Astral Mattress du Jour: First Day of December

Astral Apartments, December 1, 2007, 8:04 p.m.

Miss Heather

Mr. Butler Has A Fan In Greenpoint

When the opportunity presents itself I like to perform conduct anthropological experiments. These usually come to pass when I have something more pressing to do, like the cleaning the apartment. I performed one such bit of research last week when I was tidying the apartment in anticipation of my parents’ visit. The results were telling.

It started with this.

11:30 a.m.: After delivering my first salvo of stuff to the Salvation Army I spied this book sitting on the sidewalk outside my building. It is entitled The Dance of Anger, A Woman’s Guide to Changing the Possibilities of Intimate Relationships. I never knew any of my neighbors had trouble with the opposite sex. Maybe the book worked?

12:30 p.m.: When I returned from my second Salvation Army run I noticed the book was gone. An idea was hatched. There are, after all

more things in Miss Heather’s mind and apartment, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

I have always engendered a distrust of self help books, so I put together my own “care package” and left it in front of my building:

1. A champagne bucket
2. A biography of Jerry Butler
3. A bottle of massage oil

1:30 p.m.: I made my third donation to the Salvation Army. When I arrived home one of my neighbors was holding the champagne bucket.

Me: I see you like my old champagne bucket?
Neighbor: Is that what it is?
Me: Yes.
Dude next door: See, she knew what it was! I bet you drink Dom Perignon every day, don’t you?
Me: Do I look like a Dom Perignon kind of person to you?
Neighbor: I was planning on storing cat food in it.

2:00 p.m.: As I was throwing away some recycling I noticed the bottle of massage oil had been moved. No one had taken the Butler book yet, but it was looking encouraging.

2:30 p.m.: When I left a VCR stand out front I noticed the book and the massage oil were gone.

My next door neighbor was also absent. I suspect someone in my neighborhood had a very interesting Thanksgiving this year.

The End.

Miss Heather

The Beginning

I spied this cryptic bump sticker while making a bodega run earlier this week.

The beginning of what, I wonder? No worries, I am certain we’ll all find out soon enough.

Miss Heather

Belvedere XX Goes Green: Kind Of

Hmm. If I was a developer who built a buttload of crappy ass cookie cutter condos what would I do to generate interest? Oh wait, I know: I’d hire some spin doctor to turn my homogenized shit into individualized Shinola!

I must confess: this logo is pretty nice. It is me, or do those little green leafy things make me think of trees— or marijuana?

It’s sort of funny to have a logo invoking greenery when the fine folks at Belvedere/Bridge Realty seem to have killed the only tree on the premises. I won’t even go into the whole “No Dumping” thing because it is simply too easy.

Just like Babs “twat flop cakes” Corcoran advised, they covered the frontage with cement. I am certain this will add much value to my neighborhood.

Behold, another piece of condo crap!

And for the very reasonable starting price of $379,000 this view can be yours!

I too have a question for Babs:

Do your collars and cuffs match?

Having grown up in the land of fake blonds (Texas), I suspect her pixie-esque locks were begotten by peroxide. Why not drop trou and take one for the team, Barbara? Who knows, you might make a few (more) bucks. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

Hugs,

Miss Heather