The thunderous ones are being mildly annoying for them. It would be hideously annoying for anyone else. But relatively speaking, my Richter rage scale is barely registering.
Perhaps that’s because a neighbor gifted me with a brand-new pair of shoes, still stuffed with paper, that she decided she was never going to wear.
Funny how good things start happening when you start looking for them.
My little “thud muffins” are making the ceiling quake. One more weekend of this shit after this one.
Jason Aldean concert tonight. Here’s to meeting a nice country boy tonight that I can ride like a rodeo steer.
I keep singing BNL’s “One Week” every time I look at my dashboard and see the countdown. Never liked the song when it was popular during my college days, but I find it oddly comforting now.
Yesterday Mom said Thundercunt raged most of the day but then, just before I got home, took one kid (we believe the Fraggle) and left for the night.
She said she thinks Fraggle has a nervous tic. The louder the Thunders fight, the more loudly and consistently she bangs things off the floor.
When they are quiet(er) like they are right now, I can find the compassion that’s impossible to come by otherwise. But I imagine as their moving day draws nearer and tensions rise, we’ll hear enough noise to last us nine lifetimes.
***
We have this cute 4-year-old neighbor and his mom who loved the massive family of ducks who used to come here. He always had wide eyes and exclaimed about how many ducks he saw.
She often came by with other children too. I think she had four but yesterday she just brought the boy.
I wasn’t home for it but Mom said you could hear her and the boy saying they were SURE this was the area with all the ducks. Where did they go?
Mom called down that we were told not to feed them anymore. Too many were congregating. So, they were gone.
They were crushed. The lady said she was so busy and he’s been begging to come visit the ducks. She said she’s now “heard everything” that we aren’t allowed to feed the ducks.
I asked Mom to be careful with her wording. We “can” feed them — just as long as it’s not off the balcony. I said she should have told her that this place values homely residents with unruly dogs over cute little duckies.
The mom and little boy left disappointed. They aren’t the first. But for some reason I really liked them and wished all my neighbors were so wonderful.
I’ve not seen hide nor hair of the bitch who chased me around the lake. I am sure she’s here but maybe now that things have blown over, I’ll try to make an appearance outside again.
With the two cans of pepper spray I bought to fend off unruly neighbors and their dogs, of course.
Yesterday brought a miracle, my new nephew H.
My friends have been trying to have a baby for years. There are no options, natural or scientific, that they did not explore.
And yesterday at 10:05 a.m., the world got a little bigger and a whole lot cuter.
Having a baby is the ultimate act of faith. You somehow trust the universe will take care of him, of you, of your family for the rest of your lives.
My faith is not that big. I wish it were. All I have to do is look at the news and see the peaceful protest for the violent death of Corey Jones, see another local cop who shot a dog who was waiting in an open car for his owner to take him to the vet, see the girl raped on a cop car in mah ‘hood and he got off Scot-free, and see the funeral of a high school friend’s nephew … and it’s not a world i want to be in, let alone put any kind of faith into.
But if anyone can handle raising a good child in a messed-up world, my friends can. And I’ll do everything I can to help because I believe in them.
I wonder if the two girls upstairs were as wanted as H. I’d bet not. I imagine these two twits upstairs just did their jungle boogie after a fight and bam, shit out kids. Just what the world needs, for that demon spawn to perpetuate. Sigh.
It’s a long shot to hope they will turn out well. But the universe has a funny way of giving me the finger. They may not act civilized at their next house. But eventually they will grow up and move out on their own. And one day, I won’t even remember that I ever knew them because I’ll be hanging by the pool with people I actually want to be around.
And the act of faith it’s taking to think that way may be the biggest one I’ve achieved in years.
I’m pretty sure the Thunder Bunch drugged the kids last night. No constant stomping, vase-rolling or glass-dropping that would rouse the dead. Win.
I did hear them as I left the house today. But it was more annoying listening to residents’ unleashed dogs going after humans and their leashed dogs last night.
Huge kerfuffle with “Amber” and her attractive asshole owner. Per usual. It’s a shame all the cute, single guys are either mean to their dogs or lax in taking care of them.
When this “toodaloo Thundercunt” countdown ends, I plan to start a new, positive one. I don’t care to do NaNoWriMo anymore … all the cool writers and writers’ groups were up North. But I can manage a positive post a day for 30 days. Right?
Big Giant Pussy threw one piece of bread to the four ducks who waddled by in hopes that we could feed them.
One duck got to eat. He didn’t share.
I’ve decided I like Big Giant Pussy today, though.
Three little kids were fishing in the pond today. Fruity Patootie let his big gay dog run loose up to the kids. It promptly took a shit that he didn’t clean up. Whatta guy.
I hear a local family hired the lawyer for Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown’s families. I hope they turn this town upside-down. The cops are just as bad as the residents here. Maybe Corey Jones’ family will be able to get the justice no one else seems to be able to.
Big Giant Pussy is blubbering and my nerves are frayed.
But today will be a good day. That’s because my friend up north is in labor and I will soon have photos of her baby boy to greet me on my phone.
I am also going to take advantage of a quiet day and try to meditate. My soul has been devoid of anything but fear and rage lately. Time to fix that.
I have tickets to Jason Aldean this weekend. Am wondering whether to go enjoy the show or to sell the tickets at a premium to pay for a traffic ticket I didn’t deserve.
With any luck, that will be the biggest decision I have to make today.
You know you live in hell when you can hear — over the pounding and screaming upstairs — the bitch’s dog across the lake. You know, the bitch who chased you with her un-leashed mongrels and spat at you how FRIENDLY they are.
The homely bitch and her fat friend sit on a bench that looks right at my balcony. Diiiiieeeeeee.
So a typical day now is that all six of their dogs (are they multiplying?) bark constantly and chase other people’s animals that ARE on leashes as they walked by. And yes I can hear it.
The fat bitch wears a black baseball cap with “NRA” on it. So, great, she’s a member of the NRA or, as I call it, the anti-MENSA.
Bet those assholes will vote for Marco Rubio too. Or maybe one will cancel out the other’s vote with a Ted Cruz nod.
Either way, I was surrounded by mean bullies in high school and thought those days were done. Not so much.
I’m beginning to think it’s time to talk to my boss about letting me move to the Gulf Coast. Or to the Amalfi Coast. (Much better idea.) I’m failing to find intelligent life on the Treasure Coast and frankly I’m tired of trying.
Till then, the cat and I are praying the fuqrs upstairs pack their noisy fucking kids in a box and forget to poke air holes in it. Pack up, bitches.
Woke up early to do my usual early-Monday work.
Got it done more quickly than usual and went back to bed.
Had a weird dream where people were talking in a horrible Island accent. I said to the person in the dream, “You sound like my neighbors.”
Turns out, Big Giant Pussy was upstairs yelling, “Fuck.” So I just heard him, was all.
Speaking of this dump, in addition to no more wildlife in our lake, they must have also poisoned the streams that run through this place too. Wonder if that taco-eating sonofabitch poisoned the canals too, or whether the ducks are hiding there.
I’ve seen three or four rogue ducks. I want to feed them but I also don’t want to keep them in harm’s way. So I returned the 20-pound bag of seed I’d bought a week ago to the store.
Then we woke up today to see our squirrel who lives in the palm tree outside my window was dead. He was run over by a skateboard.
The only thing left is a little black kitty who loves me and follows me around. If anything happens to him, I’m not sure I won’t torch the joint.
When I was leaving Palm Beach, my rich New York neighbor heard where I was going and he said, “And you thought this place was a dump. That town is filled with derelicts.”
And I said, “My new place costs almost the same. I didn’t go low-end. How bad could it be?”
Well, hahahahahahahhaa. Joke’s on me. Like always.
Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy were arguing as usual this morning until he stopped, walked outside and asked where the ducks were.
Let me tell you about that.
Yesterday some yahoo in a golf cart filled with yucky blue solution went all around the pond and dumped that toxic shit into it.
One duck who was hanging out in the marsh dared to squawk in complaint. And that motherfucker beamed the spray right at her little beak and silenced her with a wave of chemicals.
I didn’t want to believe it was toxic. But we have a ball player here who takes two tennis balls to the lake every day with his dog. He clearly didn’t see the polluting of the lake like we did. So when he threw a ball to the water per usual and the dog stopped just shy of it and retreated, our fears were confirmed.
There is not a duck, turtle, iguana or bird to be found on the property today.
I couldn’t sleep last night. The silence (of the real animals, not the zoo animals upstairs) was killing me.
I know that the Bible says that no weapon formed against us will ever prosper. But they sure do seem to kill everything we love.
Today all the ugly dogs are running around off-leash, shitting with abandon where the ducks used to congregate all “City of Angels”-style.
Many times over the eight years that mom has lived in my house, I’ve told her no decorating outside. No welcome shit on the doors. No doormats. None. Personalize it inside all you want. Just … don’t invite people to steal our joy.
I thought she learned that lesson at Amityville, when we were told not to decorate our doors or balconies.
When people know it’s a happy home, they will do everything to target it with their own miserable little hearts.
It’s the same thing with being a happy person. I’ve endured more than my share of bullies and jerks who hate it that I can smile and sing under my breath no matter what’s happening.
But as I’ve said the last eight years, I can’t buoy us both. She’s so down and depressed by everything in her life plus the taking away of the little joys like enjoying nature.
I’ve been chirping away for 40-odd years that we have to speak favor into existence. Give thanks for our health and safety. Believe our God is bigger than the bullshit.
We are falling down on the job of believing that the rewards will be bigger because of the bullshit. I guess we’ve seen otherwise too many times.
I guess if I have one prayer today, it’s that the ducks could somehow understand our own safety was in jeopardy for feeding them. I pray that they found other sources of food and other, safer places to congregate before they were poisoned.
I remember feeding the neighborhood kitties and getting in trouble for that. Then Animal Control took them all away and exterminated them.
Mom and I love the unloved. And they are all taken away from us.
She said we just shouldn’t love anymore.
I know I should fight it and say no, we will keep on spreading joy wherever we can.
But I’m tired of fighting and never winning.
I just wish the other people in this goddamned apartment building would stop fighting. But then again, they all seem to win. And none of them is on the side of goodness like we try to be.
Maybe if I start doing evil, I’ll start winning too.
Too bad I am not the slightest bit capable of it.