Why does this always happen to me?

For some reason, the past few sets of neighbors I have had, feel the need to construct a bar out of their garage, which, as we all know, is where the cars go. Don't get me wrong, I'm a social-type gal, but I do not want drunk fuckers puking/pissing/buggin' me when I am trying to get some shut-eye. And furthermore, garages are gross. They have oil stains, bad smells and about a million spiders...they are not for socializing. And certainly not for entertaining your guests at 3:00 am on a Tuesday.

The first time this became a problem was when 4 college-looking boys moved in next door. They never closed their garage door, so it didn't take me long to see that they had actually built a bar in the garage. And not a nice one either...a real crappy, built from wood stolen from the Wal-Mart build site down the road type bar. The ambiance was completed with plastic palm trees and some lawn chairs. Which is fine, to each his own, right? The line got crossed when they messed with my peaceful, quite bedtime. Breaking up an impromptu golf game in the parking lot at 3:16 am on a Tuesday is not peaceful. Not in the least. So, after putting up with Delta House and their shenanigans, my patience paid off and the frat boys were booted-out after only 3 months. And man oh man, they must have jacked that place up...there was this huge steam cleaning van parked outside of that apartment for 3 days. "Good riddance to bad rubbish" I thought (yes, I have the internal dialogue of a crabby old man).

That thought lasted about 2 weeks, then the new folks moved in. At first, they were an elusive bunch, but I knew they were in there, because they always play their TV at volume level 11. But, I've only ever seen the lady who lives there, and she's a crusty-lookin'fake blond with grand fake tits and beef jerky for a face (sounds hot, right?). These lovely folks lulled me into a false sense of security for a few days before opening their garage to reveal a bigger, better-financed garage bar, complete with 3 neon beer signs. What the fuck, man? I think they even have astro turf in there too for some reason. And, to be fair, they really haven't been disruptive...yet.

But once bitten, twice shy, right? And seriously, I just don't understand why all my neighbors need a mother freakin' bar next to the room that I sleep in. That's where I sleep for crap's sake! I love sleeping...don't try to fuck me out of some sleep, garage-bar neighbors! Don't make me cut you, garage-bar neighbors! I'll pull a razor outta my titties and I'LL CUT YOU!

Hulk smash!

So, I walked into the Ladies Room at work the other day, and I was met by an unusual sight: the toilet seat from stall #1 had been completely ripped-off and discarded. Now, that's the first time I have ever seen a toilet seat that had been ripped-off, so naturally, it gave me pause. It's not like those things are held on with gum and a twist-tie either, those suckers are bolted down and stuff, so it has to take some reasonable amount of force to dislodge 'em. Which is why the whole scene gave me pause. I mean, women in general are quite courteous bathroom-goers: we always flush (except at movie theaters for some reason), we let each other know if there is no toilet paper in a stall, we don't ahem..."miss" the toilet or splash our salty leavings on the floor, etc. So, how exactly did this ripped-off seat come to be in such a state? My theory: the Incredible Hulk dropped a deuce in the Ladies Room, at my office building. You've seen how he gets when he's agitated...I bet he's the type to really wreck a joint when he makes "a deposit". Think about it: the Hulk's strength can't be limited to just his arms and legs and stuff, he probably has a wicked-strong butt hole too. One so mighty that the mere act of defecating rips rooms apart! You know I'm right. When you think about it, you can only come to this, the most logical of conclusions: Hulk broke my bathroom. God help us if he ever ties into some Wolf Brand chili. The only way to deal with that sort of situation is to cleanse the building with fire.

Making quite a splash at the new job

Alright, so it's my first week at work here at my fancy new job, and us new hires had to go to this SUPER boring timesheet training class. These cats at my new job use a system called Vantage, and it is the least intuitive program I have ever encountered (besides Illustrator). I’m pretty sure I have to kill Gannon and get the extra heart before I can log my time. Anyway, I’m sitting next to my pal Kelly, who I’ve know for a few years through my pal Ben, and he makes a comment about my desktop wallpaper. Now, I have a lame PC laptop, which I have brought with me to said meeting, and in an effort to jazz it up a bit, I put a picture of Domo Kun a.k.a. the Poop Monster (see attached) as my wallpaper. "Who's this Domo Kun fellow?" you ask. Domo Kun is rad. He’s a funny little mascot for the Japanese TV station NKH. He’s brown and fuzzy, with rather sharp teeth, and he lives with a wise old rabbit,his favorite food is seasoned beef and potatoes, and he is just plain awesome looking. So, Kelly is clearly impressed with Domo Kun by now, and wants to know more about him. Since the meeting about timesheets hadn’t really started, I figured that I have time to Goggle the words “Poop Monster” to get some more facts and pics of my little friend Domo Kun. Seems like a reasonable course of action, right? I mean, that's how I found my desktop pic of Domo Kun and all, so where's the harm? So, pictures this: it’s my first week of my brand-new job, I’m in a stuffy meeting, and my pal Kelly asked me if there are other pics of Domo Kun out there. I says “of course!”, then I do my Google search for "Poop Monster". The FIRST thing on the list of sites is a link titled “monster poop”, so I click it. BAM! Up comes the picture of some dude’s toilet bowl, which contains the dude’s insanely long shit…a shit so mighty, he took a picture of it and placed in the interweb. And here it is now, full-screen big on my laptop. I turned beet-red, then cracked up like nobody’s business…the kind of cracking-up that involved loud cackling and a snort or two. And poor Kelly was just staring in open mouthed-awe at my screen. Oh yeah…I know how to make an impression. I=cool.

I just had a meeting with Ivan Drago

Remember Rocky IV? Of course you do, you’re a red-blooded American! Rocky had to defeat communism and avenge Apollo Creed’s death by flying to Moscow to beat the tar out of Ivan Drago (stoically played by TV’s Dolf Lundgren). Remember how big Ivan Drago was, and how he’s all pimp when he says to Rocky “I must break you”. That was rad. Anyway, back to my story. So, I’m in a meeting this morning, and I sit down next to this big dude I have never met before. He introduces himself and he sounds so much like Drago it’s momentarily stunning. Man, this guy was fan-freaking-tastic I tell’s ya. His name is Vadim, and he speaks with the deepest, Russian-ist accent of all time. He even says things like “Facebook is making the things like the applications”. That is so damn cool. It was like having a meeting with a James Bond villain. I don’t remember most of what he said because I was too fascinated by his voice. And because I kept imagining him in a black suit and eye patch, laughing and gently stroking a cat while having a GQ-lookin’ dude lowered into a tank full of sharks. He is awesome, and if I ever have a bar fighting team, he is so on it.