So, there's this gross old lady who lives on my floor and parks her car next to mine in the garage. I call her Scab Lady.
She earned this name because she has these nasty, weeping sores all over her lower legs all the frickin' time. They're usually bandaged, but I can tell right where they all are because you can see the pus seeping through the gauze. Ew, ew, frickity EW.
I have a feeling she might live in her car part-time. The back seat is filled with crap... boxes, bags, empty food containers, you name it. Oh, and her walker, which I have yet to see her actually use. A couple times I've gotten home or have been leaving, and she's been sitting in her car. Just SITTING there, listening to the radio or talking to her dog. And she sits there for a super long time, too. I know this because I often putz around before getting out of my truck or pulling out of my spot. I may decide to clean out the garbage the kids left in the back seat, or throw out the empty cigarette boxes in my center console, put on lipstick, organize my purse, or what have you. And when I finish whatever I'm doing, she's still sitting there in her car. One time when I left, she was sitting there. When I got back more than a half hour later, she was STILL THERE.
Here's another thing that bugs me: she's got this yappy weiner dog named Deuce, and he's never on a frickin' leash. I see them sometimes in the hall, and that stupid dog is running all over the place willy-nilly, yapping away. Once he got underfoot when I was coming back from the laundry room with a huge basket of clothes. That glorified rat almost got himself kicked. Oh, come on... I wouldn't have kicked him on purpose! Luckily I saw him and stopped walking until Scabby Mc Scabsalot could get him to go back into her apartment. One of these days something will happen to him, though, if she doesn't get him on a frickin' leash. He's gonna get stepped on, or get closed in the elevator door or something. And the way she tries to get him to come back when he takes off down the hall... she says PLEASE, and talks to him like he's a kid. I got news for ya, lady: he's NOT HUMAN. He's a frickin' DOG. One, he can't understand you. Two, saying please is not gonna change his mind about bolting down the hall to yap at neighbors trying to get out of the elevator with their groceries.
Here's another thing I've been wondering about that dog: where the hell does he crap??? I mean, she doesn't leave her apartment for days on end, I never see her outside the building, and apparently she needs a walker to get around, and the walker's in the back seat of her car all the time. So, does she let the dog crap in her apartment? Does he use a litter box? Did she train him to use the toilet like some people do with their cats? Inquiring minds wanna know!!!
Maybe this is super mean, but that lady creeps me out to no end. I actually hold my breath when I walk past her, her car, or her apartment because I don't want to breathe in whatever bacteria is infesting her nasty legs. I've never had the dilemma of having to get into the elevator with her, but I kinda think I wouldn't be able to hold my breath that long. I think I'd have to make some excuse to take the stairs or say, "Oops, I forgot something," and go back to my truck or my apartment until the coast was clear. The thought of being trapped in the elevator with her and her rat dog makes me feel like hurling a little bit.
I know what you're thinking: I'm going to hell for being so mean, intolerant and judgmental. Whatever... I am what I am. However, if hell is indeed an eternity of your worst experiences ever, my hell would be being trapped in an elevator with Scab Lady and Deuce, and I could only get off the elevator at Steve-O's on karaoke night.
Maybe I should try to be nicer.......
Nah.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Frickin' Steve-o's
So, my best friend and I went to Steve-o's last week for karaoke with some of the Big Louie's barflies. One of the barflies was totally talking it up, like it would be this great night of fun, so I talked my friend into trying it out.
What a frickin' joke.
First of all, it's a crappy dive bar with no windows. However, my friend commented that it was a lot cleaner than he expected it to be. But it still is a crappy dive, with the clientele you'd expect to see in a bar with no windows that serves 3-for-1's at 8am.
Second, worst... singing... EVER. And I mean EVER. Not a single singer I heard was anywhere near the frickin' melody. The very worst I heard was when a couple drunk chicks got up and completely butchered What's Up by 4 Non-Blondes. It was absolutely painful. And it hurt my ears even worse because it's a song I do from time to time at Big Louie's, and I do it well if I do say so myself. So to hear these dumb girls hack it apart was just sick.
The food was extra, extra greasy... close to inedible for me. We got chicken wings and potato skins, with a complimentary side of... GREASE. We couldn't finish it all, so we offered the rest to this one barfly friend who didn't get his order in before the kitchen closed. Well, you'd think he hadn't eaten all year. He tore into those wings like he'd been raised by wolves. I'm talking food flying, teeth bared, shaking the wings back and forth like they weren't quite dead yet, the works. I expected him to start snarling and then go outside to howl at the moon. I'm not sure he even took a breath between mouthfuls. I didn't know whether to look away in disgust or start laughing. I seriously wondered what would've happened if we'd decided we wanted the wings back. I have a feeling someone would've lost a few fingers or suffered a fang wound to the jugular.
The beer on "special" was a crapass beer served in a thimble. A $2.50 beer ain't a great deal when you get about a teaspoon of pisswater with an orange slice in it.
Needless to say, we didn't stay long. I apologized profusely to my friend all the way home for dragging him to that craphole . Honey, if you're reading this, once again: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.
Well, at least now we know. I can say with complete certainty that we will never set foot in frickin' Steve-o's again in this lifetime. And I think that's about how long it will take to get Wolf Boy's wing eating display out of my nightmares.
What a frickin' joke.
First of all, it's a crappy dive bar with no windows. However, my friend commented that it was a lot cleaner than he expected it to be. But it still is a crappy dive, with the clientele you'd expect to see in a bar with no windows that serves 3-for-1's at 8am.
Second, worst... singing... EVER. And I mean EVER. Not a single singer I heard was anywhere near the frickin' melody. The very worst I heard was when a couple drunk chicks got up and completely butchered What's Up by 4 Non-Blondes. It was absolutely painful. And it hurt my ears even worse because it's a song I do from time to time at Big Louie's, and I do it well if I do say so myself. So to hear these dumb girls hack it apart was just sick.
The food was extra, extra greasy... close to inedible for me. We got chicken wings and potato skins, with a complimentary side of... GREASE. We couldn't finish it all, so we offered the rest to this one barfly friend who didn't get his order in before the kitchen closed. Well, you'd think he hadn't eaten all year. He tore into those wings like he'd been raised by wolves. I'm talking food flying, teeth bared, shaking the wings back and forth like they weren't quite dead yet, the works. I expected him to start snarling and then go outside to howl at the moon. I'm not sure he even took a breath between mouthfuls. I didn't know whether to look away in disgust or start laughing. I seriously wondered what would've happened if we'd decided we wanted the wings back. I have a feeling someone would've lost a few fingers or suffered a fang wound to the jugular.
The beer on "special" was a crapass beer served in a thimble. A $2.50 beer ain't a great deal when you get about a teaspoon of pisswater with an orange slice in it.
Needless to say, we didn't stay long. I apologized profusely to my friend all the way home for dragging him to that craphole . Honey, if you're reading this, once again: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.
Well, at least now we know. I can say with complete certainty that we will never set foot in frickin' Steve-o's again in this lifetime. And I think that's about how long it will take to get Wolf Boy's wing eating display out of my nightmares.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Dig me!
Yeah, don't know why I chose that title. Just thought it was funny.
Hi. How's it going? Seems like I've been doing these once-a-month updates. I just never seem to find the time to get on here and do my usual rants.
So, a couple weeks ago the ex and I dropped our oldest daughter off at college. I thought I was fine with the whole thing, until I was over at my best friend's house one night and he asked me how I was feeling about it. It was then I realized that I was totally not okay with the whole thing. For the week leading up to her departure I bawled at the drop of a hat, thinking about her when she was a baby, toddler, little girl, etc... nostalgic melacholia. The end of an era. And, of course, I totally cried when I was saying goodbye to her in her dorm room. As excited as she was to start this new chapter of her life, and as much as I know she can handle it, I felt like some kind of traitor leaving my baby in an unfamiliar place to fend for herself.
Of course, she's doing great. She's having a blast, meeting new people, and seems genuinely happy. I'm really proud of her, and happy for her. But I'm still struggling with this whole thing.
This is what I have trouble with: first, I am old enough to have a kid in college(two, actually, if my son could get his act together, but that's another story), which means that I am OLD. It's true: I am an OLD HAG. For cripe's sake, I'll be forty in a year and a half. Holy crap. So, sending my kid to college has totally made me feel my age. Thank God I don't look my age on top of it. Then I'd really be depressed.
Second, I really miss my kid! She and I have a great relationship. She confides in me, likes to hang out with me when she's not busy with her friends, she's funny, smart, kind, and generally just a great person. Now, before you think my head is swelling here, let me state that I'm entirely sure the way she turned out is more a product of her nature than of my parenting. I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys, remember? But anyhow, I just miss her. I mean, she does text message me at least once a day, and she calls at least once a week, so it's not like we're totally cut off, but still.... I miss her!
Third, now she needs money. Lots and lots of money. That sucks, because I'm not exactly rolling in dough. And she doesn't want to ask her dad, because she's afraid he'll yell at her (and he probably would), and she doesn't think he would send her money anyway (and he probably wouldn't). Now, I racked up my credit card debt paying for pretty much the entire senior year and graduation for both the twins, and the ex, who initially was going to pay me back half, decided to stiff me once he realized I'm not going back to him. So I've got these massive bills thanks to that big winking anus, and I've got a kid asking me for hundreds of dollars. Not sure how I'm gonna make it happen, but I gotta find a way to help her out and still be able to pay my bills. I suppose I could start selling myself on the street.... nah. Then I'd have to go out and buy a whole new cheap, slutty wardrobe.
The trip up to my kid's school and back wasn't bad. I just slept the whole time, so there wasn't much opportunity for sparkling conversation with my ex. Bonus. Right now he's in another "I'm gonna prove I'm a changed man so you'll come back to me" phase. I'm sure it won't last long. He's done the same old song and dance before, and once he figures out it ain't getting him anywhere, he goes all evil again. The other shoe should drop any day now... he hasn't been a major dick to me for a couple weeks now.
My oldest son is not making very good choices. Of course, now that he's 18 and living with his dad, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I hope he'll figure things out and get his act together, but I wonder how long it will take, and how much trouble he'll get himself into in the meantime. I do worry about him. He's basically a good kid, and I just don't want him to get creamed by the real world before he has a chance to reach some of the potential I know he has.
The little kids started school a couple weeks ago, and both of them are doing great. They love their teachers. There's a new principal, which makes me very happy. The old principal was a dick and a half. He was old and crappy, and really had no idea how to deal with kids. He'd use all these big words that I'd have to explain later, and just generally was a sour old butthead. But now he's gone, and the school seems like a much better place to be. Sweet.
My job has been interesting. There's one woman there who hates my guts, and I hear it's because of how I look, and because she thinks I'm in my twenties. I'm sorry, but that sucks ass. Especially since I used to be a fat chick like her. Well, not exactly like her... I was never that ugly, I won't be that old for another decade, and I'm not a chiffon-wrapped, sugar-coated, venom-spewing, baby-waby-voiced bitch from hell. She takes every opportunity to hate on me, trying to trash me all over the office. Yeah... bring it on, witchiepoo. I'm not as young and stupid as you think I am, and I can be as bitchy as you are if I need to be. Let's dance, sugar.
Well, I gotta go eat something. I'm loathe to do it, because I've gained 5 lbs in the past 2 1/2 months. Yuck. I mean, I'm actually at my ideal weight right now, but I've decided I prefer the lean and mean look. Or the skeletal and anorexic look, depending on who you ask. I've been trying not to gorge myself, but in my head I'm still a fat chick who likes to indulge in emotional overeating, and I'm absolutely terrified of making a pig of myself and gaining weight again. However, I am thinking of going out later, and an evening of drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea, so I think I'll heat up some leftover garlic mashed potatoes and watch a little TV for a while.
It's been real... see ya soon.
Hi. How's it going? Seems like I've been doing these once-a-month updates. I just never seem to find the time to get on here and do my usual rants.
So, a couple weeks ago the ex and I dropped our oldest daughter off at college. I thought I was fine with the whole thing, until I was over at my best friend's house one night and he asked me how I was feeling about it. It was then I realized that I was totally not okay with the whole thing. For the week leading up to her departure I bawled at the drop of a hat, thinking about her when she was a baby, toddler, little girl, etc... nostalgic melacholia. The end of an era. And, of course, I totally cried when I was saying goodbye to her in her dorm room. As excited as she was to start this new chapter of her life, and as much as I know she can handle it, I felt like some kind of traitor leaving my baby in an unfamiliar place to fend for herself.
Of course, she's doing great. She's having a blast, meeting new people, and seems genuinely happy. I'm really proud of her, and happy for her. But I'm still struggling with this whole thing.
This is what I have trouble with: first, I am old enough to have a kid in college(two, actually, if my son could get his act together, but that's another story), which means that I am OLD. It's true: I am an OLD HAG. For cripe's sake, I'll be forty in a year and a half. Holy crap. So, sending my kid to college has totally made me feel my age. Thank God I don't look my age on top of it. Then I'd really be depressed.
Second, I really miss my kid! She and I have a great relationship. She confides in me, likes to hang out with me when she's not busy with her friends, she's funny, smart, kind, and generally just a great person. Now, before you think my head is swelling here, let me state that I'm entirely sure the way she turned out is more a product of her nature than of my parenting. I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys, remember? But anyhow, I just miss her. I mean, she does text message me at least once a day, and she calls at least once a week, so it's not like we're totally cut off, but still.... I miss her!
Third, now she needs money. Lots and lots of money. That sucks, because I'm not exactly rolling in dough. And she doesn't want to ask her dad, because she's afraid he'll yell at her (and he probably would), and she doesn't think he would send her money anyway (and he probably wouldn't). Now, I racked up my credit card debt paying for pretty much the entire senior year and graduation for both the twins, and the ex, who initially was going to pay me back half, decided to stiff me once he realized I'm not going back to him. So I've got these massive bills thanks to that big winking anus, and I've got a kid asking me for hundreds of dollars. Not sure how I'm gonna make it happen, but I gotta find a way to help her out and still be able to pay my bills. I suppose I could start selling myself on the street.... nah. Then I'd have to go out and buy a whole new cheap, slutty wardrobe.
The trip up to my kid's school and back wasn't bad. I just slept the whole time, so there wasn't much opportunity for sparkling conversation with my ex. Bonus. Right now he's in another "I'm gonna prove I'm a changed man so you'll come back to me" phase. I'm sure it won't last long. He's done the same old song and dance before, and once he figures out it ain't getting him anywhere, he goes all evil again. The other shoe should drop any day now... he hasn't been a major dick to me for a couple weeks now.
My oldest son is not making very good choices. Of course, now that he's 18 and living with his dad, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I hope he'll figure things out and get his act together, but I wonder how long it will take, and how much trouble he'll get himself into in the meantime. I do worry about him. He's basically a good kid, and I just don't want him to get creamed by the real world before he has a chance to reach some of the potential I know he has.
The little kids started school a couple weeks ago, and both of them are doing great. They love their teachers. There's a new principal, which makes me very happy. The old principal was a dick and a half. He was old and crappy, and really had no idea how to deal with kids. He'd use all these big words that I'd have to explain later, and just generally was a sour old butthead. But now he's gone, and the school seems like a much better place to be. Sweet.
My job has been interesting. There's one woman there who hates my guts, and I hear it's because of how I look, and because she thinks I'm in my twenties. I'm sorry, but that sucks ass. Especially since I used to be a fat chick like her. Well, not exactly like her... I was never that ugly, I won't be that old for another decade, and I'm not a chiffon-wrapped, sugar-coated, venom-spewing, baby-waby-voiced bitch from hell. She takes every opportunity to hate on me, trying to trash me all over the office. Yeah... bring it on, witchiepoo. I'm not as young and stupid as you think I am, and I can be as bitchy as you are if I need to be. Let's dance, sugar.
Well, I gotta go eat something. I'm loathe to do it, because I've gained 5 lbs in the past 2 1/2 months. Yuck. I mean, I'm actually at my ideal weight right now, but I've decided I prefer the lean and mean look. Or the skeletal and anorexic look, depending on who you ask. I've been trying not to gorge myself, but in my head I'm still a fat chick who likes to indulge in emotional overeating, and I'm absolutely terrified of making a pig of myself and gaining weight again. However, I am thinking of going out later, and an evening of drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea, so I think I'll heat up some leftover garlic mashed potatoes and watch a little TV for a while.
It's been real... see ya soon.
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