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Addict

20 May

Caffeine, nicotine, benzodiazepines. Wine with a bowl of green. Zolpidem for sleepy dreams. Calm down, sink low, bated breath. But hey, I’m not a druggie… I don’t do meth.

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Special Hamburger

20 Sep

Ever since I started renovating our side of the house, I have coined a nickname for our neighbor’s dog… “Special Hamburger” — so named because I would love nothing more than to feed it a special anti-freeze hamburger or five.  This thing defies all logic of ability in the amount of barking it does.  It’s probably deaf by now.  As are its owners, apparently, because they let the thing stand there and screech at them from inside its dog run while they are 20 feet away in the driveway, or inside, or in the backyard. 

So, I finally had enough after listening to it all.fucking.afternoon.  It’s a balmy 73 degrees outside and the only way I can open my windows and enjoy the weather is if I want to listen to the Barky McGee symphony all damn day. I realize it would probably be faster to just walk over there and tell them to shut it the hell up, but I’m a fan of written communication when possible.  Plus, this way, I don’t get arrested for punching someone in the face.

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September 20, 2009

Dear Dog Owners,

This letter has been some time coming, but it is after a full three hours (and still going) on a Sunday afternoon of listening to your dog bark and whine and yap that I have finally decided to write you and ask your assistance in getting your dog to shut up. It’s ridiculous that we can’t even have our windows open to enjoy a nice afternoon breeze… or morning breeze, or evening breeze for that matter, because, let’s face it, your dog starts barking at 6:30 a.m. and doesn’t shut its yap all day.

Perhaps you have grown immune or deaf to the screechingly annoying sound that is your dog barking. Unfortunately, the rest of the neighborhood has not. Just because you live at the end of a dead end street does not mean there is an invisible wall surrounding your property so you can allow incessant noise at all hours. Yes, dogs bark. But more than a couple of minutes of barking in any given hour is, by most normal definitions, excessive. If I wanted to listen to someone’s mangy mutt bark its head off while chained to a stake outside, I would pay a lot less property tax and live in a trailer park on the other side of town.

There are a number of options available to you, as a responsible pet owner, to make your dog less of a yapping nuisance to your neighborhood. In addition to bark collars and training, there are also devices you can mount on your fence that emit a high-pitched noise whenever your dog barks, to help it to bark less. There’s also the novel concept of spending time with your dog, instead of leaving it outside squealing for attention. If you can’t do that, I highly recommend a friendly country home, placement with the SPCA, or euthanasia.

Obviously, I prefer to avoid personal confrontation. I’m afraid if I made this request in person, I would not be able to avoid using those naughty words my mom always taught me to not say to others in polite company. Please remedy this situation within a week from the date of this letter. If you are unable to do so, I will start filing noise complaints with the police department until the problem ceases to exist, or your dog finally keels over dead.

Thanks for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Your Neighbors

Thoughts on Why My Week Sucked

6 Jul

In my attempt to re-ignite my blogging habit, I’ve tried to refrain from using my blog(s) solely as means to vent. But it seems that, having done myself the great disservice of moving halfway across the country from the vast majority of my closest friends, this method will have to do. That is, until I can pick up the phone or text and be sitting on someone’s couch with a drink in a half hour or less.

This weekend really sucked.  To start, I’m not a fan of holidays. I wasn’t to begin with, and a year of being depressed and crying at pretty much every major celebration certainly didn’t help that cause.  One would think that having Tim back would make things just peachy.  But one would be wrong. I think it’s going to take about a year of adjustment to the year that was spent apart.

Where was I? Oh, yes… the holiday.  To me, holidays are synonymous with: extra stress, everything being closed, traffic/travel sucking, and trying not to spend an entire weekend eating like crap. Add to this weekend’s past one that we’ve endured a week of feeling like we live in a war zone, thanks to the rednecks and their penchant for cheap explosives.  Last year, I was so far out in the boonies that I didn’t think about it.  This year, we had mini-Armageddon 25 feet from out backdoor every.single.night. Fireworks curfew is 10?  Oh, you won’t mind if we go until 10:30 or so, right?  I mean, even though we’ve been setting them off since 7:30 for the past four nights in a row. And last night?  I actually had to go over there and be the asshole neighbor who asked them to stop.  At 12:20 in the morning.  “Um, excuse me.  I know you probably don’t care because you’ve been drinking beer since 10 a.m., but I’ve got a toddler who’s trying to sleep and my husband and I both have PTSD and get a little twitchy after five straight hours of this shit.  So, if you could cut it out, I’d appreciate it.”

I guess my body’s way of starting off last week by sleeping for almost two days straight was supposed to offset the lack of sleep the rest of the week.  Somehow, I still ended up napping today from 2:30 to 7, further adding to my sense of discombobulation and grouchiness.  And speaking of grouchiness… if there is a pill to offset that homicidal feeling I get when I don’t get enough sleep, I would almost be willing to try it.  I spent most of yesterday and today snarking at Tim over stupid shit, and just generally being an insufferable bitch about things.  It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but at the time when he is asking me retarded male questions, not reading my mind, or even so much as breathing incorrectly, I feel like my eyeballs are going to pop out of my head from the rage. I think Valium would do just fine.  Maybe missing yoga class for two weeks straight has something to do with it, too.

Lest I forget another kick in the proverbial nut sack, today is the anniversary of my first wedding.  I guess that makes it an ex-iversary.  Which, normally I don’t really think about.  But thanks to my subscription to the extended family nationwide e-group for the sharing of birthdays, anniversaries, and all things pointless and inane (like what business we should boycott because they support gay rights, or the weather in some far corner of some state you’ll never visit), I was reminded by e-mail that today was (or would have been) my sixth year anniversary.  Brought to you by the group of people who most enjoy reminding you that you’re the only person from your generation of the family who has been divorced (out of about 70+ various layers of cousins). Let’s never mind the fact that I’ve been divorced for four years, or that this happens every year, and every year the moderators say the fixed the “glitch” that keeps causing the reminder of this joyous occasion to pop up.  Happy ex-iversary to me.

This is probably all delayed/compounded/subconscious stress over the month I’m about to undertake: another full-time school|house remodel|raising a toddler|Tim back in grad school full-time|long-distance managing a property that is a pain in the ass extravaganza.  But I’m ready. Even if I have to drink every night, I will make it. And maybe by the end of the summer, I’ll get to sleep for the first time in eight months without the use of Advil PM.  Until then, it’s fun and excitement at our casa! Buckle your safety belts, kids. This ride’s about to leave the station.