ONE FINE DAY IN ASTORIA

October 10, 2009: A throw-back to the days of old Astorian lore. Awoke on a neighbors couch, in backwards pj pants and tangled hair, slipped on some cowboy boots and picked up the laundry from the no-good laundromat across the street. I've been embroiled in a nasty feud with this place ever since they lost an expensive trench coat of mine three years ago. Was officially banished for not paying my bill, but lucky for me, the owner failed to recognize me in my new haircut courtesy of Toni & Guy. She's a wily one, that Willa K. And also lazy, as this is the first time she's ever dropped off her clothing to be washed for her. There is something sacred about doing your own laundry. The peace, the ritual, the soft, clean smell of lint and dryer sheets. Reminds me of home, of happiness, and sometimes even...college? To be honest, its an irrational fear of strangers touching my unmentionables that bothers me so much, but on a lovely autumn day like today, its easily forgotten.

Later, I sauntered over to the Salvation Army to unload a bag of old clothes I've been meaning to get rid of for the past six months. Happened upon a strawberry-pink terrycloth hoodie vest that probably belonged to an 8-year-old, but still managed to fit fine. Perfect for the skee ball outfit I have planned for later on in the evening. The real score was in the vinyl department: I managed to rack up 7 new albums for the collection. Whitney, Aretha, The Supremes, some Village People, a little James Taylor, Joan Baez, and even a little TJB. Gwenny Deets once told me you always have to pick up one album just for the cover art, and Whipped Cream & Other Delights certainly made the cut. Almost scored a Rush album too, but the record had been lost en route to the milk crates. Next, I meandered over to Broadway to stop by the Mexican Shit Shop on 37th. I was looking for one of those wooden saints bracelets, you know, the ones like mini-frescos with the mary's and crucifixes and angels painted on. My original had already suffered one too many showers, cherry finish worn down, the stickers peeling and missing. Now I'm no Catholic, and hope not to offend any, but I am a firm believer in omens and talismans. For some reason or another, these bracelets are important to me; I never take them off. Not a good luck charm, per se, but a guardian, a secret safeguard against all that could go wrong. And has. Happily, I found one made of hematite which should hold up better than its wooden sister.

Made my last stop at Pema Nails, to see some of my most favorite ladies for some upkeep. Listened to a poor Irishwoman screaming like a banshee while her pedicurist severed an in-grown toenail for her. My how the Irish can curse. You'd think she'd given birth through her big toe. Got painted up right in fluorescent pink, and headed home feeling like a shiny new penny. So what's in store for this evening, you might wonder? Pinball, skee ball, good people, good times? For now, I'll throw on some Whitney and a pair of short-shorts. Spend some quiet time at old 32-82 and wish my AstoriaGirls weren't quite so far away. But you know what, ladies? Today was for you.

WILLA K