3:48 p.m. - 2004-09-20
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Movie Reviews
Without A Paddle: Funny. Almost peed my pants.
Resident Evil: Scary. Almost peed my pants.
Hero: Long. Almost peed my pants.
I should get a job doing this shit.
Weird shit over the weekend:
Hung over on Saturday morning instead of Sunday morning. Weird, yet pleasant. Didn�t feel like my whole weekend was shot. I don�t know why.
Saw a sign in front of some house saying �Pit Bull puppies for sale, $4.99�. That�s right. $4.99. Each.
Watched 7 hours straight of Six Feet Under. I don�t recall blinking during the last 3 hours.
Went out to a bar and ended the evening as only the SECOND most drunk there. First place was taken by a Melissa. Guess it�s the name. Name induces severe alcoholism.
Found myself reading an article with the headline, �Marital status isn�t always shown by wedding ring�. Felt IQ drop significantly as I read.
All in all there was nothing profound that happened, but thankfully, nothing horrible either. Although, now that I think about it, something profound could also be something horrible. One isn�t necessarily different from the other. So really, the second half of the sentence is redundant. In an off way. In an �I�ve taken a pain killer today and this may not make sense way�.
Look at me being all deep and shit.
Here�s something for me to be really deep about: Screaming children vs. stereos.
I�ve had my first run in with one neighbor out of 7. So far, everyone has generally stayed out of my way. I seem to give this wave of �I�m smiling to say hello politely but please don�t come near me cause I�d hate to have to walk away from you while you�re talking�. At least, that�s what I�ve been told.
A lot.
So it�s 7 or 8 ish on Sunday night. Certainly not late. And it�s still bright as fuck outside cause it�s the desert and we have to have 18 hours of daylight so we can get our daily carcinogen quota. I have my door open and the screen door shut. I have the radio (my brand spank-my-ass new one) on and it�s at a MODERATE volume setting. Loud enough for me to hear it in every part of the ONE FUCKING BEDROOM house, but not blaring loud. It was Siouxsie and The Banshees and I just had the internal psychic feeling that the old man on the end of the small building would not appreciate the sound quality. That�s how polite I am dammit.
Outside in the (snicker) �courtyard�, my neighbor across the �way� had her two screaming spawns of evil outside running around. They are burning off every brain cell and calorie that has ever been given to them. All I know is that between songs, all I can hear is the sound of the walls outside being torn down. God knows what they were doing.
I say to myself outloud, �Jesus Christ. Who�s the fuck-stick that gave them all that sugar???�
Within moments, there�s a knock at my screen door. It�s the doting mother. She asks me to turn down my stereo, cause the whole building can hear it. I say, �Pardon. Me?� Again, she asks me to turn it down. I look at her, then to the screaming terrors running back and forth, momentarily hope they will knock themselves out somehow, and then look back at her. I say, �How is it possible that you can hear my music over THAT?�.
This upsets her. Seems logical to me though.
Point being, as you�ll see, is that she can�t. Hear it, that is. Over THAT.
She raises, yes, RAISES, her voice and tells me she heard what I said about her children and �someone� giving them sugar. I responded with, �I said fuck-stick, not �someone��.
This again upsets her.
She wheels around on her $4 Target flip flops and yells for her �loved ones� to get inside the house. She throws me a look like I threatened to come out there and beat the children. I was pleased that this desire inside me had manifested itself.
I turned my music up. Way the fuck up.
Meanwhile�here�s a photo of me at the pool bar. At 6am. It was a good day.
