Wednesday, September 21, 2005

There has been...

somewhat of a drought in the land of Fa, thus my lack of postage. However when I honestly take a step back and look at my life, there is a ton of stuff to writea about.

I. Tales of The Insanity that Lives Next Door.

About a year ago, the house next to mine, which had been vacant for several months, was rented by a small family. Mom and dad and two kids moved in and things were better than when Mr. & Mrs. Domestic Abuse used to live there. Things were quiet, the new neighbors were polite and always smiled and said hello. The children are good kids and never disrespectful. I was actually ok with these people camping on ground so close to Chez Jackass. They were a family who had moved to NoPro from Narragansett and I'm sure the adjustment to the neighborhood was a bit of an adjustment. Moving from ocean-views and the smell of sweet summer grasses is much different from urine, broken bottles and parking lot brawls. However, both Dad and Mom were invested in their children and send them to the best schools they can afford. The oldest, 15 and making the switch from private to public school has been doing well and her younger brother continues to maintain where one needs to be, while attending the same private school I graduated from. They are not the Cleavers and I think in some ways I like that better. If they were all crazy christians or whatever, I don't think I'd be able to deal.

but buckle up cause it gets better.

II. In Which Jackass Meets Mother Bear

I had come home from a particularly bad day at a financial institution that rhymes with Crank of America. I pulled in, loosened my tie, grabbed the griefcase and stepped out of the F1 onto the drive way. I heard the Neighbors back door open and thought nothing of it. (Here in the hood, no one is friendly or says hello and even so, there is a fence between the properties.) I shut and locked my door and in the 2.5 seconds it took me to do that, Mother Bear was down the stairs and at the fence or on the tree-line as we used to call it back in Nam. She introduced herself and told me the names of the other Bear family members, ( like I was going to remember) After a short game of 50 questions, about who I was, what I did and how I liked my socks ironed, she let me go and I retreated into Chez Jackass, shaking my head and wondering what the hell that was all about. Post work meetings like this continue pretty much on a daily basis. They also continue to get stranger and stranger. We have covered everything from ice cream flavors to metaphysics to my lack of significant other. Sometimes I can deal with Mother Bear and most of the time I just want to tell her to go and shove a canned ham up her own ass.

III Holy Straight Jacket Batman!!!

Things continue as they normally do. I go to work, come home, chat with the neighbor and go inside and pass out for the night. Since episode II, I have left my position in corporate hell with Crank of America and have taken on the role of a Special Operations Unit inside the Agency. I'd talk more about it but there are privacy and confidentiality issues all over the place in my line of work. Let's just say I deal with a lot of shit that no one else wants to have to deal with. I love the new job, better hours, less corporate bs and I actually feel like I have a soul again. What could be better?

It's at this point that things start to pick up steam. I had to deal with some pretty hairy shit at work and as a result, ended up getting pretty hurt. I was placed on desk duty while I was recouping and in rehab. During this time, my neighbor took the time to talk to me whether I wanted to or not. She also started KNOCKING ON MY DOOR, ASKING TO BORROW THINGS LIKE THE PLUNGER! Who does that? How expensive is a plunger?



Boogie Pants Donavan said...

EEEEEEEEEEEEEW! thats like asking to borrow a sponge! Why would you want to share something so grossly intimate- i bet she used to insist on washing out the condoms before tossing them in the trash....or reusing them....those kids juuuust might be accidents.

Anonymous said...

Can I borrow your ass-hammer?
Those are wicked expensive.

n.v. said...

My neighbour comes here to borrow sugar (like this is the fucking 1950's), pasta...she borrows pasta, tomato sauce...for the fucking pasta, and Saran Wrap.

Fuckin' bitch doesn't do a lick of shopping at the grocery store, even with four starving children to feed. Oh the stories I could tell you. She has a 3 year old that looks like a preemie.