525,600 Minutes

A tornado can ruin your day - just sayin'...

Have I ever mentioned that The Wizard of Oz is my all time favorite movie?  Seriously, it is.  I could watch it all day, every day and never grow tired of the flying monkeys and the bitch of a wicked witch.  I heart The Wizard of Oz - I heart it a lot.  Last night, a dream came true - in a scary, near death experience sort of way.  I survived a tornado much like my beloved Dorothy.  Sadly enough, I didn't end up in Oz singing with the Mayor of the Munchkin City.  I did however, lay awake all night because we had no power and my fuckwit neighbor tried to kill us by pointing the carbon monoxide producing ass end of his generator right at our bedroom window.  I hate that bastard - I've mentioned that before, right?

Our little town, nestled between the two armpits of Flint and Detroit made the national news last night when an F-2 tornado ripped through it.  I have no idea what an F-2 tornado is but it scared the shit out of me - just sayin'.  About 5:15 pm, my phone rang and it was my BFF, Jenni in the Hood.  Our conversation went something like this:

JillyD: Hey homie, what's happening?

Jenni: Are you in the basement?

JillyD: No, I'm in the bonus room.

Jenni: Are you effing insane?  Grab you kids and get your ass in the basement - there's a tornado warning.

JillyD: But the tornado is like a half hour away.  And I'm getting ready to head out to dinner, dammit.  You know that food comes before safety on my list of priorities.

Jenni: The tornado is heading right toward you.  Grab your kids and get your ass in your effing basement NOW!

JillyD: Ok, stop yelling at me for crap sake - we're going right now.

Thank God that Jenni called me up and screamed at me like I was the fruit of her own womb.  Had she not been so bossy, I may have been swept away, into the bowels of the twister.  That probably would have wrecked my day.

At 5:45 pm, the sky turned black and I looked out the window to see the fuckwit neighbor's tree perpendicular to the ground.  That's when I got a little panicky.  The Boy kept saying that we were "sitting ducks" - where in the hell he heard that, I'll never know.  And The Girl - in all of her pubescent, overly hormonal, constant state of PMS - started to cry.  Perfect.  I have a comedian and a cryer hanging out in the basement with me.  And to add a little more fodder to the situation, my beloved Mach One was in his car, driving into the eye of the tornado.  I shit you not, he was one step ahead of the funnel cloud.  That fact right there scares me more than anything has ever scared me in my just shy of 40 years on the planet.  The Girl is convinced that he made it out alive because she prays for us every night - asking God to keep us safe.  I think she's right.

By the time the storm was over, a tree had cracked in half in the Creepy Sex Offender's yard, the idiot's on the corner had to retrieve their trampoline from Creepy Sex Offender's yard and we had no power.  And I was still starving - just sayin'.  We went to dinner because I'm a whiner baby and insisted on it.  Thank God we have a generator and Mach One was able to fire up that bad boy - only after I waited in line for 30 minutes to pump 6 gallons of gas that cost me $20.00.  The whole thing pissed me off.

But then I started to hear about the devastation that had taken place only hours earlier in my beloved city.  I didn't grow up here - I'm what they call a "transplant."  But I love this city so much more then the city that I actually spent my formative years in and the thought if it being damaged in any way broke my heart.  I love our community and our friends and everything that this place stands for.  I realized how lucky I am that my family was not hurt and our house was not damaged.  But there are many people here that weren't so lucky.  If you have any extra room on your prayer list - please pray for my beloved community.

A tornado can ruin your day but it also can make you thankful for everything that you have.  And I'm thankful for everything that I have - my Mach One, My Girl & Boy, My Jenni in the Hood.  Me & Dorothy - we're two peas in a pod - and we're two very lucky gals.

Oscar

Meet Oscar...

Apparently Oscar lives in my yard - rent free, I might add.  At least I've never seen a rent check from him - just sayin'.  I think Oscar is a toad.  I called him a frog as in, "Get that freakin', nasty ass frog the hell out of my kitchen" and I was corrected by the two partners in crime who smuggled him into the house in the first place.  The third culprit - the finder of said non-frog creature - was happily mowing the lawn on his John Deere mower.  No doubt cackling at the scene that was ensuing in the house as his seed tormented their beautiful, very thin mother with Oscar.  Mach One used to bring jars of spiders into his house and then let me go.  He would then pop popcorn and sit back and watch his mother have convulsions and spit blood everytime she found one of those hairy, arachnids.  I'm thinking Oscar was pretty mild compared to what the hell could have been brought into my humble abode.

After I got Oscar out of my house and changed my underwear from the surprise of finding him in my house, I took a closer look at him.  He was actually kind of cute - in a froggy way.  Sorry - in a toad like way.  Not cute like I want to marry him.  That's how The Boy measures cuteness.  I'll say, "That is so cute!"  And he immediately fires back with, "Do you want to marry it?"  He's a peach, that one.  But I found Oscar cute in a non-marrying sort of way...

He didn't mind that my outside table was filthy - he accepted me for my flaws.  He was gentle with the fruit of my womb.  He didn't try to bite them.  Do toads bite?  Do they even have teeth?  Maybe not.  Ok, so he wasn't as gentle as I thought.  Maybe he would have tried to bite the shit out of them had he been packing a set of chompers to do so.  But with a name like Oscar, I'm thinking he was too refined to bite - even if he could have.  He let The Girl kiss him - on the lips.  There are years of therapy awaiting from this shot, no doubt...

Despite his very refined name, we actually found out that Oscar is a skater dude.  With a passion for Etnies and The Girl's "Nutcase" helmet.  Either that or he was just trying to get the hell away from these giants who kept blinding him with a flash and kissing him in various and sundry locations.  He found the hole in the helmet and he was getting the hell out of dodge.  Come hell or highwater, he was going to make his way back to his rent free life under the bird box.  This was the first step to his freedom...

I convinced the ankle biters to return Oscar to his rightful home.  I told them that he probably had a wife & tadpoles, waiting for him at home.  The wife was probably pissed that he was late and she was going to withhold s-e-x from Oscar just to show him who was boss.  That will teach him to be late again.

The Boy & The Girl carried Oscar back down to this home - after bitching and moaning about how I never let them have any fun.  Whiner babies, both of them.  And with that, our adventure with Oscar was over.  But he's still living la vida loca in my yard.  He's actually moved on up to the East side - to a high rise apartment in the sky.  Just like the Jeffersons.  Except that his high rise apartment is actually the bird box.  Mach One saw him peering out of the hole just the other day.  I really need to start charging that guy...

Even sentimental fleas do it...

Birds do it.  Bees do it.  Birds do it more then bees do it.  Birds do it constantly in my backyard.  And when I say "it" I really mean "it."  Spring has sprung in suburbia and all of a sudden my backyard has turned into the No-Tell Motel for the animal kingdom.

Now I'm all for sex - I really am.  But it makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth when I'm sipping my coffee in the morning and I look out and see the Mourning Doves going at it - just sayin'.  I always thought that their "whooo, whooo" sound was because they were mourning.  Now I'm not so sure about that.  The dove sex is kind of grossing me out.  Although I'm almost postive that the dove chick isn't saying "whooo, whooo" because her man is all that and a bag of chips.  Have you ever seen birds copulate?  It's not pretty.  Nor does it seem to be very satisfying for the female of the species.  There are definitely not candles or back rubs in the deal - just sayin'.  The dude pecks her in the head, pins her down, pounces on her for 1.5 seconds and then flies away.  No cigarette or anything.  It's highly disturbing and nothing that I recommend to anyone.  That's why I wish they'd find some place other then my damn deck to procreate.  I insist that Mach One break up the bird porn on the deck by squirting them with the hose or something equally intrusive.  He thinks I should let them be.  Typical male, that one.

But we all know what happens when a boy & girl don't know how to play it safe, don't we?  Indeed we do.  That's why I have two children.  Actually, both my children were planned down to the months they were born in.  Now if that's not sick & wrong, I don't know what the hell is.  I have a smidge of OCD and I married Super Sperm.  Nuff said on that subject.  But like me, apparently there are a few fertile myrtle birds in our yard.  Case in point...

Raise your hand if you know to which bird family these eggs belong.  Mach One, put your hand down - you don't get to play.  If you said "Robin eggs" you are triple wrong and have to go to the end of the line.  Anyone, anyone, Bluebird - I mean, Bueller?  Oh look - I gave it away.  These are indeed the eggs of the Eastern Bluebird.  Do you know what a Bluebird is?  Don't mistake it with a Blue Jay.  That's like mixing up cube steak and filet mignon.  Seriously.  The Eastern Bluebird is the filet mignon of the bird kingdom.

 

Look at that face - the Bluebird of Happiness!  Mach One & I are hopelessly devoted and disgustingly in love with the Bluebirds.  We love them so much we want to marry them and have their babies.  Well, at least I want to have Bluebird babies.  Considering that Mach One is sporting the wrong equipment to bear anything, that could pose a slight problem - just sayin.'  But words can't explain our utter admiration and nerdly obsession with these birds.

Not that long ago, Bluebirds were nearly extinct.  I'm not kidding.  The bastard Sparrows - also known as "flying rodents" from this point forward, kill the Bluebirds and take over their boxes.  If there are eggs, babies or mommy Bluebirds in the box, the flying rodents will peck them to death.  Don't they sound sweet?  So the Bluebirds were nearly a thing of the past until the North American Bluebird Society was formed and its mission was to restore the bluebird population within North America.

Mach One & I have made it our life's mission to raise perfect children, have an inground pool, and to do everything in our power to raise as many Bluebird broods as humanly possible.  Once I've accomplished these tasks, my life's work with be fulfilled - just sayin'.

The eggs should be hatching in the next few weeks.  And you, my faithful followers, will have the pleasure of experiencing the joy of raising these little chickies with me.  How excited are you?  I've left out the impregnating of the Bluebird for your viewing pleasure - but you're going to get to see everything else, believe you me. 

Now if I could just get the Mourning Doves to get a room.  Or at least get the male to brush up on his foreplay skills, I'd feel so much better about everything.  Just sayin'...

Tales of Suburbia: My Neighbor is an Idiot

I so do not heart my neighbor.  The fact that he lives right next door to me is even more irritating.  Frankly, I would think he was an idiot if I just saw him passing by somewhere.  But the fact that I have to breathe the same air as him is enough to push me over the edge.  I don't heart him that much.

I live in a lovely subdivision.  Think Wisteria Lane minus the wisteria and the really pretty people.  Replace the really pretty people with a creepy sex offender, some old people, and the idiot that lives next door.  That sums up the cul de sac.  My favorite neighbors are the old people on the other side of me.  They've won the favorite neighbor award because I never see them - ever.  Sometimes I wonder if they're dead inside of their house because I go so long without seeing them.  But just when I'm ready to peek through the windows, praying that I won't come eye to eye with a corpse - their garage door opens.  Or their dog craps on my lawn.  Actually, I think the dog might be dead - seriously.  I haven't seen her in a few months.  That's never a good sign.  But let's get back to the neighbor that I hate, shall we?

Idiot and his 400 children moved in after us.  He really doesn't have 400 children - he has 4.  But it seems like 400 - just sayin'.  Our first "encounter" with him was over a swingset in our backyard.  He wasn't even moved into his damn house yet and left a note on our porch about the location of the swingset.  First of all ass wipe, if it's in my yard, I can put it wherever the hell I want.  He said it was "encroaching" the lot line and there was a man hole cover that could result in head trauma to his kids.  I clearly don't remember ever inviting his brood over to use my swingset.  And I find it hard to believe that 4 feet from the lot line is considering "encroaching."  And who thought up the word "encroach?"  It's kind of like "crotch" isn't it?

The swingset wasn't actually ours - we were storing it for Debbie Dot while they were holed up in a teeny apartment waiting for their crib to be built.  But that was beside the point.  I did, however, mention that fact to Idiot which appeased him.  When Debbie Dot came to collect what was rightfully hers, Mach One built a new swingset for his spawn.  And for those of you who know me well, you know that I insisted that Mach One put the new swingset in the exact same spot as the old one.  Don't eff with JillyD - just sayin'.

Clearly, our neighborly relationship wasn't flourishing.  Part of the reason for my extreme hatred of Idiot is that fact that he's lazy.  He's a Lazy Idiot.  That so doesn't work for me.  He's one of those bastards who keeps his Christmas lights up until, oh about last week.  He mooches ladders, snow blowers and riding mowers from all over the freaking neighborhood.  So he's a Lazy, Cheap Idiot.  Doesn't he sound great?

Apparently he fancies himself an athlete because every winter, he constructs a monstrosity of an ice rink in his backyard.  Although construct is using the term loosely.  He puts up some boards and sticks a blue tarp in it.  Then he stands outside with a beer in one hand and a hose in the other.  And if he's not doing that, he's watching curling on tv.  Or something equally ridiculous.  He never uses the ice rink - skating while intoxicated takes talent.  And considering he's an idiot, that leaves him out.  So Spring rolls around and he kicks out the side of the ice rink, which results in about 5,000 gallons of water flooding into my yard.  Is he kidding me?  So he catches me at a bad point in my menstrual cycle and I express my discontent over his destroying my yard.  Then he swears at me and tells me he'll kill my dogs if they end up in his yard again.  Such a kind soul, that one.  So I tell him to keep his bratty ass kids out of my yard.  Which then chaps his ass because they use my yard as the "shortcut" to get to other houses in the neigborhood.  Sorry kiddies - you're dad's an a-hole and now you have to take the loooong way around.  Buh-bye.

So we haven't spoken a word in over a year.  Until last Saturday.  Mach One was cleaning out the car and a snapshot ending up blowing out into the street.  So apparently Idiot sends his 4 year old over to return it.  Which was nice.  But she's 4 for God sake.  And Parker can jump high enough to stick his tongue into the mouth of a grown man ~ you can imagine what he can do with a 4 year old.  So apparently he jumped on her and knocked her down - and in the process her cheek got scratched.  Which again, I feel bad about.  I don't want a kid to get hurt.  But you know I've got dogs - you threatened to kill them, remember?  Send one of the older kids over that won't be leveled by Parker.  About 45 minutes after the picture had been returned, Idiot finds enough energy to haul his fat ass out of his Lazy Boy and comes over to tell us that our dog "attacked" his kid.  Whatever, dude.  Call the police then.  Which he didn't because he knew that he didn't have a leg to stand on.  And the police would have laughed their asses at him filing a report because my 15 lb. puppy scratched his kid.  Step away from the crack pipe, jack ass.

I apologized to him and asked the girl if she was ok.  Then I said I was sorry again - and he was like "ok."  Apparently he wanted to hear me apologize - whatev.  The real kick in the ass is the fact that I didn't mention to him that his ineptness as a man resulted in him slicing & dicing our electric fence in 5 places - that's right, 5 - because he's not macho enough to know how to use an aerator properly.  Any decent man knows how to poke holes in is lawn without "encroaching" on the neighbor's property.  But no, I didn't mention that because I'm a nice person.  And the fact that I was ovulating as opposed to menstruating saved his ass too.  Just sayin'.

These are the days when a mule and 40 acres sounds pretty damn appealing. 

Mach One - are you out there?  We need to buy some trees and plant them so that I don't have to look at Idiot anymore.  And then we need to put in an inground swimming pool so he can be all jealous - and we won't invite him over.  I may not be smarter than a 5th grader but I sure can act like one.