Read Online It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth by Steve Bluestein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Bluestein
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it's my birthday, no one cares. I am exhausted and find a corner to lie down on and fall asleep... and that's how I spent my birthday...sleeping on the floor of San Francisco International Airport in my navy blue cashmere rain coat.
And as I'm drifting off I hear my mother's voice whisper in my ear...."thinner"
March 10,2006 - VERN
So, here's today's story. The house I owned before the one in Bel Air was in Northridge. You remember Northridge... 1994 earthquake. Oh yes, that's right, Mr. Lucky bought a house right over the San Andres fault. Why? I couldn't find one in Hell! There hasn't been an earthquake in Northridge in 1500 years. I move in and Bingo... 8.9 shaker. But that's another story... for another day... today I want to tell you about my neighbor in Northridge, Vern.
The day I bought the house Vern came over to introduce himself. He was a slight man, salt and pepper hair, fair complexion. He was Ohio, Utah and Iowa all rolled up into one. He was your Uncle, the postman, literally, the guy next door... he was the whitest man I've ever seen. He looked like Mr. Green Jeans on chemo. He was married to Nell... Vern and Nell... E-I-E-I-O. Vern was very friendly.... so friendly you wanted to take the gas pipe every time he came over. "So whatcha doin', Stevarino?" Nell, on the other hand, was a little less friendly. Once in a while you'd see her dart in front of a window or open the door to suck in the mail, but it was like living next to The Bates Motel. The mother was there but she wasn't.
So a few years passed and Vern was a royal pain in the ass... Nell was invisible. At one point the other neighbors thought she might be buried under the roses. But I was cordial; after all, they had the house right next door. I had been on the road for a month and when I came home Vern was standing in my driveway with tears in his eyes. "My Nell has Cancer." It was a horrific day and we talked and I told him if there was ANYTHING I could do... just ask. Wasn't six weeks later when Nell passed. Wasn't ten weeks later when I noticed Vern with blonde hair... at twenty weeks he had a ponytail and cut off micro-mini shorts. Vern was coming over more frequently and had been hitting the sauce quite regularly, "Wanna come over and swim in my pool? You could swim naked... no one would see!" I could feel the vomit backing up in my throat. "No, thanks, gee...um... look at the time."
It was no surprise to me, shortly afterwards when Vern came screaming out of the closet. SCREAM-ING. All of a sudden there was a blonde Cabana boy living in Nell's house and it appeared the little fucker was an alcoholic. My nice quiet neighbor had turned into Steve Rubell of Studio 54. There were nightly parties, and loud music and cars and beer and men...lots and lots of men. It was my own personal nightmare, I buy a house in the suburbs and Boy George moves in next door.
So one night Vern comes over shit faced. I stand at the door not letting him in. "Can I help you, Vern?" " Why don't you come over? I've got porn." Ok, he crossed the line. I slammed the door in his face. I'm fuming. I walk back to my den to finish watching a movie when... without warning... a brick sails through my picture window. It smashes into a thousand pieces and breaks that horrific piece of crap vase my agent gave me. "Vern finally had a purpose". I call the police.
Now I swear to God to you, on my father's grave, this is what happened next. Two huge officers enter my home. I tell them about the cabana boy, and the booze and the cars and the brick. There is nothing they can do because they didn't witness any of the events. While I'm asking them what I can do to protect myself, one of the officers enters my den. He turns to the other officer and says, "Hey Stanley. Look at this." I think he's found evidence. The second officer joins him and I hear him say. " Is that
And as I'm drifting off I hear my mother's voice whisper in my ear...."thinner"
March 10,2006 - VERN
So, here's today's story. The house I owned before the one in Bel Air was in Northridge. You remember Northridge... 1994 earthquake. Oh yes, that's right, Mr. Lucky bought a house right over the San Andres fault. Why? I couldn't find one in Hell! There hasn't been an earthquake in Northridge in 1500 years. I move in and Bingo... 8.9 shaker. But that's another story... for another day... today I want to tell you about my neighbor in Northridge, Vern.
The day I bought the house Vern came over to introduce himself. He was a slight man, salt and pepper hair, fair complexion. He was Ohio, Utah and Iowa all rolled up into one. He was your Uncle, the postman, literally, the guy next door... he was the whitest man I've ever seen. He looked like Mr. Green Jeans on chemo. He was married to Nell... Vern and Nell... E-I-E-I-O. Vern was very friendly.... so friendly you wanted to take the gas pipe every time he came over. "So whatcha doin', Stevarino?" Nell, on the other hand, was a little less friendly. Once in a while you'd see her dart in front of a window or open the door to suck in the mail, but it was like living next to The Bates Motel. The mother was there but she wasn't.
So a few years passed and Vern was a royal pain in the ass... Nell was invisible. At one point the other neighbors thought she might be buried under the roses. But I was cordial; after all, they had the house right next door. I had been on the road for a month and when I came home Vern was standing in my driveway with tears in his eyes. "My Nell has Cancer." It was a horrific day and we talked and I told him if there was ANYTHING I could do... just ask. Wasn't six weeks later when Nell passed. Wasn't ten weeks later when I noticed Vern with blonde hair... at twenty weeks he had a ponytail and cut off micro-mini shorts. Vern was coming over more frequently and had been hitting the sauce quite regularly, "Wanna come over and swim in my pool? You could swim naked... no one would see!" I could feel the vomit backing up in my throat. "No, thanks, gee...um... look at the time."
It was no surprise to me, shortly afterwards when Vern came screaming out of the closet. SCREAM-ING. All of a sudden there was a blonde Cabana boy living in Nell's house and it appeared the little fucker was an alcoholic. My nice quiet neighbor had turned into Steve Rubell of Studio 54. There were nightly parties, and loud music and cars and beer and men...lots and lots of men. It was my own personal nightmare, I buy a house in the suburbs and Boy George moves in next door.
So one night Vern comes over shit faced. I stand at the door not letting him in. "Can I help you, Vern?" " Why don't you come over? I've got porn." Ok, he crossed the line. I slammed the door in his face. I'm fuming. I walk back to my den to finish watching a movie when... without warning... a brick sails through my picture window. It smashes into a thousand pieces and breaks that horrific piece of crap vase my agent gave me. "Vern finally had a purpose". I call the police.
Now I swear to God to you, on my father's grave, this is what happened next. Two huge officers enter my home. I tell them about the cabana boy, and the booze and the cars and the brick. There is nothing they can do because they didn't witness any of the events. While I'm asking them what I can do to protect myself, one of the officers enters my den. He turns to the other officer and says, "Hey Stanley. Look at this." I think he's found evidence. The second officer joins him and I hear him say. " Is that
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