Lately we've had a ridiculous amount of trouble with people parking in the street and blocking our driveway in the process. I'm not talking about just parking too close to the driveway, I mean full-on, entire length of car blocking us into our own drive. It happens multiple times in a week, sometimes even multiple times in the same day, and it's always due to one of the two houses across the street from us, either Pregnant Man's house or the house that our old neighbors caught on fire. Once in a while we get lucky and the car will be parked in front of the driveway beside ours, still annoying because it's still, you know, illegal and stuff, but less of a problem because the neighbor next door is at work during the day and isn't home to complain, and probably wouldn't complain even if they were home because, let's face it, the neighbor next door is incredibly weird, but that's a story for a different day.
Where was I? A few days ago my brother was home when our good old friend R had a visitor. Said visitor proceeded to park his giant boat-length car directly at the end of our driveway, because our lives are apparently never that easy. We waited a few minutes to see if the car would move. Maybe, for once, the driver would realize they were blocking us in...No such luck.
Once we realized the car wasn't going anywhere, my brother decided he was gonna go hop in OUR car and drive around the block a few times. Slightly childish, sure, but since the alternative was calling the police it seemed like the nicer option at the time.
Now, you should note than when my brother went outside, the car at the end of the driveway wasn't idling, or moving, or even ON. It had been turned off completely and was, quite obviously, PARKED. Isn't that the definition of parking your vehicle, putting it in 'park' and then shutting the engine off? My brother proceeded to back to the end of our driveway, and the moron in the other car had to turn his car back on so he could pull about 5 feet forward. His rear bumper was still partially blocking our drive.
My brother was gone for a few minutes, and when he came back he pulled back into our drive, got out of the car, and was halfway up the front walk when he decided maybe if he asked the other driver nicely if he could stop fucking parking at the end of our driveway. Not in those exact words, but, po-tay-to, po-tah-toe.
The driver's reponse, and I quote: "I'm not parked, I'm waiting for someone."
Um.
Didn't we JUST review what parking was? Your car was OFF, dude! OFF! If you're not parked, what the crap are you doing sitting at the end of our drive?
I'm not sure what was said after that. I do know that while my brother was still arguing with the driver good old R came trotting across the street, shouting that it was all ok because the driver was his brother. Because having your brother being the one parked illegally is SO MUCH LESS ILLEGAL.
When my brother hit the point where he realized he wasn't gonna get through to the dumbass driver he turned around and walked back to the house, and the driver proceeded to shout after him, from the relative safety of his front seat, "Oh go cry about it! Go cry about it!", because the worst comeback he could think of is one I'm pretty sure I've heard from second graders.
My brother didn't cry about it, but he DID call the police. The cops in this town are pretty decent; I realize parking violations are a minor issue compared to robberies and whatnot but for once we had an officer show up within maybe 20 minutes instead of 60 minutes plus. They sent us Giant Cop too--he had to duck to get through the porch door! (I wasn't intimidated--he was wearing shorts. I can't take a policeman seriously when he's wearing shorts. It reminds me of the mailman. *shrug*) He was super nice, and since we explained to him that the parking morons keep doing what they're doing he promised to pass our complaints on and hopefully send a few more patrols our way. I was hoping the car would still be in front of our drive when the cop showed up but no dice. That's ok. The next car that parks there gives me a valid reason to catch up with my good friends at 911...
Honestly. What the hell is wrong with you that you think it's totally fine to just park right in front of some stranger's driveway for however long you feel like? Is this just a thing now? Should I expect it wherever I live from now on?
Banging my head on the desk,
Smart Girl.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
I get that I don't live in the classiest town. I understand that. Until recently I guess I was looking at things through magical glasses. Which is sad, truthfully, when you think about my posts about stupid things people do...which is basically every single post I've ever written. I can't help that I have some magical ability for noticing all the stupid shit people do.
A couple weeks ago I was outside in our driveway, taking my nephew's car-seat out of my car and cleaning out the trash and random paraphernalia that collects in the most random places in cars in preparation for a trip to my parent's house. It was a bright, sunny, gorgeous day, probably somewhere around 11 am. I don't remember for sure. It's not the important detail.
I was halfway in the backseat of the car, fishing out some unidentifiable crumbs from beneath Nephew's seat, and I happened to glance out the rear window and saw a guy walking down the sidewalk. Pretty common for people to go walking on a nice a sunny day, no reason for alarm. I crawled back out of the car and bent down to put something in the trash bag that was sitting on the ground, and then I heard someone clear their throat and then: "Uh...Excuse me, do you know what time it is?"
Seriously. Who in this day and age doesn't have a phone or a watch or a sundial or SOMETHING. I didn't have my phone with me because I'd planned on being outside all of five minutes and wasn't expecting any urgent calls, so I kinda shrugged and offered a "Sorry, no, I don't my phone on me" in hopes that random guy would just mosey on down the sidewalk and leave me alone. I don't like people. I don't like talking to people. I don't like when people accost me in my driveway when I'm cleaning out the car. Maybe accost is too strong of a word. Instead of leaving, because my life is never that easy, the guy did this sort of nervous twitch/shoulder shrug and plows right ahead with what he actually wanted to ask in in the first place, which had diddly shit to do with what time it was.
"That's okay. Oh, uh, by the way...do you, uh, have any Xanax?"
Pro tip for life: If you're going to ask a complete stranger for prescription drugs, ALWAYS start by asking what time it is. Total icebreaker material right there, and I can now say that I'm speaking from experience. I will never know what my face looked like at that precise moment in time, but I'm assuming my bottom jaw was somewhere around my knees. All I could do was shake my head stupidly and shrug like I was apologizing for not having any drugs. Yes, random stranger who might possibly be high right now, I'm VERY sorry I don't have any Xanax...I don't know what I was thinking, coming outside without my bottle of pills because I should have been prepared for the moment you asked me for drugs!
I think I might have said something like "Nope, sorry," but I really don't remember for sue. I probably shouldn't have waited so long to write this post because then I'd be able to write the whole thing in vibrant, glorious detail for you guys. Pretty sure the summary is spot-on, though. I think the best part of the whole shebang is how the guy tried to slide in his request for drugs like it was part of a normal, everyday conversation. I don't know about any of you, but I definitely can't go more than a couple hours without asking random people I walk by on the street if they've got any drugs...*insert blatantly sarcastic eyeroll here*
I might have been more concerned and less entirely baffled if the guy hadn't so readily accepted that I wasn't gonna sell him drugs and then moved on. The fact that our street is usually pretty busy on nice days and there's someone walking past about every 30 seconds also helped. I made a run for the house anyway just to be safe and then I creeped on him through the curtains to make sure he was actually leaving, because I have no desire to get into it with strangers. I'm hoping this this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I don't think I could make another blog post about it if it were to happen again....
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Drunk Man Walking
Occasionally you can turn to your neighbors when you need help. In the past, my parents' neighbors were always really helpful when it came to things like dog-sitting, house-sitting, and the like. Our neighbors now, however...nowhere near as helpful.
Last weekend my brother and my sister-in-law rented a Uhaul truck so we could move some furniture and things from my sis-in-law's parents, who are currently in the process of moving from Michigan to Florida. I wasn't there for the loading of the truck, but I can assume it was probably along the lines of people packing boxes, carrying them to the truck, then putting the boxes in the truck, and repeating that process until the truck was full. Pretty simple, right?
The unloading of the truck, however, was much more...entertaining? Obnoxious? I'm really not even sure which word I want to use.
Before I go further, I should probably explain that somewhere around a few months ago our wonderful neighbor Pregnant Man got a new neighbor. I say 'neighbor' in the sense that they live in the same house, and I'm pretty sure that house has been split into apartments judging by the four different doorbells beside the front door. The new guy, we'll call him R, does NOT, in ANY way, give off an aura of intelligence. A couple times he caught us on our way into our house, shouting at us from the curb where he was getting either in or out of the vehicle he no longer owns. He's so far introduced himself to me at least 4 times, although it wasn't until the whole unpacking fiasco that I actually learned his name. Usually the introductions consisted of him shouting "Hey there! I just moved into the neighborhood!", even though the 'just' was about 2 months before. Again, R is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
So. On that fateful Saturday when my brother and I were carrying some things from the Uhaul to the house, R and some other guys pull up in front of our house and park in the space that's not actually a space that comes about 6 inches from blocking our neighbors driveway. R climbs out of the car, staring at us like we're doing something he's never seen before, then shouts at us, asking if we want some 'free help'. Sorry, it's not like we would pay him anyway. My brother shruggingly shouts back something along the lines of "Sure, if you want to," and then R shouts back that he'll be out to help us in a minute. Turns out he had to go inside to get a back brace that in the end did him absolutely no good. He proceeds to come across the street and clambers into the back of the truck. My brother somehow talks him into helping him carry an incredibly bulky piece of furniture (I forget exactly what it was, but it doesn't really matter). I suppose that in the end having another man to carry the heaviest thing in the truck was probably a good thing, but R assures us, multiple times, that he won't go in our house, and then proceeds to put down the heavy thing they're carrying halfway between the truck and the house, and leaves it there. Mind you, in order to get in our house, from any door, you have to go up a couple steps. So now, instead of at least helping get it onto the porch so we can push it the rest of the way into the house, R leaves it so my brother and I have to carry it up and into the house ourselves, and I won't lie--I'm not strong at all.
R goes back to the truck to get something else to carry, and my brother and I follow him. At one point R mumbles something that I'm still not entirely sure of, but I hear the word 'child'. Knowing he'd seen us with my Nephew, and people always assume he's my own child, I launch into an automatic explanation that he's not mine. I mean I love the kid, but I'm not married and have no plans to have any children anytime soon, and I get tired of people instantly thinking Nephew is mine (because in this town, I swear to you every woman has at least 1 kid, regardless of age or marital status). R interrupts me to explain that he called me a 'healthy young child', because he's either over 60 or almost 60, again I'm not entirely sure. It's at this point that I catch his breath, and it smells remarkably like beer.
Now I'm pretty damn sure he's drunk, and that would actually explain everything that he's said and done up to this point. Shortly after the misunderstanding about calling me a child, he spots his 'cousin' across the street and shouts a greeting at him, and then basically ditches us to go back to his own house with his 'cousin' and a few other guys. I say 'cousin' because I'm 90% sure that the house R and Pregnant Man live in is some sort of drug dealing house, given how many random people go in and out of it all day long, and I don't for a second believe that this other man is R's cousin.
R was, in the end, almost zero help at all. My brother and I still had to fight to haul in the rest of the obnoxious furniture ourselves. We still have almost no idea what R said at any time between the slight slurring and the ghetto-thug accent. We basically just ended up with way more insight into our neighbor than we ever wanted/needed, and a slightly funny, slightly alarming story to tell about the day we moved a bunch of furniture. I also have some idea now of why R no longer has the creepy old super loud van he used to drive. I'm not complaining about that at all, because he would take off in that damn van at least 20 times a day and you could hear him coming/going for a good two blocks just due to the muffler. I don't miss that thing at all. Between R and Pregnant Man and the rest of their motley little crew across the street, I think I might spend a lot of time this summer on our front porch, windows open, notebook in hand to write down ideas for more blog posts...
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
Last weekend my brother and my sister-in-law rented a Uhaul truck so we could move some furniture and things from my sis-in-law's parents, who are currently in the process of moving from Michigan to Florida. I wasn't there for the loading of the truck, but I can assume it was probably along the lines of people packing boxes, carrying them to the truck, then putting the boxes in the truck, and repeating that process until the truck was full. Pretty simple, right?
The unloading of the truck, however, was much more...entertaining? Obnoxious? I'm really not even sure which word I want to use.
Before I go further, I should probably explain that somewhere around a few months ago our wonderful neighbor Pregnant Man got a new neighbor. I say 'neighbor' in the sense that they live in the same house, and I'm pretty sure that house has been split into apartments judging by the four different doorbells beside the front door. The new guy, we'll call him R, does NOT, in ANY way, give off an aura of intelligence. A couple times he caught us on our way into our house, shouting at us from the curb where he was getting either in or out of the vehicle he no longer owns. He's so far introduced himself to me at least 4 times, although it wasn't until the whole unpacking fiasco that I actually learned his name. Usually the introductions consisted of him shouting "Hey there! I just moved into the neighborhood!", even though the 'just' was about 2 months before. Again, R is not the sharpest crayon in the box.
So. On that fateful Saturday when my brother and I were carrying some things from the Uhaul to the house, R and some other guys pull up in front of our house and park in the space that's not actually a space that comes about 6 inches from blocking our neighbors driveway. R climbs out of the car, staring at us like we're doing something he's never seen before, then shouts at us, asking if we want some 'free help'. Sorry, it's not like we would pay him anyway. My brother shruggingly shouts back something along the lines of "Sure, if you want to," and then R shouts back that he'll be out to help us in a minute. Turns out he had to go inside to get a back brace that in the end did him absolutely no good. He proceeds to come across the street and clambers into the back of the truck. My brother somehow talks him into helping him carry an incredibly bulky piece of furniture (I forget exactly what it was, but it doesn't really matter). I suppose that in the end having another man to carry the heaviest thing in the truck was probably a good thing, but R assures us, multiple times, that he won't go in our house, and then proceeds to put down the heavy thing they're carrying halfway between the truck and the house, and leaves it there. Mind you, in order to get in our house, from any door, you have to go up a couple steps. So now, instead of at least helping get it onto the porch so we can push it the rest of the way into the house, R leaves it so my brother and I have to carry it up and into the house ourselves, and I won't lie--I'm not strong at all.
R goes back to the truck to get something else to carry, and my brother and I follow him. At one point R mumbles something that I'm still not entirely sure of, but I hear the word 'child'. Knowing he'd seen us with my Nephew, and people always assume he's my own child, I launch into an automatic explanation that he's not mine. I mean I love the kid, but I'm not married and have no plans to have any children anytime soon, and I get tired of people instantly thinking Nephew is mine (because in this town, I swear to you every woman has at least 1 kid, regardless of age or marital status). R interrupts me to explain that he called me a 'healthy young child', because he's either over 60 or almost 60, again I'm not entirely sure. It's at this point that I catch his breath, and it smells remarkably like beer.
Now I'm pretty damn sure he's drunk, and that would actually explain everything that he's said and done up to this point. Shortly after the misunderstanding about calling me a child, he spots his 'cousin' across the street and shouts a greeting at him, and then basically ditches us to go back to his own house with his 'cousin' and a few other guys. I say 'cousin' because I'm 90% sure that the house R and Pregnant Man live in is some sort of drug dealing house, given how many random people go in and out of it all day long, and I don't for a second believe that this other man is R's cousin.
R was, in the end, almost zero help at all. My brother and I still had to fight to haul in the rest of the obnoxious furniture ourselves. We still have almost no idea what R said at any time between the slight slurring and the ghetto-thug accent. We basically just ended up with way more insight into our neighbor than we ever wanted/needed, and a slightly funny, slightly alarming story to tell about the day we moved a bunch of furniture. I also have some idea now of why R no longer has the creepy old super loud van he used to drive. I'm not complaining about that at all, because he would take off in that damn van at least 20 times a day and you could hear him coming/going for a good two blocks just due to the muffler. I don't miss that thing at all. Between R and Pregnant Man and the rest of their motley little crew across the street, I think I might spend a lot of time this summer on our front porch, windows open, notebook in hand to write down ideas for more blog posts...
Sincerely,
Smart Girl.
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