Location: My couch, 1 pm, Saturday afternoon. All the windows and doors are open. I start to hear the low tones of a female voice echoing outside. Sounds tend to carry well here as they bounce off the stucco among the eight condos in my little area. My porch sits over the one below mine and attaches to that of the condo next door. From my own porch I can see onto the porches of four neighbors across the way.
"Oh my gosh."
"Oh my gosh!"
"OH MY GOSH!!!"
Suddenly, I hear the unmistakable sound of skin on skin.
"Oh my gosh, OH MY GOSH, oh. my. GOSH!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What can I do?" Slap-slap. "Oh. my.....gosh!"
"Yeah, yeah? YEAH! Uh huh."
My curiosity overtakes me and I look out the window to see
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I have been in a total snit most of the weekend. I got irritated by one thing and then I thought of twenty other notions that frustrate me further and next thing you know I'm disgusted with my life and everyone in it and can't stop feeling really sorry for myself. I'm sure that's normal, right? Anyway, after snit onset, I got cut off in the grocery store parking lot. My response was to lay on my horn, because damn it, I'm annoyed already and now you are in my fucking way you fucking fuck. I'm apparently a little tightly wound. It felt kinda nice being the jackass punching the horn for a moment.
I've had a difficult few weeks full of unexpected repairs that have left me feeling stressed, frustrated, annoyed, and generally like I'm on the wrong end of a karmic assault. I had a long entry here about the latest fiasco with my laptop, which I've deleted in favor of something relatively succinct:
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1) There is no recycling program at work. I am incapable of throwing stuff I know can be recycled away, so I bring it home with me to recycle. However, there is also no recycling at home. Which means that each week I save all the recyclable items from my desk and from my condo, bag them up, and dump them in my parent's recycle bin. By the time an object to be recycled gets from work to my parent's bin, it's traveled 25 miles.
2) I'm stupidly frugal in goofy as hell ways. I wash and reuse ziploc bags until they fall apart. I make microwave popcorn in a brown paper bag and save the kernels that don't pop to retry the next time. I won't put on the a/c for myself until it's 85 degrees in my condo and I am melting. Fortunately I don't subject my guests to the same absurd acts of self-denial that I engage in for myself. Please come visit so I have an excuse to cool off.
3) I've recently discovered hypermiling. Given that I'm one of the foolish people driving a 10 year old Pathfinder with a 15 city/20 highway mpg rating, I now drive like a confused 90 year old. I accelerate slooooowwwwlllyyyy and I try and coast to stop lights as much as I can, all in the interest of not going broke filling up my oversized vehicle. After I fill up, I excitedly yet slowly head home clutching my receipt in my hand, ready to compute how my miles per gallon for the last tank. So far I've gotten up to 20.6 (the point six matters, damn it) mpg city, so suck it estimated 15. As atrocious as that is, I feel like a rockstar. Also, as much as I've always been a lead foot and more likely to speed than go slow, I find myself getting a sick and twisted pleasure out of angering drivers riding my ass when I'm gradually accelerating in the right hand lane. Especially the Hummer drivers.
4) For the past two years I've had an overturned garbage can under my desk. I use it as an ottoman. Other than the ridges digging into my calves, it works fairly well. I could get someone to order me a foot rest, but why?
Ah Internet, you dangerous pit of information and hyperlinks. So writing that title led me to blingo all the lyrics which landed me on youtube watching a homemade video of Jazz Singer clips set to the song and next thing you know I'm perusing the related videos and blaring Love on The Rocks through my laptop speakers.
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If there is a cop car with it's lights flashing on the side of the freeway, do you slow down or stop entirely? Apparently in Arizona you come to a dead stop. Mind you there was no accident further down the road, just a lone cop car innocently blinking in the shoulder. All lanes of traffic though? Stopped. I need to get to work, could you please stop driving moronically?
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I have a 30 second walk from my front door to my carport in the mornings. During the summer, a lot of times it's pushing 95 here at 7:45 or so when I leave the condo. This morning though I felt a cool breeze and thought, "Must be a storm coming! Or maybe summer is thinking about ending!"
My car has a temperature gauge. My cool breeze was 87 degrees.
Current mood: complacent.
Things one can have fly out of the back of a truck or car in front of them while doing 75 on the 202 through Tempe at 7:45 a.m.:
- A large box of paper containing approximately 1000 unstapled sheets which the wind plasters against your dust covered windshield
- A paint bucket, empty, subsequently run over and dragged approximately 1.27 miles beneath the front bumper (Note: if this happens to you, it's loud)
- Plastic bags. Don't bother trying to dodge these, it's futile.
- Tires, be they shredded from a blowout or in their natural, full round state. These make quiet thumping noises when you can't avoid them.
- Ladders (Note: try not to hit these, they leave a mark)
- Twelve pack of diet coke. Fizzy.
- Cardboard boxes, 50/50 chance of running over an empty rather than one full of dinner plates (Note: Styrofoam peanuts are a bitch to pry out of your radiator)
- Homemade cassette mix tapes
- Mattress, queen size
- Illegal Alien, Hispanic variety
Driving here is a risky obstacle course of materialism and humanity.
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