The New Girl

A Little Sunday Sap

Here's how I found The Littlest New Girl yesterday:

Yes, yes.  She's up to her little arm-pit in a bag of dog biscuits.  Yummo.

'How did she get her grubby mitts on those?' I wondered.  And so I took them away from her and put them back.

And then I waited there with my camera.

Oh, well.  Who knew that she could do THAT? 

(P.S. Just LOOK at those two little sneakers all side-by-side.  Come ON.)

(P.P.S. Don't you have to be able to WALK in order to CLIMB?)

Apparently, that would be a 'No.'

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Aaaaand, here's where I put DOWN the camera, in order to pick UP the baby.

Fun Fact Friday!!

* The time that I was in the police car when I was 8 years old, I had been with some friends, breaking windows in a closed-up school building.  Heh heh.  The cop pulled up and although he was uniformed, he was in an unmarked car (creeeeepy.)  He asked us where we lived and after we sat in the police car (no door handles on the inside back there!) and got a lecture, he let us ride our bikes the 4 blocks home.  Probably because my wuss-ass cousin LOST HER FUCKING SHIT and was HYSTERICAL CRYING and repeating over and over, 'but our biiiiiiikes are up there!!  Our biiiiiiikes are up there!!'  Pansy-ass.  I didn't cry from fear.  Until I got HOME.

* I have a weird psychological glitch (shut it), which is kind of like a compulsion, where I have to use the bathroom right before I get into bed.  Even if I JUST went a couple minutes before.  I still have to go.  If I don't, I honestly can't fall asleep.  It's been like that for so long that I only re-realize it's weird if I'm with someone that I'm not around a lot.  Like visiting a friend overnight or whatever.  I have to pee before AND after I nurse the baby in the middle of the night, too, and it's annoying.

* It was SO FUN telling you guys some of my funny old stories.  I've been so sapped for content it was great to just be able to write.  You should try it!  Also?  Have people vote on what they want to read. It's GREAT.

* There were some of you who had some follow-up questions about MANSON.  Hilarious!!  I have SO many Manson stories, guys, I could write a book.  You know, like 'Marley and Me,' but only 'Manson and Me.'  I wrote an epilogue to that ridiculous story I told you but didn't publish it b/c I thought that perhaps you'd had ENOUGH.  Would you believe me if I told you that Manson gave The Man cash for the mirror?  And then he offered us the use of ONE of his STUN. GUNS. for our protection in the future?  Yes, yes.  And I can spot, oh, FOUR really, really SCARY things in that sentence there.  How about you?

*  I skipped school for the first and only time when I was in the third grade.

*  When I got to high school, I found that the principal who chewed me out for skipping school ('That's called PLAYING HOOKEY, TNG, AND IT'S VERY. VERY. BAAAAD.') was the dad of one of my friends.  And he totally remembered me.  Which I found really odd at the time but as an adult, I'm like, NO DUH.  Because HOW MANY IDIOTS try to skip school in the THIRD GRADE??  In the MIDDLE OF WINTER?  In a place that gets so much snow, you have to wear fucking SNOW PANTS and BREAD BAGS in your BOOTS?? (p.s. If you routinely say that you had 'a lot of snow' where you grew up, and yet, you have NO idea about the bread bags in your boots, you did NOT have a lot of snow where you grew up.  The End.)

*  It cost me FIFTY DOLLARS to fill up my car with gas this week.  I'm still gagging.

*  I have a quasi-phobia of the dentist.  I haven't been in way. too. long.

*  In a few short months, I am going to turn FORTY. (Which is a little surreal but whatever.  I still feel 25.)  Anyway, when I turn 40, The Littlest New Girl will be almost exactly 15 months old.  When my mom was 40, I was nineteen.  And my sister was fifteen.

*  During the week, I often think of things that would make for interesting Fun Facts and then when I sit down to actually write the post?  GONE.

*  I write here the way I talk.  I am VERY expressive.  And I use an ALL CAPS VOICE for emphasis.  And I often speak parenthetically (to, you know, give you the whole idea.) And sometimes, I use italics.  And so if you're [a jackass who doesn't mind calling someone that you don't know annoying on the internets for all to see] a person who feels free to always speak her mind in public and likes to give [back-handed] unique compliments, then, THIS ONE'S FOR YOU.  [Maybe] I'll even BOLD IT FOR YOU, BEEZOCH!!!!! (p.s. how do you feel about extra punctuation???????  I bet you HAAAATE IT!  Right??)  Whew.  I tuckered my own self out, there.

*  So, what do the rest of you want to read about this week?   How my kid embarrassed the hell out of me at the library (even though she can't talk yet?)  Some memories that still make me feel weird when I think of them?   Stories from the CMN file?

 

CRAZAY MOFO NEIGHBOR-OFF Pt 2

The 'Super-Exciting Sunday Morning Driveway Chase' Story.  Continued.

Okay, so I'm going to pick up right where I left off.  (I'm getting right to it, in case you're really excited to know what happened.  So you don't kill me for leaving you hanging.  Which I only did because the post was so wicked long and how are you suppo--What's that now?  Oh!  Yeah, okay.  I'll get on with it, then.)

So, I rounded the corner and my heart? It stopped.  Because, my friends, The Dog was not barking at some super-brave deer.  Oh, no he was not.  Because, my friends, right there, in my back yard, staggering toward my crazy-barking dog, was a COMPLETELY, TOTALLY, SPECTACULARLY, FUCKED-UP GUY.  And when I say 'FUCKED-UP,' I am not just talking about a regular, run-of-the-mill *drank all night and need to sleep it off* kind of fucked-up.  I am talking about an *on some kind of insane drugs plus  LOADS of booze all night long at MANSON'S PLACE* kind of FUCKED-UP.  Also?  He was SUPER-DUPER DISHEV.  I don't mean that he was a little dishev from a night of hard partying.  I'm saying that he was COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY GRUBBY.  And also?  He was covered in blood.  Yes, yes.  That's what I said.  He was covered. in. BLOOD.  And he was INSIDE my FENCED-IN back yard.  Staggering.  Toward my stalwart and oh, so, good The Dog.

I did mention that this was just before 7AM, on a Sunday, right?

My heart started beating again, double-time and in my throat, thankyouverymuch, and I watched, horrified, as he came closer to The Dog and to ME and to my TOTALLY OPEN BACK DOOR.  He lost his balance and fell, head-first into our glass patio set.  That's when I closed the door (leaving The Dog out as my [sacrificial lamb] protector) and went to get The Man.

[Aside: if you're [a skimmer] a new reader, and you aren't able to predict how The Man might process this kind of awakening, do yourself a HUGE favor and read this post, here.  I'll wait for you because you'll miss at least HALF of the funny contained in this story without the knowledge afforded you by the post.]

The Man acted true to form and so this was, oh, probably the third time in his life that he'd LEAPED out of bed to come to my rescue, bumbly, disoriented and wearing only his underpants.  On his way to the back door, he picked up his aluminum baseball bat.  Like a true Super-Hero.

Let's pause here, to give you a minute to fix the mental picture.

Got it?  M'kay.

So, The Man goes tearing through the house toward the back door, adrenaline pumping, as I turn to pick up the phone to call 911.  And this is the part where The Man utters the line that will be etched on his tombstone.  This line, spoken with such amazing urgency at the time, has rendered us helpless with laughter every time it has been spoken since.  And now, dear and patient readers, I will share it with you.

As The Man got to the back door, he surveyed the situation and then, as he fumbled with the knob, he turned to me and said this:

"GET ME PANTS!!"

Which, of course, I did.

I returned after getting the pants and calling the police, The Man and I go out into the yard, just in time to see the IFUG (Incredibly Fucked-Up Guy) trying to *escape* by climbing over the fence.  HOWEVER  and OF COURSE, he was WAY too fucked up to accomplish the move and he ended up FALLING FLAT and applying his FACE DIRECTLY TO THE ASPHALT on the other side of the fence.  He staggered to his feet and was now GUSHING blood.

About this time Manson shows up, wild and crazy-looking as ever.  Having heard the commotion, he came barrel-assing out of his house, trying to [avoid further exposure to law enforcement] calm the situation.  And for whatever reason, upon seeing Manson, I became ENRAGED.  I started screaming and cursing and OMG, it turned into a full-blown episode of JERRY SPRINGER on my driveway.  I'm not even joking.  It went like this:

TNG: 'WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, DUDE?!  THIS IS TOOOOTALLY FUCKED UP, DO YOU KNOW THAT?  FUCK FUCK FUUUUCK KAJA GOOGOO CURSING CURSING CURSING INSULTING CURSSSSIIINNNG.'

Manson: 'I know, I know, I'm so sorry, I don't let him come over, he just came over.  I'm so sorrysorry sorry soooooorrrryyyy sorry, I'm so soorrryyy.'

TNG: 'Well WHATTHEFUCKEVER.  I just called the cops, and they'll be here ANY MINUTE.  So, sjlfoiub;l  licjoj;glki And also CURSING CURSING STILL EFFING AND CURSING WHAAAT THEE FUUCCCK??'

I then go into the house and do a Gladys Kravitz out the side window and this, friends, is where the comedy portion of our show goes into full swing.  Because Manson was trying desperately to help his friend to get away before the police came.  And as he's easing the guy into his car, something clicks for the IFUG.  He changes his mind and backs away from Manson.  He refuses to get into the car.  They start to quarrel, Manson trying to Talk Sense and the IFUG trying to get away...from Manson.   Then? He started to run.  And Manson started to chase him, pleading with him to get into the car for his own sake. 

Dudes.  They ran around and around and around the car.  Needing only some of that catchy circus-clown music to make the scene complete.  I had to hand it to IFUG, though, he never fell for that crafty trick that you do when you're chasing someone.  You know, when you turn and run the other way?  Even in his fucked-up, dishev and bleeding state, he was hip to that jive.

Anyway.

The police came, an ambulance came, and the comedy continued.  The only other moment of drama was when The Man discovered that the side mirror on his BRAND NEW CAR was broken and dangling.  That was a little touch and go there because by then, The Police were on the scene and I was a little reluctant to do the Full Jerry on the driveway with The Fuzz parked on the street.  Oh. And I should say that there were SEVEN POLICE CARS there, lights flashing and all.  On a SUNDAY MORNING.

Then I went in to finish getting ready for work.  HO HO!!  Did you forget that I was in the middle of putting on make-up and all when I went to check on The Dog?  I went back into the bathroom and when I looked into the mirror, I got the surprise of a lifetime.  For underneath and between my eyes and on the sides of my nose were perfectly placed dots of concealer that had yet to be blended.

And so, yes, friends.  Yes.  I was out on the driveway, unleashing my PERSONAL POWER onto Crazy Manson with what looked like WAR-PAINT on my face.

And this thought occurred to me: 'If there had been an uninformed, impartial observer witnessing that entire event, who would have looked crazier?  The quiet and apologetic Manson who was trying to help out his [recent parolee] friend?  Or the SCREAMING, CURSING, WAR-PAINTED, JERRY SPRINGER, MOFO NEIGHBORS?'

Uh-huh.  That's what I thought, too.

And then I scheduled my basket-weaving class and wrung my hands and cackled myself to death. The end.

Hold Onto Your Asses, Folks! It's Part 1 Of The CRAZAY MOFO NEIGHBOR-OFF!

So, I can't imagine how you all passed up the tease of The 'Buddhist Monk Chickens' Story but Hey! Who am I to judge?  With THIS STORY, you will be getting, perhaps, a little less of THE HUMOR OF THE CRAZINESS and a little more of the EXCITEMENT and the DRAMA OF THE CRAZINESS but this story might just KNOCK IT OUT OF THE PARK in my [Who Has The Craziest Neighbor Pissing] Contest with Clink.

I'm going to lay the ground work today.  Give you some of the facts about the CMN and start the story.  Don't worry, it will aaaall be worth it in the end, as 1) I feel like you're going to end up hearing more than one CMN Story and 2) you have shit you need to do today, other than read this blog.

[The Copious but Necessary] Background that you need to have on the CRAZAY MOFO NEIGHBOR (list form, for your ease and convenience):

1.  His nick-name (which originated from the neighbors on the OTHER side of us) was MANSON.  As in, you know, MANSON.  Because he looked. just. like him.  Crazy long hair, crazy long beard, crazy tie-dyed shirts and crazy shoeless feet.  Sometimes he wore a pen around his neck.  I can only guess.  We spoke of him exclusively as MANSON, like it was his real name and I was VERY AFRAID that one day, I'd slip and call him MANSON to his face.

2.  Before we moved in he had (urp) over ONE HUNDRED-FIFTY CATS (in stacking cages and crates) and was a (urp) LICENSED CATTERY.  whatthefuck? He told us this one day, after he popped out from behind our hedges as we were approaching our front door.  Apparently, that's where he'd been sitting, cross-legged, awaiting our return.  To offer his (urp) services for vaccinating our cat.

3.  He always had one male person of *questionable age* living with him.  During the time The Man and I lived there, he went through three different young *men.*

4.  He inherited the house from his father and never had a job [other than selling some kind of drugs or whatever.]  People came in and out, all day and all night.  Odd, strange, people.

5.  He DIDN'T BELIEVE in spaying or neutering pets and thus, started a feral colony of cats in the neighborhood to rival The Cats of Rome.

6.  He had a menagerie of animals inside and out, most notably a cat WITH NO VOICE who meowed *silently* at The Man and I, when we took a *tour* of the house.  We're still convinced that she was asking us to get her the fuck out of there.  Inside he had a multitude of cats and a couple dogs and outside there were rabbits, a pig (named Bacon for crizzakes), a handful of ducks and various other species that would come and go, without any explanation.

7.  He would constantly buy us little presents [from the dollar store] that had images of Yellow Labs or Grey Cats and would place them on our outside windowsills.  No, I'm not joking.  I actually saved this one.  We had 20 more like it.

Yup, it's a bobble-head.

8.  He would also periodically put envelopes of pictures (that he had taken) into our mailbox.   As a gift.  There were pictures documenting the home improvements that we'd done behind the house.  And lots of pictures of The Dog in our back yard.  Pictures that he'd taken from his upstairs window.  (Hork.)  There were also often shots of his own pets in there.  Along with a few extremely disturbing photos of The Man, in his work clothes, installing a paver patio.  Seeing pictures of hot and sweaty The Man in his work clothes wasn't disturbing.  The fact that The Man had no idea that Manson was up there snapping candids until they showed up in our fucking mailbox, four months later, was disturbing.  Yeeeah.  (Are thinking about saying 'Uncle' yet, Clink?)

9.  He renovated his house so that there was an apartment in the front, which he rented out.  To the kind of people who don't care if there's an old, upholstered couch in the front yard.  Or bars on the first story windows (in TOTAL SUBURBIA. Keeping people IN, perhaps??) Or 3 broken-down vehicles at a time in and around the driveway.

10.  Speaking of driveway, did I mention that we SHARED A DRIVEWAY?  Yes, friends.  We shared a driveway with Manson.

11.  In the woods behind our houses, The Man and I found a clearing that Manson made that contained the [Blair Witch Project] following: 1) an ill-constructed and hazardous looking Tee-Pee(ish) structure, 2) a statue of The Blessed Mother, 3) a sculpture of a bald eagle with two real American flags attached, 4) a sculpture of a parrot and 5) a hole large enough and deep enough to lower a full-sized casket into.  I'm not joking.  Or exaggerating.

12.  Also, in the woods, we found a tree with a perch built on it.  When I climbed up into it, I had a DIRECT line of sight into my other neighbor's back yard.

13.  He always seemed to want to stay on our 'good side,' really.  (see #7) I don't think he wanted any trouble from us and he was very deferential and *hem* friendly.  In fact, I'm sure that he told EVERYONE that came to his place to NOT EVEN LOOK AT US because NONE of them did.  The tenants, the drug-buyers, the [young boy-friends] youthful roommates...none of them.  Even when we said hello.

Which makes The 'Super-Exciting Sunday Morning Driveway Chase' Story all the more riveting.

Ready?

Okay.  It was Sunday morning and I was up early, getting ready for work.  I had just showered and I was applying make-up and drying my hair (this was BEFORE I had a baby, remember.)  It was before 7:00 AM.  The Man was snoozing in bed and The Dog was outside. 

As I was drying my hair, I thought I heard a steady, rhythmic barking, very unlike The Dog.  I turned off the dryer and cocked my head to the side trying to hear.  It was, in fact, The Dog and so, I went to [scream at him to shut up already] investigate, to see on what he had become so incredibly fixated, figuring that it was a super-entitled deer that had jumped the fence or something.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I saw The Dog outside, crouched low to the ground, hackles raised, barking like a mad dog.  As I got closer to the back door to get a better look at what he was barking at, my eyes landed on a sight that nearly STOPPED MY HEART....

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TO BE CONTINUED:

If you're still reading and I didn't lose you somewhere in that godawfully long list, tune in tomorrow to get the rest of the story....

Sometimes A Little Yummy Candy Isn't Just A Little Yummy Candy

You guys are so [naive] CUTE that you want me to tell all my stories before you even get to read one of them!  Do you think you have the [attention span] time to read them all, given my tendency toward wordiness?  I am hoping that they don't lose something in the translation from the oral tradition into the written word.

We'll start here and see how it goes.  You all couldn't RESIST a good old Freudian Slip, could you?

The ‘Funniest Freudian Slip Ever Made by a Customer in the History of the World’ Story

Okay.  Here’s the [inescapable] background:

So, for a lot of years I worked at a *friendly* kind of restaurant, in which they served a lot of ice cream, right?  And one very slow day, the manager cut me early.  As I readied myself to leave, we got ‘slammed,’ which in restaurant lingo (holla, wait-staff!) means we got a huge rush of customers all at once.  The manager came and told me that I’d need to resume my shift and I went back out onto the floor.  In the meantime, though, there had been a table (a mother with her son) in my station, waiting and waiting for service and the mom?  Was PISSED.

All right.  So, I approached the table and I can FEEL the mom’s anger coming off in waves.  I apologize and cheerfully explain and I could tell that she wasn’t buying it.  What can you do?  There’s no working with some people.  So, they place an order for two sundaes.  The son orders a Reese’s Pieces Sundae.

[Aside: My good friend, The Kid, completely HATES the way most of America (mis)pronounces this food-ish item.  She says that EVERYONE KNOWS HOW TO PRONOUNCE ‘PIECES,’ and so, WHY DO THEY SAY ‘PEACE-EASE??’  It’s CLEARY pronounced ‘Reese’s PIECES, not REECEE'S PEACE-EASE.’  Consider yourself INFORMED.]

Okay, back to the thing. 

So, the boy orders a Reese’s Pieces Sundae, which comes with FIVE scoops of ice cream and so after he orders it, I ask the standard question, ‘What kind of ice cream would you like with that?’ as he can get any flavors that he wants.  HOWEVER, the MOM (all impatient and at the highest point of pissedivity with pursed lips and all) thinks that I don’t UNDERSTAND what he’s ordered and she cuts across our conversation, with the most waspish tone possible (piiiiicture it) and say this:

‘Oh for god’s sake, he just wants a REESE’S PENIS SUNDAE.’

Oh. Friends.  Oh. Oh. Mah. Gah.  Please believe that I was drawing blood, from the biting of the inside of my own cheeks, so as not to laugh right in her face, long and hard (pardon the pun) (See? The sacrifices I made in the name of good service!) And me?  With the nervous laughing?  It’s a full-blown MIRACLE that I made it.

After an eternity of trying to keep my face on straight (which was really only 3 more seconds at the table) I ran into the back room and DOUBLED OVER with the hysterical laughing, leaking an inordinate amount of fluid from the orifices on my face.  Can you imagine? There are so few incredibly perfect moments in life, so few opportunities to experience such amazing timing and she was so. pissed at me, guys.  I'm telling you, I died and went to COMEDY HEAVEN.

Anyway.  I composed myself and took the ticket to the counter and told the person scooping the ice cream that the woman wanted a ‘Reese’s Penis Sundae,’ and without missing a beat, he said:

‘Does she want NUTS?’

HA HA!

We both resumed the hysterical laughter in that way that happens when you've just lost your shit in a major way and the hysteria is still simmering there, just below the surface and needs only a gentle poking to re-erupt.

After a minute or so, I re-composed myself and responded:

‘Nah.  She said that YOU should HOLD THE NUTS.’

HA HA HA!

Come on, now.  I ask you.  Does it get any better than that??

Apparently, A Lack Of Sex Is Gives One Quickness Of Wit. Also, You Vote, I write.

Me:  'I had a dream last night that I was pregnant.'

The Man: 'Oh, really? I had a dream last night that we had sex more than twice a year.'

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And when you're done laughing at The Man's [sad, sad, life story] funny little joke,  you get to vote for which stories you'd like to hear!  And then I'll write them.  Come on!  It will be fun!  Like putting your request in at the radio station or giving your order at the drive-thru window!

Here are your choices (choose one from each category):

[My first job in mental health] Waitressing Stories:

1.  The 'Funniest Freudian Slip Ever Made by a Customer in the History of the World' Story.

2.  The 'Semi-Preverted, Yet Very Witty Policeman' Story.

3.  The 'Now, THAT Will Get You Thinking After You Drop a HUMONGOUS Tray of Food' Story.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The [Will You Get it Over-with Already?] Long-Awaited CRAZAY MOFO NEIGHBOR Stories:

1. The 'Buddhist Monk Chickens' Story.

2.  The 'Super-Exciting Sunday Morning Driveway Chase' Story.

3.  The 'Take a Tour of the Installation of the First-Floor of the House DOG KENNEL' Story.

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And because I am pretending there is no such thing as Mother's Day until my kid is old enough to make me a card for my refrigerator (thus requiring good cheer to make the day fun for HER) I am leaving this post up through the weekend.

Have a great XXXXX Day, all you awesome Moms!  You deserve it!

Fun Fact Friday!!!!

* The debate over whether The Littlest New Girl's snotification situation is due to teething or some kind of sickness has been settled by the spiking of a fever in the middle of the night.  What's that?  Oh, yeah...you can alter words to make them fit.  Hmm?  Oh, right!  These are supposed to be FUN facts.  Gotcha.  M'kay, no more sick talk.

* The traffic on this blog has pretty much remained the EXACT SAME for weeks and weeks.  I don't keep as close an eye on it as I used to [back when I was actually funny and was writing a lot of cool things] [when I was totally Site Meter's bitch] but whenever I look it's always like 2,189.  Which leads me to believe that it may be the SAME 2,189 people looking at my blog each week.  Is that possible?  Or do people swap out and then new people read for a while?  I'm intrigued.

* I have been in the back of a police car 3 times in my life.  The first time, I was 8 years old.

*   The Littlest New Girl has eyes that are the exact same shade of blue as The Man's.  They look either darker or lighter depending on the type of day outside.  But TLNG has a little brown stripe in one of her eyes (it's awesome, OBV.)  I don't know if you can see it in any of the pictures but I joke that it is the ONLY part of me peeking through. 

*  Any time I eat in a crowded or busy restaurant, I feel thankful that I no longer work in food service.  I was a WAITRESS for years.  I was actually pretty good at it and I have many, many, HILARIOUS stories to tell.

*  The Man and I bought this great new bed a while ago and I swear that every time I sleep on it, my KNEES kill me the next day.  I think the extra cushy padding puts pressure on my kneecaps or something.  But only when I try to sleep on my stomach-ish.  On the side or the back, the mattress is FANTASTIC.

*  We still don't have a headboard.  We're a mattress and box-springs on a frame.  It's a little embarrassing.

* So, I know I keep jawing about my former CRAZAY MOFO NEIGHBOR and you guys are like, 'OH. SHUT. UP. ALREADY. Because WE. DON'T. CARE.'  But Clink went ahead and posted some [meh] interesting stories about extra people, animals and vehicles and I have some of those stories too.  But they are the CHARMING ones in my pack.  So THIS WEEK.  For REAL.  I'm telling some.  You 2,188 are just going to have to come along for the ride.

*  I can cross my eyes, one eye at a time.  Kids LOVE this trick.

*  ::very rare work story::  A kid caught a glimpse of the capped bottle of breast-milk that I pumped between sessions (in the little fridge...I debated hiding it in my lunch bag but decided I was being a little obsessive.)  After a .05 second view inside the fridge, she said, 'Is that baby formula?'  HA HA!  I. totally. said. YES. 

*  Didja all see my BFF on TV??  Of course the best part of the segment was that everyone got to see how big of a TOOL Kathie Lee Gifford is.  For REAL.  Are there any children in the WORLD who are MORE exposed than hers?