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Monday, August 22, 2011

Letter to my inconsiderate neighbors.

Hi There.


You may remember me, I'm that chick that lives next to you. You know, the one that said hello to you on three separate occasions? Like that time at the mail box where I was about two feet away and you pretended I wasn't there. Or the time I waved and you looked away. There was also that time when you were in your yard and I said Hi AND waved.

Perhaps you are mentally disabled, and can't understand the generic, american, human greeting ritual. Perhaps, you are deaf or blind or a combo of those afflictions. I think though these things are not true. For when we constructed a fence, you came out of your house and spoke to my husband the MOMENT I went inside to fetch him lemonade (or whatever). So you either have a penis preference for your speaking partners, or your a vagiphobic.

Your wife/girlfriend/baby momma at least acknowledged me before running away as fast as possible. She also made it clear through her body language (staring at the ground, running away, turning her back to me in terror) that shes very socially frightened of me and does not want to interact with me further. I get that. I'm a reformed social screw up myself. I just hide it a bit better than she does. She at least got the first Hello out of the way like a decent person.

Btw that day you offered to fight me in gorilla body speak. That was lame. You're fat and I can probably outrun you. I'm a 120lb girl, and the fact you even offered makes me wonder about your penis size. I was throwing a BALL for my DOG. Fetch and all. Som'thing you know, and your dog knows, nothing about. I presume at least, since your dog owns no toys and I've never seen you interact with her asside from yelling at her.

My ball hit my fence, NOWHERE near you, and you turned and puffed up and started coming at me like I said your mom was good in bed. (shes not) I had to talk to my dog and fetch the ball myself, all exagerated like an Idiot repeating "OH LOOK EMMA, YOUR BALL" (granted my dog conviently had a duh moment and couldn't find it) so you could translate that this wasn't a concert and I didn't throw a beer can at your balding nazi haircut head... which brings me to my next question...

WTF are you anyway? Are you white? Mexican? Both? Either or both is fine, but I just can't tell for the life of me. You act and dress like you want to go kill Jews, and your friends look like members of the Aryan brotherhood, yet you speak Spanglish, and appear to have a kid with another chick that looks 100% Hispanic. Yet you can talk about raised trucks and "tha river" like the best of the bros. Its just confuzzling is all

Oh and your kids. Thank you for at least keeping them quiet/non annoying. Though I think my new fence has more to do with that than you and your parenting skillz.

I remember on about day seven, your unattended toddler was sticking her hand through my fence and saying "doggie". Her babysitter, a drugged, young guy, would occasionally walk outside and laugh, then go back inside. Leaving your kid alone with your dog 80lb aggressive dog, in the middle of a yard in pseudo suburbia, about three doors away from a registered child molester. Whats up with that?

That brings me to your dogs. I hate your dogs. I'm a dog lover. I love animals. But for yours, I'll make an exception. Your dogs want to eat mine, and that makes me angry. Your dogs reduced my pit bull to a shivering mess for over an hour when she made the mistake of play bowing at the fence line. Your dogs are unaltered, bored, pissed off, reactive, human and dog hating messes that I'm so annoyed with I have lost all pity for them. Thanks to you, I've had to fill the holes they've dug with dog shit, to deter their visits. I've had to spend $300 and a whole day building a fence so I can be outside and not crap myself in fear. If they come over my fence, its going to ruin everyones day. Trust me.

Btw where is dog #2 anyway? You know, the one that was slightly less aggressive. The one that didn't got batshit rabid every single time it saw me, but only went batshit som' of the time?? Did you lose it? Give it away? Eat it? God knows you can't keep that extra dog when your Babymomma just birthed you ANOTHER screaming kid you wont help raise. Oh, you think I don't know about that? Your walls are THIN my friend. You like sports, you like sending your kids away when they try and talk to you and show you things. You like asking your slave woman for a sammmich during commercials.

So all Im asking you, dear neighbor, is to water that damn half dead tree in your backyard, play with your kids and dog, and say hello. At least once. Its the decent thing to do.

Thank you for your time

Monday, August 15, 2011

Three dog night...






I must say, tonight went from reading funny things, to wallowing in self pity. Interesting how life works out that way. You're happy, your laughing, and then you see som'thing that you think may be even funnier, and it makes you crap yourself.

Then you sit there, in your poo pants.


I guess wallowing in self pity is too strong a phrase. That phrase gives me images of tears, and more tears, and perhaps a noose made of shoelaces. Generally from your last pair of converse you've worn the soles off of.

Anyone who's been out of high school for any amount of time has likely found a page on the Internet to get back in touch with these people. To rekindle. To remember.

I've visited such pages several times over the years and I've learned several things.

1. I don't recognize most of these people

2. The ones I do recognize are from the "in" group, and while they don't scare me now, I don't have any fond memories with them to laugh about

3. No one I'm looking for is here. Probably because they are busy taking care of children like the friends I did stay in touch with. *sigh*

4. None of the nerds are there. People who I wish I had talked to, but never did, for whatever reason. This also covers nerds I knew, but didn't know well enough to remember their last names etc.

and the one thing I'd like to really talk about. # 5

5. These people have DAMN good memories. They are talking about, for example "remember when Person X had to rollerblade to school???" and then like 30 people are like "OMG YES that was AWESOME". Wtf is that about? I can't even remember what I got for my birthday for 25 out of 29 years of my life...and these people remember som' chick having to skate to school?

I walked to school, for about 85% of it. I got a new car, and no one outside my 4ish friends noticed. A new car. A car I parked in front of the school where 99% of the kids had to walk past it to go home.

AND it was in a forbidden spot. But no one ever made me move it. You know why? Because I was invisible and no one, including the staff knew who it belonged to. That's a special kind of invisibility, just FYI.

Then they droned on and on about "remember in Mr.I-remember-you-perfectly's class"... and I'm not just talking about "I remember I had that teach for math" or whatever....but detailed stories, as if they happened yesterday.

I'm lucky if I can remember my teachers names. Generally I can't unless they are said or shown to me first. Pretty much out of 4 years, and approx 30 teachers I remember only these;

1. Mr. Proach, who I only remember because he would talk on and on about traveling the world, in monotone, and he'd get this white crap in the corners of his mouth. He'd talk about all sorts of cool, worldly, cultural stuff. Do I remember ANY of it? Heck No. I do remember in detail the white crap in the corner of his mouth, and I probably only remember it because my friends made fun of it constantly

2. Mr. Olddude. I don't remember his name. I remember him in images only because I really, really disliked this guy. REALLY. He had this yardstick, and he'd smack it on your desk at the end of all his ranting points. He was anti women's rights, pro "every school should have the 10 commandments posted in the hallways" and was probably a homophobic, child molester in his free time. He brought god up in all of his rants. Our lack of god was why we sucked as students. Hes probably dead now, and that's probably for the best.

3. Mr. Nowel. I had this guy for "crafts" which was actually wood shop on steroids. We did plastics, metal, leather, etc...I had him for 75% of my time in high school, so he gets remembered out of sheer repetition I imagine. He had the best looking santa beard I've ever seen. It was silky looking, not all pubetastic like most beards. The year I had the class with the stoners that played with the blowtorch unsupervised was interesting. He also liked me enough that by senior year he was giving me a free ride grade wise, which was good because I spent most of it doodling and drooling over a classmate. But I digress

4. Mr. Newlon (I think that was his name, SEE??) was probably, in hindsight, about 24 years old, tall and thin, and had a thing for cardigan sweaters. My friend at the time, Erica, decided she was in love with him, so I, being completely unoriginal decided I should fake crush on him as well to fit it. I personally find the whole "crush on a different age group" thing a bit creepy, so I was really desperate to fit in, I suppose.

5. Ms Demmit. Ok now this one freaks me out. She was a 40ish math teacher, and I had her for at least 2 years, so like my crafts teacher, she probably gets remembered by sheer repetition. She didn't like me, I don't think she liked anyone, but she did try and hide it. She did like Math, and she really did try to get us to like math. Unfortunately it was by shoving it at us in the most boring way possible, and then nagging when we doodled. Mostly, I would stare at her and wonder why she looked so "off". I mean, she looked sick. Pale, very thin, and I could see all the veins in her face. She died shortly after I graduated.


sorry, no joke in that one.


6.....




yeah, there is no 6. You know why? I have the worst memory known to man. It stinks. I never thought I'd be sitting here, ten years later, WANTING to remember all the crap stuff I did in high school. It feels like a dream that I kinda remember, but need a trigger to remember at all.

Its really disappointing is all. I feel kind of cheated. Sure it was a bad experience, but it was MY bad experience, and damn it, I want to know what happened!













ten points to anyone who figures out the titles meaning. Ten BROWNIE points. Ok go






Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Spleeps.





I've finally come to terms with the reason, the REAL reason, I like the tiny Mexican morsels so much.





I've always liked chihuahuas, and if som'one asked me WHY, I'd give these reasons, generally.




Little poops.



Cheap to feed.




Portable.



Can pick up and run away with them if you're attacked by birds/hobos/zombies (falls into portable, turns out portable has many advantages)





Single coated.





Plentiful (see; free/cheap)





Pointeees for earses.




Come in many colors/patterns/sizes/energy levels (thank you backyard breeders!/sarcasm)





If you look at these reasons, they are based in logic. Except pointy ears, which only seems to make sense to me. Well I discovered the other reason. The linch pin. For why myself and the tiny mexicans get along so well.





Sleeping. They LOVE sleeping.







I don't sleep any more or less than the average person. Eight hours + or - an hour. Occasionally + or - three hours if alcohol is involved, but my sleep is very important to me. I need it, and I don't like it cut short or interupted.






Emma and Kiwi. The resident non-chihuahuas. Have the standard dog ideals when it comes to sleeping humans. Like most other dogs they believe...






If I'm awake, you should be too!





You moved, that means you're getting up!





You breathed different, that means your getting up!




OMG when you get up, it will be the BESTEST thing EVER!





I shall dance in your face in anticipation.







This is the standard dog thought process. Of course, there are also the accelerated-awakening methods they employ. These generally involve staring at you. Breathing on you heavily (usually used in conjunction with staring), walking on you, and making noise. Or in the case of the pit bull, putting your head behind the curtains, then walking, which floods the hibernaculum with sunlight.






Kiwi actually learned that shaking her head will wake me up. First using her collar. So we began to remove collars at night. Then she learned that if she shakes her head hard enough, the sound of her pig ears, flesh-slapping against her big head works just as well. A lesser owner would have cropped them off, but I've settled for earplugs.





The chihuahuas, on the other hand, are completely happy to sleep as long as you want too. 12hours after drinking all night? Sure! Stay up all night on the Internet and get 4 hours sleep, that works too. You stop moving, I stop moving. Perfect.





There is a downside to this however. Mexidogs need recharging frequently, so they must dock with their charging station. Which is, of course, human flesh. Its like a twisted zombie energy draining ritual. A chihuahua cannot sleep without being in/on/under a human.











thus, things like this ensue










Imagine three of these paperweights on you at once. In the middle of summer. I awoke last night about three in the morning about to have a heat stroke. I was completely sopping wet in sweat, stuck to the couch, not sure where I was delirious. The one sheet I was using was also sopping wet, and yet I was rendered immobile by three, very hot dogs, all Gulliver's travels style. It was very unnerving.




Why can't the chihuahuas take their siesta without smothering me to death???? I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't the real way that Che Guevara died. He was known to be in cohorts with the spicy ones. Maybe he owed them, and they ordered a hit.







We may never know....