B-Day Breather

Heading out of work early today to partake in a liquid lunch in honor of the day I emerged from the womb, which was 32 years ago tomorrow. In light of that pseudo specialness, I intend on avoiding my 'pooter 'til at least Sunday. This is me convincing myself, because I've become a bit of a sick addict. Just last night I couldn't remove the thing from my lap, not even when someone buzzed me at the door. It was 9:30, and I figured it couldn't possibly be anything that concerned me... probably an error. I finally had to excavate myself when I realized Constantine Balanchine was about to pass out from the fumes of his frantic barking and pawing at an unanswered door.

I looked out the window, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but three cops and a k9. Ruh.Roh. I immediately scoured my brain for what terribly wrong thing I'd done to deserve it, but nothing floated to surface. Nothing criminal at least. After steamrolling their way in (with my hands already placed behind my back resigned to the bracelets), they told me my neighbor three floors up, the one with the rock star hair, was getting served with a protective order. You've!been!served! Dayum.

And he seemed so harmless and... girly. And way more concerned about himself and his hair than stalking anybody. I knew the "model" gf moved out about one month after she'd moved in (that lasted), but I didn't realize just how much they don't like each other anymore. The cop serving the papers was such a cheese, winking at me and shit. Apparently that's his tactic for getting info from reluctant neighbors who try to get in the way of his serve. Meanwhile I'm all "Uh, wink's not necessary chubs. Not my first time at the service of process rodeo. "Hair" lives 2 floors up. Glad to be of assistance. Later taters. Back to my laptop."

I wouldn't normally roll over so easily, but I was busy being relieved it wasn't me the three men and a dog were carting off to the clink. And... I had a laptop to tend to.

So it's a "happy 'pooter free weekend" from here to all, and to all a good day.

photo c/o lesmoking

Meet My Neighbor

When I came across this little sketch, I giggled and instantly thought of my neighbor, "the rockstar." Although my hood's full of aspiring "musicians," I'm pretty sure he was this artist's muse. Other than his peacocky greatest-thing-since-sliced-bread-demeanor, I don't have any good reason not to like the guy.

Well, except for the fact that every.frikin.chance.he.gets he insists my dog makes his yappy weiner dog two floors up even yappier - "Um, yeah, your dog and my dog were communicating again today." or "Your dog was saying hi to all the passerbys again today." or "Your dog sure is a big talker." Imaginary response: "Oh yeah, well you sound like a valley girl, your hair is dumb, and you're too old and your hairline too receded to rock that look." Guilty groan.

And yet. His new girlfriend is a damn button. This is the one who moved in a mere TWO days after I spotted the old (but-still-cute) girlfriend moving out whilst sobbing. Neighborhood gossip mill has it that the new chickadee's a model, and though I originally figured it must be the JC Penney variety, I officially met her tonight and am now thinking I underestimated her potential.

I'm all about attraction proving itself to be more than skin deep, but I could not comprehend why this girl paired up with my neighbor the diva. Until... she introduced herself by saying: "I haven't met you, but I sure have met your dog." Birds of a feather....