Leave Me Be

I am a hunter/gatherer when it comes to shopping. I believe this a predominantly male trait. Not a slam against the female gender at all. Speaking from my own personal perspective, my wife goes to the store for milk and then needs help unloading her groceries when she gets home. I had no idea it took more than one person t unload a gallon of milk. Maybe she got three gallons. Low and behold, the trip to get milk cost well over $100. That’s OK. We needed things. I get it. However, going to the pet store makes for an easy trip for me. I am in and out, typically, without any contact with people in the store, except for the checker. Not this time however.

We have two dogs. One was raised in prison, primarily. Not since he was a puppy, but he was a stray; a runaway maybe from a bad life. He is a Ridge Dog, a temporary “inmate” at Coyote Ridge prison, trained by the inmates there. It is a great program. I imagine, prior to his incarceration, he ate whatever he could to stay alive. Like most strays, he adapted to whatever food he found. His digestive tract is pretty solid. He gets Pedigree dog food. It comes in a 50lb. and it’s cheap. He is healthy, happy, has regular bowel movements with it; all in all, it is a win-win for everyone.
Jack, on the other hand, like most animals with a brachiocephalic face, farts and burps and has the digestive system of an infant. I think English Bulldogs are born with IBS. He is on a grain free, poultry free food. I recently spent $300 when he had the runs to come out of the vet with a diagnosis of “he has the runs.” No Giardia, or any other type of parasite. Frankly, I pull out pieces of plastic from his butt all the time. Sometimes plastic, sometimes fabric of some sort. We once pulled out a dollar bill. I am wondering if any Benjamin’s are in there? I am getting side tracked. Point is, his food is a tad spendy and it does not come in a 50 lb. bag. If it did, I would be broke.

I had a general idea where Jack’s food was. I got the biggest bag my debit card would allow. Then, I was looking for the bag of Pedigree. The unfortunate event was walking too far, and making eye contact with a sales/stock person wearing a Petco bib. I quick turned around and headed back the way I came since she was in the cat food aisle. I found the Pedigree…lifted the bag up and put it in the cart.

**BAM**

There she was. Staring at me.

Stalker (or stocker, you pick) : I noticed you were getting two different foods. Can I ask why?

Me: no

Stalker: I can recommend a different food than the Pedigree brand. That has a lot of fillers in it.

Me: Why do you carry it then?

Stalker:

Me: I am good, thank you.

Stalker: Is there a reason you need a 50 lb bag?

Me: is there a reason you woke up, looked in the mirror and said “I am ready to leave the house now,” because, to be honest, I am not sure you were done with You are going to have their teeth pulled?

Me: As far as you know. Good luck getting that vision out of your PETA head.

I went through and paid for the food, a new puzzle bowl so Jack stops swallowing air and peeling the paint in our apartment. When I walked out to my car, the stalker was looking to see what I was driving. I fear the dog police may be paying me a visit.

Four Years...

It's been for years since I posted on this thing. Nothing has pissed me off in almost 48 months? How can that be? Maybe I have matured out of the need to rant about everything that pisses me off...

Nope.

A lot has happened over the last 4 years. Some I can talk about, some I can't because those things require a security clearance and the badge making machine is broken. So I cannot simply assume you have clearance to get inside my head. In fact, even if you had clearance I would strongly suggest you steer clear of my head. There is no rating system AND I cannot be held responsible for what you cannot un-see.

I can say that 7 months ago our family moved into a 1500 sq. ft. apartment waiting to build a home. That in itself is pretty comical. The older I get the more I am now able to lay on my horn when someone has parked in my assigned parking spot. Especially since the Tri-Cities had a record winter in regards to snow fall. I don't care if curtains get pulled aside and people stare at me wondering why I am honking my horn. I COULD NOT care any less. So it blares. It blares so the ass-hat that I know is nearby comes out and I can just stare with my YOUREFUCKINGSTUPID eyes; causing him to feel awkward and pseudo-apologetic as he scampers to his car. I pray he slips a bit and falls in the snow, sans North Face parka.

Even better than him falling is the sign of his car not starting and the steering wheel facing the blows of frustration. I know it ran at one point because he got it to park in my spot. Now, at the ripe old age of 43, I have no problem letting the truck idle in the parking lot, lights on, causing Murphy's Law to kick in. More blunt force to the steering wheel, out into a blizzard to pop the hood. Two reasons I don't get out to offer assistance. One, no idea what's wrong and my truck cab is warm, but more importantly, two, your punishment is being reminded of my inconvenience while I am warm and you are not. I know this raises the frustration level for him which secretly motivates me to repeat said behavior.

I wish the parking was the only issue in communal living. Neighbors are awesome! It's like this apartment complex is a test tube for Darwin's Army. We are on the 1st floor. The River Dance team holds practices on my ceiling. When it is nice outside, the family stays inside and plays duck, duck, goose and the whole floor plan is fair game. I asked one day, as the mother was sitting outside sucking on a cig like her life actually depended upon its completion, if she ever takes her kids outside to run around.

"I don't know where any parks are."

You don't need a park lady. You just need some open road, open space, a rope, your hazard lights feverishly blinking away and an idling speed; something other than what you are doing now. Forget the fact there is an actual park with play equipment IN THE COMPLEX! I get the sense, when the kids come out on the balcony peering across the vast open area that is West Richland (and interrupt Mom's 11th smoke break before noon), that they are seeing other people for the first time. I heard one of them ask if they could playing with someone's shadow.

I am not being critical of this Mom's parenting skills. I can only imagine how difficult it is to raise three small boys (ages young, kind of young and oldish), but even the harshest of criminals gets an hour of yard/activity time. She keeps a clean house though. I hear the vacuum at 11PM at night and the scampering of kids who apparently have a hard time sleeping with a Shark 2.0 sucking the dander out of my ceiling. The bedroom s the cleanest. I know this because it is right above mine.

I think, too, that someone up there is pissing BB-sized kidney stones because it sounds like 15 pounds of buckshot is being poured down the mainline every time they flush. I know what "Clickers" (Zombies) sound like and let me tell you.....it sounds like an army of those fuckers is hiding behind my wall. No wonder I feel sleep deprived. Let's just say I cannot wait to build....because at least then, I can decide who is jumping on my ceiling and I can legally deal with it, (with chloroform) rather than face the police asking me why I stuffed a rag in a strange kid's face.