Odds and Ends
Overheard in my neighborhood this week: A small child, maybe four or five, spent several minutes yelling “Mama!” over and over. What did her mother say, “Stop yelling for me or I’m gonna whup your ass!” I could not make this shit up. That is what she said word-for-word.
Why do I torture myself with shows with incredible amounts of sexual tension. My blogging friend, AndreAnna, already mentioned the Booth and Bones thing. Why did you turn him down Bones? Why? Want to throw things at the TV! Tony and Ziva on NCIS. Every time I watch that show I want to scream, “Will you two just do it already!” Castle and Beckett. Come on! I have no idea why I get so worked up about other people’s fake relationships, but there you go.
The other night I had a really weird dream. It was a bizarre mix of Terminator and Transformers. Well, Shia LaBoeuf (or however you spell his name) was there, at least. And he was hiding from the Terminators. Also, Ahnold was in it. Although, oddly, he was wearing a helmet that was one part Stormtrooper and one part Cylon from the original Battlestar Galactica. I swear I’m not on drugs, but sometimes I have really effed up dreams.
WARNING: THIS IS A WHINY RANT
I know you are all tired of hearing me complain about my neighbors across the street (and Sean, I swear to G-O-D, if you tell me that it’s because I live in the “hood” and I should just move, I will punch you in the nose) but it is getting worse. I could put up with it if it were maybe an hour or two in the evening. I could put up with it if it wasn’t so loud I can feel my house vibrating. Unfortunately, the music starts at about 2:30 in the afternoon and goes until six or seven or sometimes even later at night. Husband and I have called the cops, repeatedly. This is mostly because I am not comfortable going across the street and asking them to turn it down (when I get mad, I get emotional and that would just make the situation worse). We were convinced that they weren’t coming, but when Brian went to ask them to turn it down yesterday evening, they asked if we were the ones calling the cops. (Like we would tell you if we were) Then, they go on to say that they’ve been doing this for four years and no one has complained before. BULL. SHIT. We have lived here for four years and other than once or twice on the weekends last summer, this has never happened before. Oh, and they haven’t even lived here four years.
I feel like a prisoner in my own house. Not because I can’t leave – I can – but because I shouldn’t have to. I can’t get anything done because I’m so distracted by the music and so mad that they seem to not give a shit about anyone else. Lorelei doesn’t take real naps anymore. It is impossible to get her to go to sleep and if – by some miracle – I do succeed, she wakes up after only a few minutes. I’m tired because she’s not sleeping well at night (stupid teeth) and I would very much like to at least lay down and have some quiet, even if I don’t sleep.
We don’t really have any options right now. Although our house is worth more than what we paid for it, I get the feeling that selling it would be a major hassle. And if we did, where could we move to? Houses in our price range are going to be in similar neighborhoods or ass-far away from Brian’s job. We only have one car and we can’t afford another one right now, so we have to live near a bus route so he can get to work (I sure as hell am not going to drive him to work everyday, waste of gas and money that is). I honestly don’t know what to do. Should I just learn to get over it? Should I keep calling the cops everyday until the situation changes? Do we foreclose on the house and try to find an apartment that is big enough for us and close enough to Brian’s job? I’m barely holding it together right now. I was just getting to the point where I wasn’t feeling completely depressed and anxious and now I’m back to barely functioning. Someone please help me.
There. End rant.
Here’s hoping that I can go back to all rainbows and unicorns and sunshine and puppies sometime soon.