I'd Be Interested To Hear What Jim Cantore Has To Say

With high temperatures in the 80s and 1Prime vacated this weekend, the neighbors will probably see fit to pull out all the proverbial stops in pursuit of abject hilarity.  A Bonnaroo of Absurdity will commence, with much of the same hygienic practices usually reserved for Tennessee being observed on the other side of the fence.

I consumed 14 oatmeal raisin cookies to reach a level of Nirvana whereby I would be able to accurately predict what will transpire this weekend.  Without any further ado:

-they will curse at their progeny

-random automobiles will arrive at all hours of the day and/or night

-pets will bark, yip, yelp and/or bray repeatedly

-they will "Get their Goose on"

-Wolfgang's Speaker Bedroom will broadcast some of the finest Top 40 hip-pop music known to mankind

-Helga will quit smoking ...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

::wheeze::

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

-they will film a porno remake of the movie "Alive," subtitled "Eat This Meat."

Back on Sunday afternoon to once again carry the cumbersome torch of Neighborly Observation.  Maybe they'll cut our grass.

The Next Door Opera: Second Movement

HELGA

"Did you make a stinky?"

LITTLE GIRL #1

"What?"

HELGA

"Did you move your bowels?"

LITTLE GIRL #1

"What?"

HELGA

"...did you move your bowels?"

LITTLE GIRL #1

"What?"

HELGA

"I'm NOT playin'!  Did you make a mess in your pants?"

LITTLE GIRL #1

"What?"

HELGA

"DID YOU DO A NUMBER 2?"

LITTLE GIRL #1

"What?"

HELGA

"DID YOU MAKE A STINKY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

I threw back my head like a concert pianist as I transcribed the above exchange, pretending I was playing a concerto instead of merely typing on a laptop.  This dialogue was strangely musical and moved me...

...OHMYCHRISTOULDSOMEONEFUCKINGGUARDPAULPIERECEFORTHELOVEOFPETE

Exponential Defiance

Calamity Jane is outside hitting her sister, but don’t worry, Helga’s got it on lock: “You will not hit your sister.”

Being the good child that she is, Jane immediately complies:

“I will hit my sister” about six times followed by “I hate you…and you and you and you and you" (pointing at everyone individually as though she's just finished watching Half-Baked for the eighth time since 4/20).

I think she even got Shadow in there which I do not approve of.

Lyttle Women

They are listening to music on the porch.

“How do I get this song off my damn playlist.”

Now I’m not a die-hard Kevin Lyttle fan either (that’s not even the joke; that’s what she was listening to), but then I wouldn’t put it on the playlist I was playing if I didn’t like it. The only songs on the iPod are probably the pre-loaded ones; I don’t know if they know they can put more on (they certainly don’t know how to take them off).

Another thing is how unnecessary the “damn” was. She said it as calmly as the rest of the sentence with no extra intonation whatsoever. She must be programmed to include some sort of vulgarity in each sentence like a drunk Shakespeare. Maybe I’m overthinking things: maybe that’s actually the title of the playlist. Her other playlists are "Fist-Cock," "Coke Ballads," "Gangbang Nostalgia," "Eternal PMS," "America," "Horse-Fucker," and "Beating My Kids Jams."

I Walk Through Minefields

One of the kids was just yelling: “I stepped in dog poop!” repeatedly (and I mean repeatedly) until the mother finally decided to do something about it. To Josh's & my delight, the kid then said, “My other shoe stepped in dog poop too.” Those shoes just have a mind of their own sometimes.

With the addition of a second poop-machine, I can see this going no where good. Or everywhere good if your intent is simply to document varying degrees of ridiculousity.

I Would Put A Helmet On Mine

Oh, look at this bourgeois bad-ass!  He's wearing a necktie!

Either he's here to tune their piano or they've made friends somewhere other than Cockfighting Anonymous meetings.

The Beginning Of The End

Today we found out that one of our neighbors on the 3rd floor of our building actually went over yesterday and told them to shut the fuck up. That's pretty awesome; however, the last thing Josh & I need is to give them another reason to hate our apartment building. If they even had a glimpse of this blog (which would require at least a 3rd grade understanding of the internet, so I'm not too worried), I would fear for our safety or at least the safety of Josh's car which is green and has the license plate JFP - 1468 and is usually parked out front.

Our neighbor on the 2nd floor of our building had a major surgery a couple days ago, so she probably wasn't so keen on yesterday's Pickup Truck Orchestra. That being said, my doctor did mention to me that Lady Gaga is the new penicillin of the 2000s. But then he told me that I had scurvy, so I had to spend the rest of the day leeching the bad blood out.

Evidence In Plain View

There's been a surprising lack of activity today, but I guess that's not all that surprising considering it's 4/20.  They're probably in the house right now singing "happy birthday" to their (doubtlessly) named "bong" and ready to blow out the "marijuana" candles on the cake.

Lunchtime Musings

I sometimes wonder if the perceived socio-economic disconnect felt on this side of the fence is replicated "over there." For instance, are We the weirdos* because there isn't a half inch of ciggy butts on the side portico? Or due to the fact that Wolfgang and I don't have any kids (not like we haven't been trying!! But that's a story for another day...), are we looked at askance?

*Thanks to electrodes attached to my nipples I was able to avoid making a "LOST" reference. You're welcome.

BUT BUT BUT WHAT IF THEY'RE WRITING THEIR BLOG?!

I'd imagine it to be something like "wtfuckfuckingneighbors.blogfuckingspot.shit".

(And yes, I do know you can't have a domain @ .shit, but given their propensity for profanity they could probably make that happen.)

If this blog actually exists, are they chronicling Wolfgang and I? They must have had a field day this morning when I paraded around the house clad only in a bath towel and my ubiquitous sweatervest.

Then again, the Etch-A-Sketch leaning against the stripper pole in the basement probably doesn't work as well as a laptop with internet access.

Home Entertainment Center

This morning I was woken up at 10:30 by music blasting at a ridiculous volume from the boyfriend’s truck. This is the kind of volume that can be heard clearly in every direction for a couple blocks’ radius. Even more so because this is a quiet family neighborhood and I don’t think anyone told them that: they are neither quiet, nor a family in anything but the very loosest of definitions (similar to the boyfriend’s muscular definition).

I think my window is actually a speaker wired to his truck. I even brought a friend into my room and he agreed that there was nowhere in the house where the music was louder than in my bed (yes I made him lie in my bed and yes that is how I get guys into my bed and yes he did enjoy it). This might be because the window might be open behind the blinds, but I’m afraid to open them because if I make eye contact I may turn to stone.

So why listen to music from your parked truck in the driveway? The only thing I can think of is that maybe they forgot how to get back into the house. Or maybe they “read” somewhere that playing the radio in a parked truck will actually refuel the vehicle based on the decibel level. Maybe they are under the impression that by contributing to noise pollution, surely that must detract from other types of pollution. There’s got to be a cap on the overall pollution of the Earth, so it stands to reason that if you really indulge in one type it must lessen the others. Apparently, later on in the day, they did figure out how to get back into the house because I could hear the music from the house with doors closed.