I went with a friend on an 'antiquing' mission out here on the North Shore of Boston, we found what she was seeking. But when she went to pay for chachkees, the seller, an old lady, broke down in tears - these were her tea set items from her first marriage. Her husband was 19 in 1943, shipped out, and was lost in combat somewhere near Bastonge.

You never know. But this old lady knew that a sale was a sale.

B Northcut said...

you shoulda showed him yer vintage car-

no, wait.

You did the right thing.

The universe will bring you other chairs.

Travelingman Rick said...

From oy to freaking fucking vey...was he like a senior drag queen who won them as a prize in some pagent in the 70's? I would have dropped trow and taken a handy little piss on the damn chairs just to see the look on his face.

Somehow I have this vision of "Silence of the Lambs" and hearing "It rubs the lotion on its skin and does as its told. it does this whenever its told or else it gets the hose again. Now it puts the lotion in the basket. PUT THE FUCKING LOTION IN THE BASKET."

Yeah I think that might have been my repy about his precious chairs.

Jane R said...

What the EF?!

Does this happen often in LA? I mean, I lived in the Bay Area for ten years so I know from California therapy-talk, but this is ridiculous. (Your writing, on the other hand, is good and funny to die for.) Chair guardian?

{fans herself} Lawzamercy. (I now live in the South, one has to adapt.)

Jane (friend o'Fran's)

Anonymous said...

I nearly peed myself reading this. I had to stop to catch my breath. Then, we I gained composure, I read it out loud to MathMan. Well, I tried. I kept collapsing into fits of laughter until I gave up.

Unknown said...

That was the only reasonable response to such FUCKING CRAZINESS. Well done.

Ken said...

This MUST be read aloud, preferably in the accent used by a Bathgate Avenue (Bronx) fishmonger. Or one of my deceased aunts will do nicely:-). It's hysterical.

Karl said...

For fuck's sake, what did he do, create these chairs himself from sacred scrolls of text? Who the hell DOES that? I would have asked him, "Where's the fucking camera? Am I being Punk'd?"

Katie Schwartz said...

Fran, do you believe what a chairfucker he was?! I wasn't buying an animal. I was there for a chair. It was a vintage chair that he picked up years ago at some gayrhoooj sale.


Katie Schwartz said...

Awww, BizQuirk, that's a sweet story. I would've been touched by that, really. I would've wanted to make sure she felt good about the transaction and was really ready to part with it.

This guy wasn't menschy, sweet, older, or anything that would make you pause to consider his feelings. He was an outright bastard in his early 40s with a bad attitude, though he did have fucking amazing thoch.

Katie Schwartz said...

I hope so virg. I am in search of a specific chair and he had them. I wasn't about to buy from him. He was far too vile and evil. Oh, and creepy. Way creepy.

Katie Schwartz said...

Oh, TravelingManRick, THAT IS SO FUNNY. I am howling at the imagery.

PS: He was soooo "It takes the lotion". HAHAHAHA.

Katie Schwartz said...

Shalom Jane, Ya such a doll, so sweet. Thank you, dahlink.

Love the Southern belle fan. I lived in SF for 10 years, too. Having lived in LA for a while now, I've never seen anyone behave like that over chairs. It doesn't surprise me. I've met some really whacky people here.

I don't know where he was from. I've decided that he must be a product of incest or too much therapy. Is that cunty?

Katie Schwartz said...

DivaD - Ha! You get it.

Katie Schwartz said...

DivaD - Ha! You get it.

Katie Schwartz said...

Right, Beth?!??! It's insane. Who behaves like that over a chair? Oy yoy yoy.

Katie Schwartz said...

Right, Beth?!??! It's insane. Who behaves like that over a chair? Oy yoy yoy.

Katie Schwartz said...

Ken, you are so right. Or by a third generation broad from Queens who has never made her way to the city.

Katie Schwartz said...

YES, Karl. Can you imagine how hilarious it would've been as a punk'd thing?! I would've laughed my ass off.

Love the sea scrolls comment. ha.

Madam Z said...

I said, "I am going to to post signs on the chairs and request that strange men jerk off on them, so they're dripping in foreign (God willing) disease laden cum stains. I'll also make sure that every man I fuck, dines at the Y while I sit on said cum stained chair."

Katie, this is PRICELESS! I hope that in my next life I can come back as someone as moxie-ful as you!

Cormac Brown said...


Now just fill this vial with blood for your DNA and we'll need a family history and psych evaluation

For a chair?

A chair?

Did this raging son of a bureaucrat get booted out of Child Protection Services for being just a little too intense and thorough?

Who is to keep anyone from lying about what they are going to do with it? Not to mention I don't think half the people in the San Fernando Valley realize that their houses are being used as sets for porn. How is he going to reinforce that?

You were far to patient with this guy.


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