Poon Tang Dynasty

Elly LononRandom thought, , , , , , , , 20 Comments

My entire world has turned upside down.  First, this happened:

Maybe Facebook Stands a Chance Afterall
Maybe Facebook Stands a Chance After All

Gwen has more friends than Magillicutty already.  I tell ya, that bitch is inconsolable.  Maggie just sits in the corner sobbing while she takes all the little wire tops off the countless magnums of champagne she’s consumed and bends them into tiny little tiaras while chanting, “I’m a pretty, pretty princess.”

Then last night, my dear sweet husband shattered one of my most treasured possessions – my Poon Tang Vase (as in a ceramic vase from the Poon Tang Dynasty – duh).  I’ve had that vase longer than I’ve had a husband, damnit.

Let’s take a moment to revel in the glory of such a fine perfect specimen of artistry:

My Lovely Poon Tang
My Lovely Poon Tang

Peacocks and Everything!
Peacocks and Everything!

The Decal Seam
The Decal Seam

Don’t let that pre-fab, Dollar Store sheen fool you.  That majestic work was one of a kind and irreplaceable.

“Oh Elly, won’t you tell us how you came to possess such a culturally significant piece of history?”

I’m so glad you asked!  We’d just moved into an apartment a mere two blocks away from Gwen in Washington Heights.  We’d already cleaned out all the crack vials, repaired most of the broken doors and I was tackling the painting.  I had no idea how drastically my life would change that day.

Gwen called from the post office.  “I’m coming over.  You have to see this.”

“Um, ok.  See what?”

“My Aunt Larry sent me a…well…you just have to see it.”

I watched my cats bat around a dead mouse while I shoved more steel wool around the radiator pipes and waited for her arrival.  Panting slightly, she arrived carrying the most fantastically hideous creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.  She sat the high gloss urn on the table and turned to me with her victorious mmmhmmm-what-did-I-tell-your-unbelieving-ass eyebrows in full effect.

“It’s….” I began.

“Terrifying, right?” Gwen interrupted, nodding vigorously.

“…absolute perfection,” I sighed to complete the sentence.

Awed, I stepped closer to my newest obsession and ran my fingers over the bubbling faux-gold leaf that had clearly been machine applied a solid half inch off its mark.  “Your Uncle Laura must really love you.  Where are you going to put it?  You should totally paint a wall this color orange to highlight the peacocks.  Man, I wonder where she…um…he?…um…found it.  I bet this thing cost her at least four hundred bazillion dollars and a kidney.  How was she able to part with it?”

Still shaking my head in wonder, I turned to look at Gwen.  She was staring right back at me with a look of horror frozen beneath her mmmhmmm-what-did-I-tell-your-unbelieving-ass eyebrows.  Her jaw was so close to the floor I worried the cats would accidentally knock the dead mouse into her gaping maw.  “What?  Is it the dead mouse?  It was a case of justifiable cat slaughter.  It serves the little bastard right for coming in here uninvited.  I’m not touching that thing.  Rocco can pick it up when he gets home.”

She continued to stare in silence and wide-eyed horror.  “Um, Gwen, Honey?” I asked while gently nudging her.

To my relief, Gwen started blinking again.  “Where’s the punch line?”

“Hmmm?” I responded absentmindedly as I considered licking the rim of the perfect ceramic creation.

“You genuinely like it,” Gwen stated flatly.

“What’s not to like?” I responded, incredulous.  “You really don’t like it?”  It’s unpretentious, tacky, and gloriously kitschy.  It makes me think of bad Christmas decorations and Bedazzlers.  It’s like some machine in China painted happiness directly on this perfect mass-produced vessel.  Like?  Hell – what’s not to love?”

“You don’t think it’s a little over the top?”

“Impossible – there’s no glitter.”

That one stumped her briefly, then something clicked and she finally released her mmmhmmm-what-did-I-tell-your-unbelieving-ass eyebrows and they slowly slid back to their normal positions.

“It’s yours,” she said with no trace of sarcasm.

It was my turn to drop my jaw on the floor, narrowly missing the battered carcass of Mickey.  “Don’t toy with my emotions.”

“I’m not.  It’s yours.  Now I don’t have to carry it the rest of the way home!”

“hooRAY!!!  You can come visit her anytime.  I’ll take splendid care of her.  Say, what Dynasty do you think she is from?”

But now she is gone.  Rocco killed her.  I’ve written her a limerick to celebrate all that she was to me.

Oh my dearest Poon Tang Vase
You can never be replaced.
For should I dare try,
My husband would cry
And might even punch my face.

Ok he wouldn’t really punch me in my face, but he never liked you much, Poon Tang.  I think that’s why he killed you.  So long, my dearest Poon Tang.

Comments

    1. I have his twin. I am tee-otally snatching him next time I’m at your place and hopefully he’ll have weird papier mache sex with my cat and I’ll have a bountiful litter of new little mini bug-eyed papier mache kittens. Wouldn’t that be dreamy?

  2. My favorite line: “Impossible – there’s no glitter.”

    Ah… It’s the kitchy weird crap that makes it home, right? I have a *lot* of bizarre junk and odd furniture, but it wouldn’t be home without it. Take for example my 3′ tall wooden-boy-holding-a-bowl. Carved from a single solid giant piece of tree, this little man will be holding mustaches at the party.

    Poon Tang could have done the same. I hope she served you well, and I believe a Tshirt that says “I still love Poon Tang” is more than in order.
    .-= KeepingYouAwake´s last blog ..Let’s Write a Story! =-.

    1. Photos. There must be photos of your little Pinocchio and his slew of ‘staches. Please tell me you have a tiny glitter covered hat for him to wear at the party.

    1. Fortunately it’s a Friday, so that should improve your odds, right? I mean it’s much harder to work in some poon tang on a Monday (that’s what she said).

  4. I’m sorry for your loss? No, can’t pull it off, damn girl, that thing reminds me of walking into my aunts house when I was like 7 and she hadn’t redecorated yet from her “hand me down” days. Hey, wait, I thought she rocked. Hmmm. Did you have an aunt like that too? Anyway, love you, loved the story, but that thing needed to die. If you want, though, I do drive by one of those Dollar Store thingys every day, bet they have dozens more, I will pay someone else to go in and buy one for you. I damn sure am not going to be seen buying it!!!!!! 😉
    .-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..Wicked Girls Get Desperate, But Not Like THAT =-.

    1. Well…my only aunt on my Dad’s side is retarded. Does that count? I’m pretty sure my mom’s sisters would have my hide if I implied any of them would own something as breathtaking as Poon Tang.

      Thanks for your (almost) support.

  5. First off, Wicked Shawn…. you have a quest. What the hell are you doing in here… I need fodder for my blog. Ah, that’s better. Girl that post was better than buttered bread. And the limerick. I laughed so fucking hard. GF is going to “break” most of my stuff eventually. So, I will know how you feel. Sorry for you loss.
    .-= Mepsipax´s last blog ..Drumroll please…. =-.

  7. My husband has a carved wooden voodoo looking monkey that has what appears to be animal hair carefully glued on the outside. It’s creepy to walk by and collects dust like a motherfucker. I tried to knock it over once but found out that things that are in league with satan are indestructable. So now I just say an “our father” when I pass it.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..Betterment =-.

    1. That Incan jewel could solve BOTH our lack of poontang I suppose…

      I wouldn’t dare rob you of such a prized possession. I’m sure it offsets your scallop quite nicely.

Comments are closed.