Parking Spot

I'm the one that leaves the note on your windshield that tells you what a pathetic job you did of parking your vehicle, and how you can improve your parking skills to allow for one more car to fit parallel on a street which only you thought you had rights to.

I'm not the one who stands on their front porch and ensures that people park correctly.

That lady lives on Irving between 19th and 20th. She stood on her porch today yelling, "You move forward," illustrated by pushing her hands and arms directly in front of her cutting through the air swiftly.

"You move forward!" She shakes her head disapprovingly.

With more force this time, she cuts the air again but this time fans her fingers wide apart to accentuate her prerogative.

By this time the driver was well on his way to getting out of his vehicle clearly satisfied with his parking job. He was still 2 inches distance from the start of the yellow fire marking.

She left the sanctity of her porch to interpret for him.
"You move forward!" and placed her hand this time on top of the hood of the vehicle and cut the air until she reached the point where the yellow curb marking began. "See? You move forward!"

I'm Begging You

To hear screaming is no rare occurrence outside my window, nor is it rare to hear screaming over the sound of my TV. It is also not rare to hear emphatic screaming, desperate screaming, or sobbing screaming.

Last night I heard distinctly, all of the above:

"I'M BEGGING YOU! I'M BEGGING YOU! NEVER, EVER, ENTER MY LIFE AGAIN."

After a break, she repeated her plea:

"I AM BEGGING YOU!!! (More emphasis this time:) NEVER, NEVER, ENTER MY LIFE AGAIN! PLEASE!"

"PLEASE!"

Distressingly I didn't hear a reply, yet I can't be positively sure there was a reply to be heard. But after the fourth or fifth cry I heard her clattering of footsteps chasing the pavement.

Hobo's Like Cake

I participated in the IRPC's Birthday Cake Bakeoff a few days ago.

My 6 year old digital camera finally broke, and so I don't have a photo, but you can check it out at http://www.evilcakelady.blogspot.com/ it is the two tiered cake with the edible candles all the way down the post.

On my way to the event I passed by several animated characters all salivating and asking if they could have some.

"C'mon! It's a big cake!"

"Ah... I'm so hungry, and that looks so good!"

"But, but... I really love cake!"

Defensive Tactics

This is an old story, but one about hobo's and downtown nonetheless.

We were pulling in one night, to the parking spot we shared with the dumpsters, to find a common man rifling through our coveted bins.

As if there is a question as to what this hobo is working on, I ask, "What are you doing?"

He probably said something unintelligible like, "uheeisondrr" or stupid like, "Collecting awesome used bottles," but I don't remember because after I told him to leave because this was our parking spot and not his bedroom he said:

"First I have to go the bathroom."

This is the point where I explain that at the time we were driving this complete piece of crap, but at times I miss that little crappy car. There is something to be said for a junker car that you don't have to worry about. But the point being that the trunk in this heap o'trash didn't exactly close in the traditional sense of the word.

As, yes as, he is doing his business he follows up with, "Nice car..." snickering.

I respond, wittily I might add, "Yeah... I'm really concerned about your opinion when you don't even have a 'real' bathroom to use."

That touched a nerve. He started hollering about how I can't talk to him like that and continued his tirade as he skulked, slinking away and as soon as he was safely away from us he shouted out his verbal personal insults to me.

Well, that touched a nerve with my man. He shouted at him, "If you ever talk to my wife like that again I will shove that beer bottle so far up your ass you won't be able to breathe ever again."

Racist!

I am showing an apartment to a relocation specialist, who is viewing a studio for her client.

She says to me, "The space is not very large... but,... she's from China."

I'm thinking of how to respond, wondering if I'm missing how China and a small studio go together when she follows up with:

So she doesn't need anything very large," she turns to me and smiles, "How much space does she need?"

(And yes! the pictures are back!)

Breaking Up Contest!

I know at least one other person who wanted to post a break up story, so I am going to stretch the deadline a couple more days, until April 5! But no longer - Judging will begin April 6.

Now... for those of you without a blogger/gmail account, don't fret! You can post no matter who you are! Just click comment!

Remember the prize: a stained spacemountainman t-shirt, a lighter, a book, a used backpack... bascially all the things you would need to attract your own attention from the downtown hobo's!

Now! Start posting!