I Only Beat Her When She Deserves It

I am going to attempt to describe what is happening right now. Let's just be clear: it's 4am on a TUESDAY night. I am up reading because I don't have a job right now. Here is what I'm not doing: waking up the entire neighborhood with drunken escapades bordering on domestic abuse.

One of the "women" next door is having a "conversation" with her "boyfriend." It might be 4.5 Drinks and Rat-A-Tat. I'm not going to look out the window because I don't like bullets, but our side door is open, so I can hear a lot. Regardless, as far as I can tell, he is repeatedly trying to leave in his truck and has been repeatedly told (by her) to leave in his truck. Sounds simple, right? Both parties seem to want to achieve the same end result via the same means. Incorrect.

Each time he starts the ignition, he turns it off after a few seconds. This has happened NO LESS than 10 times with cursing intermittent. I'm still trying to piece together what exactly is happening, but from the way he is shouting, "You psycho bitch!" after each time he starts his truck, I'm assuming she is doing something brilliant like standing in front of his truck. She is occasionally shouting things like, "Fucking Answer Me!" until he gets out of his car and probably places her elsewhere, after which her shouting becomes, "Fine, Leave!". The instant the ignition starts up again, she is in front of the truck again like the eternal stumbling block she is.

I actually got pretty scared at one point and even had to put my bookmark in my book (after many months of living next to them, I now just try to read through all commotion). It was when she started gasping like she was being choked and saying she couldn't feel her finger. This probably happened because he accidentally? slammed her finger in the door in one of his multiple escape attempts. This gave her a few rounds of extra sympathy: "[I'm not going to use his real name], look how swollen my finger is!"

She must've really been pie-eyed because I think she forgot about her finger only 2 truck starts later. Besides finger-slamming (which sounds a lot more fun in an altogether separate context), R-A-T experimented with the whiz-bang stratagem of blasting the horn repeatedly. If that doesn't work on deer, I don't understand why it would work on a drunk hooker with kids who are, by the way, "sleeping" in the house at this point. He tried the horn thing 3 times (each time blasting it at least a half dozen times) just in case there was anyone in the neighborhood who was still asleep.

Eventually she gave up and he left successfully. Well at least he's not drunk driving. Jesus.

Florida: The Motorcycle Mecca

After finally escaping the monster that is known as “real life,” I am back to posting. And by “real life” I mean watching every single episode of Star Trek before watching the movie. I was going to write the rest of this post in Klingon, but they didn’t have a Klingon font that I really liked (Arial Klingon Narrow is only so-so).

Our summer housemate, “Suzie” (or as Josh likes to call him, “summer JoshO!”) took the following notes yesterday while Josh & I were embroiled in an afternoon of espionage. The first observation was Rat-A-Tat on the phone about how he wants to go down to Florida and “ride his hog.” Going down to Florida and riding your motorbicycle is exactly the same as riding it up here. Contrary to popular belief, the sun sets everywhere. It would be much more cost-efficient to paint a back-drop of a Florida sunset in the driveway. I was going to tell him as much, biker to biker, but my chopper is in the shop (getting new flame decals).

A couple hours later, Suzie looked out the window to see 5 girls playing in the yard. I fully support children having playdates with classmates, but aren’t you supposed to look into the host child’s parents? When meeting other parents, maybe Helga hired an actor to play her. I hear there’s lots of work for actors in these days of financial turmoil. The actor probably got paid in cigarettes.

Upon closer inspection, it was revealed that one of the “girls” was actually a life-sized doll. Then what about the doll’s mother? There has to be some sort of organization against this. PETA already came by last week: they had received calls about too many animals locked up in one place (including Sloth from The Goonies). In further news, life-sized dolls are creepy as shit.

Additionally, Suzie reported that Calamity Jane was dressed in an inappropriately short camo skirt which was blowing dangerously in the wind. This is most likely an elaborate FBI trap for pedophiles that Helga was running point on. To the untrained eye, it looks as though she is on the phone, not paying any attention to any of the girls (it’s not like they need to be watched: the big ones can look after the smaller ones). To keep up continuity, she is talking about going down to Florida. She’s not buying a round-trip ticket though because she doesn’t know when she wants to return. My vote is for never. Doesn’t she have work or something? She’s pumped out so many kids she probably gets by on child support. She probably even thinks the doll is another $400 a month for her.

WTFN: The Lost Archives (Part I)

By “The Lost Archives,” I mean that I found a piece of paper in the mountains of debris on my desk that has some notes from a couple of weeks ago. Since the neighbors are currently being Boo Radleys, I will revisit some previous stories. Join me as I take a trip down Memory Lane (run montage of Helga whining at her kids in slow motion in lots of different poses).

One side of notes refers to the day that Helga was outside listening to her iPod speakers (Wednesday, April 22nd – “Lyttle Women”). However, the comment actually refers to events that had happened even earlier than that (Sunday, April 19th’s post “Home Entertainment Center” and the follow up on Monday, April 20th entitled, “The Beginning Of The End”). If you can somehow follow all that malarkey you must have received high marks in reading comprehension. Or you live your life in a very non-linear fashion.

On this day, Rat-A-Tat (at this point he did not have a name) remarked to Helga, “Why doesn’t anybody bother you guys…” I assume that he was making reference to how Sam (our 3rd floor neighbor) had gone down to tell him to stop blasting music from his truck only a few days previous to this time. Even if Helga’s puny iSpeakers could’ve matched the volume of a TRUCK with a SUBWOOFER, the rest of the neighborhood’s metaphysical eardrums were still ringing from a few days previous. I think they could do with some awareness classes. The following are all offered locally:

Quashing Douchebaggery: How You Can Help
Awareness Of Others (Honors)
Life: Stop Wasting It
Drinks That Don’t Involve Liquor
Civilization & America: Almost Nationwide
Society Hates You
Vehicle Awareness: Things Your Car Can Do Besides Play Music
Cigarettes: New Research Shows They Aren’t Good For You

Alright, they kind of became newspaper headlines toward the end, but you get the idea.

Roy Rogers Restaurants - Do They Still Exist?

Helga just aimed a steady barrage of verbal commands at an unseen dog (probably that lumpy, gad-about spaz Doggy).  It's as though she expects her pets to respond like humans and comply to her throaty expectations.  That's more than slightly ironic, considering she can barely get the Little Girls to put down the assault rifles and Rat-a-Tat to take a shower.

Does she expect Doggy and Shadow to trot after her in bow tie and tails, lighting ciggys and catering to her every whim?  After they failed to guard the porno stash, it's clear these terrorists can't be trusted.

To Doggy and Shadow: one more gaffe and it's straight to the hamburger plant for both you mutts!

Holy Trinity 3-In-1 (Epic Phone Call Part I)

What could possibly give Helga the impression that the entire neighborhood wants to hear about every aspect of her life? I just listened to an entire telephone conversation that I could write a thesis on. And grammatically, the end of the sentence is where you send prepositions to.

I won’t transcribe the entire thing as it was deeply personal and I would never betray my loud, obnoxious neighbor to a bunch of strangers with internet access. Also, I was mostly asleep when I took notes on it. Because I can’t accurately do the conversation justice in a single post, I will stagger my comments over a couple of days. This will also give me time to consult my muse, who, if you would hear Josh tell it, is just some girl I lured into the basement with stale milk duds. But actually, that can’t be true because she stopped eating weeks ago.

Anyway:

“I don’t do anything wrong. I don’t do anything wrong. Anything. Move your ass.”

I’m pretty sure this is where I came into the conversation. Generally, the police also come into a conversation at this point. I don’t know which is more annoying: the fact that she believes herself to be some sort of angel or the boorish repetition. One of the reasons she probably came out onto the porch at this point is because she was probably annoying the fuck out of Rat-A-Tat. If she never does anything wrong, then I must be up for some sort of award. One that fits right next to my 2nd In Baby Punching and 3rd In Jitterbug trophies. And again, I have no idea if the “Move your ass” was intended for child or canine, but I bet she doesn’t have to repeat that one often because she is the size of the entire A-Team.