Tuesday’s Gone (and It Took All My Fucks with It)

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.

Terror_Dogs
Neighborzuul’s dogs look EXACTLY like this. Except they’re shorter. And they have long hair. And they’re white. But other than that, this is an exact likeness.

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.

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.

Watching.

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.

parking_lot
It looked exactly like this.

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.

image

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.

The End.

 

 

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Anatomy of a Neighbor’s House: AKA The Second-Coming of Gozer

I have this neighbor. Okay, I have many neighbors, but I’m speaking of one in particular. Now this particular neighbor lives directly across the street from me. And she has…let’s call it weird…tastes in decorating.

First off, her house suffers from severe structural degradation as well as massive damage sustained in a recent storm. She – let’s call her Zuul, because there is no neighbor, only Zuul – she has not made any repairs to her house since the storm (or before). Now look. I’m not one of those people who goes around gossiping about neighbors and pressuring them to maintain their homes to a certain standard. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. Maybe I should, but I don’t. Never have. It’s her house, not mine. And I certainly don’t want to be held to anyone else’s standard(s) myself. All of this is coming around to a point, damnit.

So yeah. Back to the story. Her garage collapsed before the storm – she did actually have a buddy haul those remains away after a couple of years. Her roof has had bright blue tarps covering 72.6% of the roof for a year now (that’s an accurate statistic. I did a study. With engineers and everything. I paid them. With cookies and tequila.). Her porch is collapsing, due to rotting columns and a holey roof. Her fence collapsed years ago, its remains still lying where they fell in battle. Against fence ogres. Anyway. I think you’re getting the idea.

But dude. She does have money – whether hers or borrowed – money is not an issue for Neighborzuul (Zuulbor?). You know how I know? She bought a car. Shortly after the storm, she bought a brand new car. The kind with a price in excess of forty grand. She parks it in the driveway next to her two suburbans and her antique bug. And she’s constantly landscaping and re-landscaping.

There are these buckets of flowers everywhere. And a hammock. In the front yard. With one of those old bright green, rusted to within an inch of its lifeless life, round, metal tables with the matching chairs that aren’t rocking chairs but rock anyway. With a red and yellow tablecloth between the surface of the table and another – this one blue – bucket of flowers. There are hanging flowers. Bird feeders. A bird bath. Buckets and cans, some with flowers, some without. There’s a sawhorse. Just sitting there with no discernible purpose.

For the most part, I just smile and shake my head. But dude. DUDE. The latest edition just blows my mind! Sometime in mid-August, Zuul installed some ground lights in the flower bushes adjacent to her porch. And these lights are…wait for it. Wait for it. These lights are LIME GREEN. I shit you not. My first thought was maybe this is some Halloween thing, but I quickly dismissed that because AUGUST. Oh yeah, and she still has a giant pink and baby blue Easter wreath adorning her front door. I can’t make this shit up!

So now, late at night, when all is dark and quiet…you can look outside and see the abode of the Gatekeeper. Zuul is totally preparing for the second-coming of Gozer. Eerie lime-green light cast upward at the rotting columns of the dilapidated minimanse.

gozer01

Because my neighbor is a fucking member of the Cult of Gozer. Because Ghostbusters. And more importantly because I fear the Staypuft Marshmallow Man (it’s not like I own a fucking proton pack). For all of these reasons, I have a newfound respect for Neighborzuul. Do you, Neighborzuul. Do you.