I've got this great friend named Zvonek. He's been known to where his pants unzipped at work all day so I shouldn't be surprised when he asks what a hanging basket is, right?
Come on, Zee. Tell me you throw up a couple at your high-falutin place in Columbus. How could you not know what a hanging basket is?
Do you really think it's something someone hand-made? Are you thinking about those tacky macrame ones? Our pal, Dav, had one hanging in his bathroom, but we all know he's a good 10 years behind the times.
Even Winerd (the one who hand laid 15 yards of mulch with a skimpy pitchfork) could tell you what a hanging basket is. And for bejesus' sake, Stan wears friggen Dragon shirts.
We need to all donate a buck. I'll buy a Lowe's gift card and he can buy his own hanging basket.
BTW, the hanging basket is sitting at the curb for garbage pick up tomorrow.
Crazier than the fact that the piece of crap basket was tossed on my porch, is the fact that some guy in a White Escalade just yanked it from the curb and chucked it in his car.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Crazy Ass Neighbors
I'm tired. I'm pissed. I'm in a foul mood. Cause I'm whipped. That wedding last night really did a number on me. So I don't need neighbors playing stoopid jokes on me and my family.
I was putting Katherine to bed tonight (she was screaming something fierce) and getting Andrew in his pjs. Oh, and I was also cleaning the bathroom and putting away the kids clean clothes. (I know. I do it ALL. And I do it well).
The doorbell rang. Since it was pitch black outside and a Sunday I figured it couldn't be a window salesman, or an "I'm trying to get to Cancun and get laid this Spring Break could you buy some magazines from me so I can get a free trip?" salesperson.
Now any Mom will tell you that anyone who interrupts her routine is begging for a beat down. I mean a real flat line.
I dropped everything, ran downstairs, flicked on the porch light and there's nobody there. Instead, there's a deader than dead hanging basket sitting in the middle of the porch. It has to be at least 6 months old. It's all wilted and rotted out.
Whatever. Whoever did it and thought it was funny, well it wasn't. You're annoying. You need friends. Better yet, you need a couple of kids to keep you busy in the evening so you have no time to yourself like the rest of us.
I will find this dirt and lay into him. I say 'him' cause I know a female wouldn't do this crap.
I was putting Katherine to bed tonight (she was screaming something fierce) and getting Andrew in his pjs. Oh, and I was also cleaning the bathroom and putting away the kids clean clothes. (I know. I do it ALL. And I do it well).
The doorbell rang. Since it was pitch black outside and a Sunday I figured it couldn't be a window salesman, or an "I'm trying to get to Cancun and get laid this Spring Break could you buy some magazines from me so I can get a free trip?" salesperson.
Now any Mom will tell you that anyone who interrupts her routine is begging for a beat down. I mean a real flat line.
I dropped everything, ran downstairs, flicked on the porch light and there's nobody there. Instead, there's a deader than dead hanging basket sitting in the middle of the porch. It has to be at least 6 months old. It's all wilted and rotted out.
Whatever. Whoever did it and thought it was funny, well it wasn't. You're annoying. You need friends. Better yet, you need a couple of kids to keep you busy in the evening so you have no time to yourself like the rest of us.
I will find this dirt and lay into him. I say 'him' cause I know a female wouldn't do this crap.
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