Yippy Furball Part II

Over the years, I’ve learned a few things about apartment living. First, the day you wear your last pair of clean underwear is the day everyone else in the building wears theirs. Second, for every three tenants, there will be one whose idea of a culinary delight is cooking goat hair at 7 AM…and last, but certainly not least, you will always have one neighbor who forces you to fantasize about random acts of violence.
Guess whose dog is back?

For the life of me, I can’t understand the rationale behind making a yippy little furball pee itself in yippy little furball barking ecstasy at 4:30 AM. Am I alone in this?

So…after a night of studying back issues of Cooks Illustrated in order to find the best possible recipe for tenderizing Shi Tzu (relax, I’m just kidding–I’m the one who spends money to go on vacation to LOOK at animals, remember?) I decided to become THAT NEIGHBOR.

I did it. I took the plunge. I wrote the letter that officially put me in the running to become the mean old lady on the first floor who complains about everything (forget the fact that I’m the only lady on the first floor). What’s worse?..I enjoyed every minute of it! Even the part where I forgot all my southern social graces–(who am I kidding? especially that part!) and said they obviously need to put down the bag of Tostitos because normal people don’t shake chandeliers when they walk.

Being mean never felt so good!

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Merry Christmas To All

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Second Thoughts

If you’ve considered going to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra this holiday season….let me give you a piece of advice on the house: Don’t.

I mean that in the best way possible.

I’ve intended to blog about this for a week. However, that plan was thwarted by the onset of flu / upper respiratory hell that followed. Followed what, you ask?

Do you remember filling in ad libs in the third grade? You know, those crazy fill in the blank sentences that read like this: Mary _________(verb) her __________ (noun plural) in the __________(noun). A normal child would come up with a well-adjusted sentence: Mary washed her hands in the sink. A not-so-normal child would come up with something like this: Mary drowned her rabbits in the beer.

If you’ve ever wondered what those not-so-normal children grew up to be (besides bloggers)–I’d be willing to bet at least one of them is now a writer for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

If you went, you know what I’m talking about. “And a man looked up to the heavens and after he wished on a star he followed an angel into a pub and drank a pint with an old man who weaved a story that lasted ninety nine years and made me wish that the helicopters used in the backdrop of the second half would come down and airlift me out of the Verizon Center.” Okay…so I ad-libbed part of that, but…wow. Who knew?

I only wish I’d stayed healthy enough to audition as a head banging hair swirler for the spring tour. I think it could have been my calling.

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