Archive for the ‘BookPeople’ Category

Bacon, BookPeople & WholeFoods; Mooner Gets Fed, Shelved And Disturbed

Friday, February 17th, 2012

 

So. This is a banner day for me, a day that will be memorable in various ways. I got me a little sexing early—a fact in and of itself banner-worthy these days—I met some interesting people, and I finally got my book stocked on the bookshelves of a local bookstore. Getting sexed isn’t usually quite so remarkable, but the Special Agent in Charge for The US Department of Homeland Security that I call “Sweetie Pie” has been so busy with “special assignments” that having her in Austin overnight is a remarkable event.

SAC Ellen has been on high alert status, what with all the bullshit going on with Iran, and I’m not even managing two-person sex on a weekly basis. But she was here last night and I’m the better for it. The interesting people I met were part-and-parcel to me getting accepted to go onto the shelves at Book People—Austin’s premier not-so-national-chain bookstore. Michael McCarthy, the Corporate Sales Manager for Book People, set a meet with me for noon today wherein I would execute a Consignment Agreement and pay the shelving fee required to get Full Rising Mooner legally stocked inside the store.

I say “legally stocked inside the store” because I have been standing out in their parking lot for several weeks, selling my book to passersby like counterfeit Rolex watches. “Wanna buy a book, little girl?” Actually I only direct-sell to proven 18-year olds and I do card if I have any question. But I live twenty miles from the store and the return on my investment of time and gas is too small to have kept it up much longer.

I’m a little pissed at the dogs because they managed to piss off SAC Ellen, so I left them home and took only Honor the fucking cat book storing with me. Yoda and the Squirt snuck into the bathroom last night while SAC Ellen was lounging in the tub and, apparently, napping in the hot, sudsy water. She was awakened with a start when both dogs jumped in the big tub with her. My sweetie pie pulled the Glock 9-MM Howitzer handgun that is her constant companion and came close to ending my dog problems.

“I could have shot them both, Mooner. Please tell them to stop sneaking up on me.”

I did, Squirt talked back at me and said that SAC Ellen has no sense of humor, Yoda thought that was funny and so I grounded them both. Ever a wise ass, my smart little female puppy talked my not so smart male puppy into shitting in my slippers. “Ground that, motherfucker,” she told me when I discovered the load in my lounging footwear.

I didn’t know that “snuck” isn’t a word, did you? I guess I was supposed to say that the dogs “sneaked” into the bathroom up there. But who gives a shit, I mean really? Snuck feels better in my mouth than sneaked.

I loaded Honor into the GTO along with her little Hello Kitty backpack to make the trip into town to meet at Book People. I keep the pack loaded with cat snacks, her Hello Kitty water bottle and a Governor Rick Perry rag doll filled with catnip.

Not much gives me the same tingle as watching the fucking cat shred a Rick Perry doll.

Since I hate being late for anything and I’m always early for everything, we got to the store at 11:15 am for my noon meeting. I was hungry, so I decided to spend the time eating. We drove north up Lamar from Book People and spotted an interesting sign to the right on 10th Street. The sign said, and in a quite simple eloquence seldom seen on modern signage, it said, “BACON!”

“Oh look, Honor—pig meat!” I whipped the GTO right and made the tight, curled driveway that hugged the little building. There were few cars in the small lot, so I found a safe spot for my prized goat. We aficionados call the old Pontiac GTO’s goats.

“Stay here and shred Pricky Perry, sweetie,” I told the fucking cat. “I want to see some serious damage when I get back to the car.” I pitched her the Perry doll and she immediately went to work towards fulfilling my wishes. She always starts on his crotch because that’s how Squirt taught her.

I walked inside the building and was in heaven. I had stumbled into a place where every menu had pig meat on it, and the sweet smell of bacon made my heart sing, my mouth water and my loins stir.

What is it about bacon that it sometimes gives me a woodie? I might should talk to Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson about that one. Maybe my psycho therapist can shed some light on my pork meat attachments.

I was distracted by the mother and daughter in line in front of me as they ordered, and the loin stirrings eased into a stomach grumble. The mother ordered a bacon wedgie—your basic Cobb-style salad with extra bacon—and the offspring bacon waffles. I was next and decided upon a classic BLT, an order that received full approval from Emma, the appealing young woman behind the counter.

I got fries as a side, and since Emma had a tattoo I decided to give her one of my books. I love tattoos on a woman, and Emma had some tatts and reminded me of my Aunt Hilda. Quick smile that reaches from eyes to mouth and all the way to the heart, a sweet countenance and I could tell, tough as nails when need be. She made the required promise to do a book report when finished with

Full Rising Mooner, and I ate the best BLT sandwich in Austin, Texas with a huge mound of the second best French fries in town. Only mine are better fries than were those, and only because I have a potato frying secret (duck fat) that I refuse to share with anyone.

I am hereby giving the eatery, BACON!, my hearty endorsement. Should I be giving my “hardy” endorsement as well?

I took the small bit of bacon I’d set aside to give to Honor went out to the car. The Rick Perry doll looked like it had been passed over by a lawn mower, and there was little bits of fabric and catnip on every surface inside my GTO. As for the fucking cat, she was so stoned on the kitty khronic that she was languishing on her back making love to the car’s Hurst Four-Speed Shifter. She was purring loud enough to make my keys rattle when I put them into the ignition and I can now say that I know what love looks like on a cat’s face.

After cleaning the car I barely got to my appointment on time. Michael was a very nice man and quite supportive of my efforts as a writer. He said he is going to read my book (we’ll see) and handled the paperwork with aplomb. I’m certain that Michael’s name will be mentioned on these pages in the future.

I needed some fresh veggies, so I walked to the Whole Foods flagship store across the street from Book People, grabbed an artichoke, turnip greens and a tapioca pudding, and went to check out. The pudding wasn’t on my list, but I’m a sucker for good pudding and tapioca from Whole Foods is a favorite.

My checker-outer person was Hannah—a dark-haired beauty whose eyes melted my heart in the first second mine were caught in them. I forced my glaze away to avert a scene and noticed a nifty tattoo winking at me from beneath the sleeve of Hannah’s shirt. “Are those roses, Hannah?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s a hot air balloon and those are flowers on its side.”

OK, let’s stop the presses. I think I might be a sex addict. At least I know that I think like one. I don’t ever act out like a sex addict… Maybe I do. I mean when SAC Ellen is in town I’m like the cat with a head full of catnip, but Ellen’s my steady and not a random partner. I find every woman to be a unique creature yet I seem to find something sexy in every woman I meet. I’m thinking I should be bothered by that.

But I’m not, so fuck it. It’s Carta Blanca beer time somewhere, so I’ll see you manana, y’all.

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