slammerkinbabe: (aaaaah)
The Story of
and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Smell

7:00: Kylie arrives at her apartment building. Coming up the stairs and into the upstairs hallway, she is accosted by a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad smell. Kylie holds her breath and hurries to her apartment.

7:01: Kylie enters her apartment, gasps for breath, and then expels the breath in another fruitless gasp. The apartment smells just as terrible as the hallway. Apparently, the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad smell is not at all fazed by doors, not even locked ones.

7:05: Kylie reluctantly lets go of her assumption that her nose will adjust to the smell; if anything, it seems to have gotten stronger. It is a bizarre, sweetish, chemical-ish smell, as if turpentine and rotten apples had had a lovechild that died in the walls somewhere. Kylie scouts around the apartment to try to figure out what is causing it. The scouting is in vain.

7:07: Kylie lights a mandarin-cranberry Yankee Candle, helpfully labeled "Our strongest-scented candle!" Kylie is encouraged. Surely the smell will dissipate when all the force of Yankee Candle is brought to bear.

7:10: The smell has not dissipated. Kylie does more scouting.

7:15: Kylie finds some stupid wax things labeled "Vanilla Potpourri", which resemble votive candles without wicks. They are stupid because potpourri is not made out of wax, and apparently there is some vastly complex process involving potpourri bowls and potpourri racks and ventilated candles that is necessary to get the scent of the wax non-potpourri to dissipate, all of which could have been avoided if the makers would either a.) make potpourri out of actual potpourri or b.) stick a wick in the damn wax things. But then they wouldn't make money off the equipment. Unfortunately whoever gave Kylie and λ the stupid wax non-potpourri did not feel it was worthwhile to invest in the equipment. Kylie scowls.

7:20: λ arrives home, doing the same gasping-for-breath-oh-fucking-hell double take thing Kylie did. Kylie and λ agree that the smell is really really really goddamn awful, and then sort of wander around woezing about it for awhile, periodically waving their hands in the direction of the mandarin-cranberry candle under the fond delusion that this will cause the scent to dissipate more.

7:45: The scent has grown exponentially stronger and Kylie and λ still have not the foggiest clue what is causing it. By now it appears that turpentine has sired rival love children with rotten apples and rotten oranges, both of whom have amassed armies of rats fresh from the garbage to wage bloody battle inside the walls. Judging from the smell, there are no survivors. Kylie and λ wander around woezing some more and attempting to figure out where the smell is the strongest. The most they can narrow it down is that it's really really awful in the closet. This is great news for λ, who has an importantish meeting at work tomorrow and was planning on dressing up in nice clothing hung neatly in -- guess what! -- the closet.

8:15: Kylie decides that she cannot stand this shit anymore and that that wax non-potpourri is going to start emitting fragrance whether it wants to or not.

8:17: The wax non-potpourri is unresponsive to Kylie's threats. Kylie scowls more blackly. λ is bleakly watching television, shivering in the draft from the open window which is not doing shit to ventilate the apartment.

8:30: Kylie MacGyvers this thing ) out of tinfoil and sugar canisters and cooling racks and a few other items of random crap, in order to simulate a wax-non-potpourri-scent-dispersion-unit. She rigs it up with a candle and the crazy fauxpourri and watches in delight as the fauxpourri begins to melt. Die, stupid wax things, die!

8:45: The apartment still smells like ass. Goddammit. λ is now watching Ashley Tisdale dance around and sing some song from High School Musical with Kermit the Frog on the Disney Channel. One has the sense that it does not matter anymore.

9:00: Kylie has a bright idea. She will bake brownies and that will fill the apartment with the smell of chocolate! λ welcomes the opportunity to leave the house and get the brownie mix.

9:05: Kylie has another bright idea! She has just remembered that a few nights ago she and λ bought some little bottles of essential oil for use in hand-making bath salts and bath bombs and the like to give out as Christmas gifts. There is a bottle of orange and a bottle of cinnamon. Kylie grabs one randomly, opens it, and waves it around.

9:05: It is the orange. The straggling remnants of the rotten-orange army in the walls rejoice at the unexpected reinforcements, bursting forth with new vigor! Kylie cries and twists the bottle shut viciously.

9:07: Kylie is back on the bright-idea train. She sets a pot of water to boil and tilts a few drops of cinnamon essential oil in it. The scent will disperse throughout the house with the steam! It is brilliant!

9:10: This does not seem to be working very well. Kylie tilts in a few more drops.

9:15: And a few more. Kylie is beginning to worry that there will be no more essential oil in the house for bath-salt making.

9:17: λ arrives home with a box of brownie mix and tells Kylie that the whole apartment building now smells horrible, and that the apartment smells kind of good in comparison -- "it's like half flowery and vanilla-y and nice, but mixed with the horrible smell. My nose is all mixed up." Kylie nods distractedly, peering at her essential-oil mixture.

9:20: Kylie realizes that there is a bottle of fucking ground cinnamon in the house. She empties a quarter of the bottle into the water and some nutmeg for good measure. *That* actually does something. Kylie cheers.

9:25: Encouraged, Kylie starts making the brownies. The cinnamon is helping so much that it almost seems unnecessary, but Kylie is of the opinion that after battling this smell all night she and λ deserve some damn brownies.

9:40: The house smells of vanilla and mandarin-cranberry and cinnamon and nutmeg and chocolate and turpentine and rotten apples and rotten oranges and cat puke that Basil horked up after eating a portion of the fake Christmas tree while Kylie was MacGyvering a dispersion unit for fauxpourri. Kylie asks λ despairingly if it isn't okay, on the whole, or at least much better? λ shakes her head in confusion; her nose has thrown in the towel and has stopped sending specific signals to her brain beyond "IT SMELLS IN HERE."

9:45: Kylie and λ have some damn brownies. Kylie puts more boiling cinnamon on the stove.

10:00: The vanilla fauxpourri is all melted, the cinnamon has scorched to the sides of the pan in a probably permanent way, the Yankee candle is liquefied, the brownies came out cakey and the cats are still trying to eat the tree. Tonight sucks. Kylie and λ prepare to bed down in the living room for the night, which smells better than the bedroom, which isn't saying much, but goddamn. Kylie rescues her teddy bear from the bedroom for the night. He smells terrible. Poor Lemon Sherbet.

11:00: Poor everyone.

11:45: Woe.
slammerkinbabe: (mary poppins)

4:34 am -- Kylie catches a cab and, as it wends its way into the city, listens in silence to Rush Limbaugh's (?) commentary on "feminists -- I'm sorry, but I think what they mean is 'lesbians'" who "rant" about "moving beyond the gender binary" -- "you've got to have way too much time on your hands to come up with something like that." There is no traffic at 4:34 in the morning, but no traffic is too much traffic when you are listening to Rush Limbaugh.

4:47 am -- Kylie arrives at the Downtown Crossing Borders. It is cold and raining. She is the first person there. Kylie twirls her rainbow umbrella and feels silly.

4:49 am -- A Doritos truck arrives at the 7/11 across the street. A stockboy begins unloading the truck.

4:50 am -- Kylie attempts to make a post to LJ from her cell phone, to alert her readers to the fact of the Doritos truck. Kylie's cell phone refuses to upload said LJ post, even after repeated attempts. Kylie's readers breathe a sigh of relief.

4:57 am -- The first other Julie-waiter shows up -- a slightly popeyed man in a Red Sox jacket. He, like Kylie, is surprised to find that no one else bothered to get there before 5 am. He shifts from foot to foot a lot and explains in unnecessary detail that he is picking up a ticket "for a friend". He also explains, five or six too many times, that the reason no one is here is that the trains don't start running until 5, but that as soon as they start running there will be floods of people. Kylie likes him and wishes he would go away.

5:07 am -- A hot dyke and her female friend/partner show up. Kylie does the knowing-smile-of-recognition thing at the dyke.

5:15 am -- Listening to the conversation between the dyke and her friend, Kylie realizes that the dyke is not actually a dyke, but a man. So much for the knowing smiles of recognition.

5:20 am -- The guy-who-is-not-a-dyke turns out, unsurprisingly given the situation, to be a.) gay and b.) a Broadway buff. Kylie and the non-dyke get into a reasonably enthusiastic conversation about Broadway-related matters. Mr. Red Sox Jacket Who Is There For a Friend initially attempts to participate in the discussion regarding Sondheim, but as the conversation moves on to Bernadette Peters, Patti LuPone, Bebe Neuwirth, Beth Leavel, Brian Stokes Mitchell, and David Hyde Pierce, his face falls in increments as he realizes that he doesn't have the faintest clue what we are talking about. Mr. Red Sox Jacket gets out his iPod.

5:27 am -- More people join the line. Kylie learns from them that the tickets that are being passed out are for families rather than individuals, at a maximum of four people per ticket. She also learns from these people that the tickets are to be numbered. Kylie calls λ and wakes her up, entirely unnecessarily, to tell her she can come to the signing on her lunch break after all, and also to tell her that she, Kylie, will have the NUMBER ONE ticket to see Julie Andrews. λ murmurs congratulations in a muzzy voice.

5:31 am -- λ calls back. "What time is it?" is her first question. "What did you say before?" is her second question. Kylie explains again. λ is more excited the second time around.

5:40 am -- The line grows steadily.

5:43 am -- Two people attempt to jump the line by standing on the other side of the door. Kylie gives them a death glare, and pointedly yells to all newcomers that "The line starts over there." Eventually the line-jumpers repent and move to the back of the line.

5:57 am -- A flock of seagulls joins the line, causing its numbers to balloon abruptly by several dozen. Kylie thinks this is unfair, as seagulls will find it very difficult to turn the pages of the book with their beaks.

5:59 am -- The seagulls fly away. They are not serious Julie fans.

6:01 am -- Mr. Red Sox Jacket Who Is There For a Friend moves to the back of the line. He gives a rather garbled explanation of why he is doing this. Kylie deduces that he does not want to be known as the guy who showed up at 5 am for tickets to a Julie Andrews book signing so that he could be second in line. Poor man.

6:03 am -- Bruegger's Bagels opens. Great excitement in the line. The non-dyke does a tap dance and sings, in his best impersonation of John Barrowman, an improvised song about how he loves coffee because it warms up his hands.

6:15 am -- A seagull attempts to cut ahead of Kylie in the line. Kylie aims a sharp kick in its direction.

6:19 am -- The non-dyke's friend loses her mind completely and begins yelling "I AM A PIRANHA! YAYAYAYAYAYA!", laughing hysterically all the while. Kylie is pleased to note that someone else is the first one in the line to fall prey to Juliemania-induced insanity.

6:23 am -- An old man wanders by and asks, as several other people have done, "What's the line for?" "Julie Andrews is signing her new book," Kylie replies. "Who?" the old man asks. Kylie laughs, and then stops upon seeing his puzzled look: he is serious. "Sound of Music?" Kylie tries. The man shrugs. "Oh," he says, and wanders away. Kylie exchanges nervous glances with the non-dyke and attempts to adjust herself to living in a world in which there are people who do not know who Julie Andrews is.

6:25-6:45 am -- The line is well around the corner by now, and employees are starting to arrive. At this Borders, there is no specific employee entrance; all the employees have to come to the front door, buzz, and wait to be let in. Kylie invariably mistakes the employees for people who are trying to jump the line, and singes them all with the death glare.

6:51 am -- Two guys show up and hang out at the other side of the door. They are clearly line-jumpers. Kylie shifts from foot to foot and eventually decides that this is no time to be polite. "Are you here for the Julie event? Because the line starts back there," she calls, perhaps a trifle more loudly than is strictly necessary. "I just want a coffee," comes the aggrieved reply. Kylie regards the man suspiciously. She is not sure she believes him. There is plenty of coffee at Bruegger's Bagels.

6:58 am -- An employee of Borders comes to the glass doors, peers out, and then proceeds to stare at the line for two full minutes while conferring with someone on a walkie-talkie. This employee is a sadist.

7:00 am -- The revolving doors open. The orderly line suddenly turns into a mob.

7:00:02 am -- Kylie pushes through the doors, but other people are going in the non-revolving door and she is losing time. She looks around wildly for the ticket man. He is not where he should be, he is not right next to the door, WHERE IS THE TICKET MAN. She sees him. He is about three feet away. She moves very quickly towards him, noting peripherally that the man who said he wanted a coffee is in fact going to get a coffee. Good man. Kylie is first in line, she is ahead of the crowd, she is going to get the number-one ticket --

7:00:09 am -- Some fucking bitch darts around Kylie, runs past her, and snatches the first ticket out of the man's hand. Kylie is incensed. Said fucking bitch was eighth in line and showed up a half an hour after Kylie did. She has long orangey-blond hair that looks like she attempted to tame it with a clothing iron and Kylie wants to tear her orangey-blond hair out of her skull. SHE CUT ME IN LINE.

7:00:11 -- Kylie gets her ticket. It says "Group A" on it. The ticket man explains that the tickets are not numbered, just lettered into groups A, B, and C: Kylie is in the first group. This does not diminish Kylie's rage at being cut in the line at all. As things that do not matter at all go, this matters tremendously. She shoots the deathiest of all death glares at the ornagey-blond girl. Orange-blond stares back blandly. Kylie wants to rip her ticket into pieces.

7:01 am -- The ticket man explains to all who can hear him, which in the general tumult means everyone within a nine-inch radius or so, that ticketholders are advised to come back to the store around noon, as that is when the line to actually meet Julie Andrews will begin forming. Kylie resolves to get there at 10 am, and to bring both chewed bubble gum and a pair of scissors so that if Orange-Blond gets there ahead of her, Kylie can wreak vengeance on the back of her hair.

I will update later about the actual event. I know you are all on tenterhooks.

*Times may be approximate.


slammerkinbabe: (Default)

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