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So I had to swallow a dose of humility tonight and head next door to the Twinkie neighbors (I call them that because they're a little soft in the middle of their brains). See, my beloved Daisy has been sitting curbside for two, almost three days now. Always reliable, a gremlin must have gotten into her oil or something because she simply won't crank/turn over (or, as Da Man, puts it: We can't get her crunk. Ha.). But I can't talk about that right now because I get all teary eyed. *sniffle*
What I will talk about, however, is that today somehow turned into one of those days....
I was supposed to meet the chicka to finally close that obnoxious invite your friends and guilt them into buying highly overpriced items so you can get that set of three candleholders your ass can't afford without help parties. I was so excited about finally closing this party because the woman in charge and I aren't very...well...compatible.
Anyway...she and I were supposed to meet at 4:15. That was fine, actually better than fine, because that meant I would have the use of my mom's van and an excuse to be back home in time for Da Man to leave for work. Ha ha. *laughing at the fact that I actually had myself believing that I had a well-laid plan*
Her son has a wart on the bottom of his foot and was scheduled to have it removed today, which was an appointment that she had forgotten about, so she moved our meeting back one hour and fifteen minutes. Yeah, there wasn't even fair notice that my plan was going to crumble.
Moving our little meeting back meant that I wouldn't have the use of mom's van because Da Man is using it to get back and forth to work. And this is where I was forced to swallow the ill tasting dose of humility and walk next door.
"Hey, does the van run?" Now I know that sounds like a rude question, but it's the van that mom sold to them not so long ago and I know that it's a big piece of crap. *ignoring the fact that I just referred to it as "a big piece of crap" while Daisy, may the gods of all old automobiles bless her, is sitting curbside, crippled*
After being told yes, the van ran, I asked, while swallowing that bitter bitter dose of humility, if I could use it to run to the coffee shop for a meeting. The answer was a too simple yes. So simple, in fact, that I knew something else was coming.
I, never striving to be early for anything, headed next door again an hour later to get the keys. "You might have to put some gas in it," Twinkie King said. "And bring me back a cup of coffee."
Okay. I took a deep breath and left. Well, it actually took me three tries to leave because he had just replaced the steering column and I, not fluent in Twinkie, had no idea that Drive was left of Park. *roll eyes*
Just as I was pulling out to cross the first intersection, I noticed that his "might have to put gas in it" should have been more of an "it's empty so put some gas in it." I was muttering obscenities and voicing my dislike of all things Twinkie as I pulled into the gas station. Not quite three gallons and ten dollars later, I was finally on my way to the big party closing.
I will spare everyone the details of the closing. It was quite boring and the woman is one of those overly animated people. You know the type, she has to use exaggerated facial expressions and intonation to act out everything she says. And she's loud. Very loud. People staring at us loud. I find that to be quite annoying and tonight I found it quite so.
I came home and returned the van keys to Mama Mullet *laughing because I know at least one of you will remember her from my past blog life*. I told her that I had put ten dollars worth of gas in it and left it at that. And then, not even ten minutes later, they're knocking on the door wanting dish liquid.
But that's just the kind of people they are. They're rich in excuses and half-assed actions. And they constantly want and want and want. Mom brought flowers home for the yard the other day and Twinkie King was certain that he was going to take some for his yard. He hasn't yet. *stressing the word "yet"*
Last week we were in a constant verbal battle about whether or not he was going to take one of my coveted bleeding heart plants from the yard. And I try to be nice and polite but they're the type of people who don't understand nice and polite. Oh no, they're the kind of people that you have to relate to in "fuck you"s and "I don't fucking think so"s, which is fine with me because I am quite fluent in "fuck you"s and "I don't fucking think so"s.
Twinkie King kept aggravating me so much the other night as we were digging up hostas to make room for the pond that I finally took my shovel and cut one of the plants in half, telling Da Man to toss it over the wall so the Twinkie King would leave me the fuck alone. He's that kind of person. And I really have no use for any of them.
Mom and I are constantly bickering about the Twinkie family next door. She has developed quite the soft spot for them, and it infuriates me because she is starting to demonstrate Twinkie Envy. Quite scary, that. Especially because she spends so much time with my girls. I do not want them to think that Twinkie is the new cool.
I was sitting on the back porch the other night, minding my own business, when I hear this Goober style voice say, "Hey, Daisy, I'm gonna tear that wall down right there and build a great big pond and connect our yards with it. Your fish will be in there and I will get it lookin' bad."
I honestly don't know what else was said after that because I went to my happy place that is full of normal neighbors whom don't really want anything to do with me because I evoke some type of hesitation and fear in them. I was ripped from my happy place with Twinkie King's "and we're gonna take that ole swing of yours and turn it into a swing set for all the kids to go over there to your place and play on."
"No," I said through clenched teeth, "we're not."
"What? Well, why not?"
Because I loathe you. "Because I have the entire yard planted with flowers and I'll be damned if we're connecting yards."
"Why not? I'll ask mom; she'll think it's pretty cool." She's my mom, you fucking one-brain-cell-short-of-being-a-talking-monkey, not yours.
"Forget about it because it's not happening. I don't care what mom says because she doesn't do fuck all in this yard except sit on her ass."
I think it was the fact that I had said such things about mom that made him walk back into his house.
Da Man and I have already decided that most of our summer evenings will be spent out front since the Twinkies have decided to join our world in the back. And that blows chunks because I love my backyard. I love the ponds and the fishies, the flowers and the butterflies. I love it all so much. But I'm thinking the only other alternative is to buy a privacy fence. *remembering imaginaryfriend has electric fence that I'm sure she'd swap for a box of wine. :-)*
I do know that it's going to be a very long summer. It's going to be a long summer full of "fuck you"s and "I don't fucking think so"s. And suddenly I'm missing the winter, because winter months are Twinkie hibernation months.
...HolyKerrap look how big my comment is...
Oh me. Sorry you are having to put up with this Amy.
I think you need that privacy fence. With razer wire on the top. I *like* my neighbours, but I'm still planting trees and bushes along the fence line to block the view between our houses.