I'd like to provide you with 10 reasons, but I strongly believe that you will settle for 2 reasons, once you read through today's blog:
Snowpocalypse, Snowmageddon, and so on and so on, and so on...
The East Coast has been obliterated by snow 3 times this season, so far. By far two weeks ago was the worst, with one storm amounting to 38 inches of snow. This wouldn't have been too bad, considering the fact that I had stocked up at the grocery store (although all the meat was gone by the time I got there, a wholenother discussion).
The East Coast has been obliterated by snow 3 times this season, so far. By far two weeks ago was the worst, with one storm amounting to 38 inches of snow. This wouldn't have been too bad, considering the fact that I had stocked up at the grocery store (although all the meat was gone by the time I got there, a wholenother discussion).
That weekend, I spent Saturday evening and Sunday morning shoveling my little Cabrio out not one, or two, but three times, thanks to the plows and my "kind" neighbors who saw fit to shovel me in in order to shovel themselves out.
This weekend, our new neighbor "Joe" happened to be moving in. His U-Haul stuck on the street, full, because of the on-coming snow the day of his arrival with his girlfriend. Yes, Joe has a girlfriend. This girlfriend has two children from a previous relationship and works at a law office. All of this was found out throughout the weekend.
My first experience with Joe was Saturday evening when Joe, along with all the other men who were out shoveling, failed to even express a chivalrous sentiment by even attempting to help me shovel my car out. He chatted with "Bob" who lives downstairs. Big-truck owning Bob, who throws out at least a case of empty beer bottles/cans every weekend. This amicable chatting takes place loud enough for me to be "assumed" to be part of the conversation by Joe and Bob.
Joe discusses all the cash he's "dropped" into his vehicles over the years, with speakers, radios, and other technology - thousands and thousands of dollars. After a long conversation about money money and more money,
Joe asks, "Hey, do you know where I can find a job. I need a job." I think to myself, you just moved in here and you don't have a job? Hmmmmm. But, nonetheless, I try to be a kindly neighbor. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: The Census Bureau is hiring.
Joe: What?
Me: The Census Bureau is hiring.
Joe: No, I mean, what's that?
Me: (almost laughing) Are you serious, you don't know what the census bureau is?
Joe: No, what the f%$# is that?
Me: You know, the census....
Joe: No.
Me: (just about to say the word demographic, but catching myself realizing that he will probably not know what this means either) You know, population counting?
Joe: What the f%$#, you mean I have to go count people?
Me: It's a door to door survey job. It pays $16.50 an hour.
Joe: (lighting up his 5th cigarette in the last hour) Does it require you to have a high school diploma?
Me: Uhhhhh, I don't know.
Joe: You know, because I'm a preacher's kid so......
Me: (truly confused) How do those two things connect? Preacher's kid and high school drop-out?
Joe: You know, I was tired of that s%$#, and tired of all the Christian crap, so....
Me: Oh, I wasn't aware those things were connected though. I know a lot of preacher's kids who were rebellious but still graduated high school.
Joe: I don't know, f%$# that....I just need me a job. Dude, I gotta get some booze and s%$# for the Super Bowl tomorrow....how the f%$# am I gonna get out there.....
Thus, my conversation with "Joe" ends and I continue to shovel myself out without anyone's assistance.
The following morning, Sunday, the Super Bowl, I come outside to "Joe" blaring his Seattle Heavy Metal Music, "S%$# that no one even knows about, this s%$# is awesome." Meanwhile, the "music" lyrics are nothing by "Die Motherf%$#er" or "You can _____ my d%$#" and so on and so forth. Cigarette smoke abounds and I, of course, am still parked next to Joe in the lot. Joy.
Today, I don't even feel the need to be nice. Today, I just shovel and hunker down. A kind neighbor had loaned me a shovel. When I finished, I walked over to the group of residents who were standing around talking and planning Super Bowl festivities. I hand the shovel back to my neighbor and thank her for its loan.
"Joe" is still complaining about getting booze for the Super Bowl today. I suggested he walk across the street, as the liguor store is not that far. Here is the following conversation:
Joe: F%$# that! I'm not walking in this s%$#.
Me: Then why not drive over there. You're dug out and the roads should be fine for your Jeep.
Joe: Oh, The Vagina won't let me.
I'm not sure what my face looked like at that moment. But, it got very quiet in the parking lot. Joe's girlfriend who was standing in the group didn't bat an eyelid, didn't say anything, didn't do anything. I was in shock.
For real? For real? If any many ever thought he could call me "The Vagina" he would wake up without the matching parts to that vagina!
Unbelievable. I believe this story alone should get me somewhere with the management when I negotiate our lease this week.
If not, how about the 911 call that my roommate had to make last Thursday evening when a man in Apt 14 was beating the crap out of his girlfriend? Or, perhaps the legal eviction notices on Apt 21 that showed up after the tenants skipped out on rent and moved everything out late at night?
Stay tuned, for more dating stories. This saga just seemed to good not to share.
