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ABOUT ME

About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Boy, oh boy, are the nuns ripped!

People look out their windows. It's just something we do. We have eyes, we are curious, glass and screens are transparent, etc. Someone named Kathy has been looking out her window at a plastic bag stuck in a tree. It's been there for 167 days. I applaud Kathy for her vigilance in observing her surroundings.

Do you want to know what's going on outside my window right now? Come on, let's have a peek. If you need to get your glasses, go ahead, I'll wait.

Ready?

See that row of shrubs? No, to the left. There you go. Now, see the man holding a bicycle tire over his shoulder? Yes, the one who just dumped his clothes out of his plastic bag onto the sidewalk. Ahhh, you have a good memory! No, it's not the same man whose girlfriend kicked him out a few weeks ago. That was across the street; this is to the right.

This man is older and he's very angry at someone named Linda—nope, not my mom (I hope)—because she has the rest of his clothes in her trunk and she won't give them back. And she owes him $1,000 for landscaping work he did in her $@#^&ing yard that week he worked six $%#*ing days in a row.

Do you see the person he's talking to? Neither do I. Let's go over to the other window. Could you push over a little? Your breath smells like tacos. Thanks.

Hmm, I don't see anyone either. Oh wait. Nope. That's a fire hydrant. Good guess though.

Oh wait, there he goes. Down the street.

Goodbye one--bicycle-tire-man-whose-clothes-are-being-held-hostage. Thank you for delivering a poignant and passionate monologue by our shrubs. And thank you, too, for not leaving behind your plastic bag. I fear Kathy doesn't make house calls.

3 comments:

Dto3 said...

Boy, oh boy, are you tripping on acid?

Frogs in my formula said...

If you have any doubt that what I'm writing is true just ask our friend Des. He stopped by and the bicycle man popped out of the shrubs and asked if he could use his cell phone! Besides, LSD is way out of fashion these days...

Mary Anna said...

Makes me sad that we have such a large yard that I get tired just walking toward the neighbors'. The only thing I ever hear from them is the barking of the dogs (we're the only house in our cul-de-sac without dogs - and without invisible fence). At our old house, we'd hear stuff all day and night - and always have something interesting to see. I tried to take a photo of the view from our porch last night - the moon looked like it ate too much and would topple out of the sky at any moment, and there were thousands of twinkling stars - and this very odd swath of thin clouds in just small spot. Doubt any of them turned out. Oh, think the guy behind us got a goat. We heard weird noises this morning. (He's not part of our 'hood, and I doubt they have deed restrictions over the fence.)