Tuesday was another of those “today sucks ass” kinda days. And I didn’t wanna talk about it on Tuesday, because I was too worked up about it. But I’m revved up and ready to uncork it now. Oh yeah. Let’s do this thang, chickenwang.
First Up: Neighborzuul
You remember her, don’t you? The crazy woman with the Shrine to Gozer? Yeah, that one. I don’t think I told you that she has her very own pair of Terror Dogs. Only these are yippy little fuckers. You know what I mean by yippy dogs? Those ankle-biting bastards.
First of all, there’s a leash law here. But does Neighborzuul give a fuck? No, dears, she does not. And Neighborzuul’s Terror Dogs like to leave little shitbombs on every lawn but their own. I guess that old saying, “don’t shit where you eat” applies to them. Personally, I think Neighborzuul sends them on these shitmissions to do recon on all of us. So she can steal our souls and our geraniums.
And those little sumbitches bark incessantly. But I don’t really know what’s worse: them or her. See, because they aren’t fenced or leashed, Neighborzuul is in constant competition with her furry assholes to see who can shriek the loudest. It goes a little somethin’ like this:
Fuzzhole 1: YIP! YIPYIP! YIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIP! *shits*
Fuzzhole 2: YIPYIPYIPYIP GRRRRRRRRR YIPYIP! *pees*
Neighborzuul: Fuzzhole 1, COME HERE! Fuzzhole 2, COME HERE!
Fuzzhole 1: YIP! YIPYIP! YIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIP! *pees*
Fuzzhole 2: YIPYIPYIPYIP GRRRRRRRRR YIPYIP! *shits*
Neighborzuul: Fuzzhole 1, COME HERE! Fuzzhole 2, COME HERE! RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW I MEAN IT!
Fuzzhole 1: YIP! YIPYIP! YIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIP! *shits some more*
Fuzzhole 2: YIPYIPYIPYIP GRRRRRRRRR YIPYIP! *shits some more*
Neighborzuul: Fuzzhole 1, COME HERE! Fuzzhole 2, COME HERE! RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW I MEAN IT! GET BACK HERE! GET INSIDE! GET INSIDE RIGHT NOW! COMEHERECOMEHERECOMEHERE!
The dogs are gonna be run over someday, fo’ real. And not because someone is gunning for them. But because they run in traffic, chase cars, trot down railroad tracks. I’ve seen them as far as a quarter mile from the house. And she just screams and screams at them. And if not that, then she’ll end up sued or some shit because they chase walkers, joggers, runners, parents pushing strollers, mailmen, unicorns, you name it.
So. That brings us to Tuesday morning. I’m listening to music, right? Just on my phone, because who has a stereo anymore? (If you do, I’m moving in.) Gathering my things and preparing to shower. It’s like…6:30ish A.M. I’m tired. I seriously had to drag my ass out of bed.
What the fuck is that.
OH HELL NO.
Y’all I don’t go outside. Especially not in my nightwear. (No, pervs, I don’t wear lingerie to bed. But I’m modest – like really fucking modest – so I don’t go outside even in shorts and a tank top.) But I was so pissed. I could hear those little fuckers screaming over the music.
Are those bastards in my yard? Are they barking at the car?
Are they on my porch? ARE THEY HUMPING MY PORCH?
I flung that door open and barged outside. Those two little sumbitches. The weaker of the two (he’ll be eaten first) ran into the road as soon as I stepped onto the porch. The other one backed up maybe three feet. Then that little fucker dug in and alternately screamed and bared his teeth, growling. So what do I do? Y’all. I was pissed. Wild-eyed and ready to tangle.
I moved toward them. But I stopped when I got to the car.
Me: Go! GO ON NOW!
Fuzzhole 1: Grrr Grrr Yip Yip *pees a little*
Fuzzhole 2: YIPYIPYIPYIP I’LL KILL YOU BITCH YIPYIPYIP! *angershits*
Me: GO SHIT IN YOUR OWN YARD, YOU LITTLE FUCKERS!
Y’all. I am not exactly proud of this. I mean, I won’t be adding it to my resume, okay? But this has been going on for YEARS. I snapped. I was just trying to listen to my music. Is that too much to ask?
Neighborzuul finally emerges from her shrine and begins screaming for them to come back. I glared at her with all I had before wheeling around and going back inside to shower.
You wanna know the best part? My next door neighbor pulled out of his driveway as soon as I walked back onto my porch.
He had been in his car.
The whole time.
But somehow. Somehow. Tuesday only got worse from there. How? With glee. Why? Because on Tuesday? I couldn’t drive a fucking nail, much less a car.
If Life is a Highway, I Wrecked. On the Shoulder. Going 0.5 MPH.
I try to keep something quick for breakfast in the house. I take medicine in the mornings that is not supposed to be taken on an empty stomach. So I’ve been keeping these little muffins or granola bars – something, anything. I was out. So, I left early enough to stop at the store on the way to work.
I stopped. I shopped. I departed.
And as I was pulling out of the parking lot, wham. I hit a fucking car.
Did she fly out of nowhere? Nope.
Did she turn out of the opposite parking lot at the same time? Nope.
I’m quite certain she had been on that particular trajectory the whole fucking time. And like a fucking magnet, I was compelled into her driver’s side.
It wasn’t bad – there’s a scrape along my bumper on the right. But I was shaken up, big time. She smiled at me and waved AND KEPT FUCKING GOING.
Shaking (violently) and crying, I backed up and pulled back into the parking lot, parked the car, killed the ignition and waited. And waited. And waited. But she never came back.
I’m guessing she didn’t have insurance or was in a stolen vehicle or was running from the law for flicking a booger at a police officer. Point is, she didn’t come back.
Last but Certainly not Least: Long Live the Queen (much to my chagrin)
Then I arrive at work to this lovely news: that job the Queen Bitch recently applied for?
She didn’t get it. And commenced to willfully spoiling everyone else’s day.
So I’m stuck with her for the foreseeable future.
CliffsNotes Version: The clouds parted on Tuesday, and just as I looked up, the universe took a big dump on my face.
Thank Fuck Tuesday’s Gone.