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.
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