2006-04-01 @ 4:55 p.m.
Its funny how when you don't write an entry for 48 hours or so, and your d'land hits start falling off, you start getting those weird Googles. I keep a running tabs on my desk just because I find them amusing and yes, also because I don't have a life and need constant stimulation so I don't fall asleep and get surreptitiously eaten by my cat.
I think I get weird Googles mainly because I have the word "Naked" in my header. I get an awful lot of hits for naked pictures of Selma Hayek for some reason. She is perhaps my biggest draw. Naked Selma Hayek. So whenever I'm feeling lonely for some internet lovin', I will just subliminally put that phrase in a sentence, like: "I went to see "A" today and we selma hayek naked picture talked about what I should do about my married coworker calling me while I'm naked selma hayek boob at home. He said I should really nip that naked selma hayek nipple problem in the bud and set boundaries without angrily thrusting my finger towards naked selma hayek's naked receptacle of love him.
So you see how that works? Because there is an awful lot of weird people out there on the internet, Googling things like "St. Patrick naked" and (you are feeling sleepy, insert subliminal message....you will see a picture of my pussy at the end of this entry....end of nearly invisible subliminal message), and "My neighbor's a Perv" (God, please don't let that be about me. Please! I promise to close the curtains the next time I scan my boob on the scanner or spy on my cute young male neighbor watching TV in his boxers. I promise!!).
Of course there are a lot of weird people who live here at my apartment complex. I have never been someone who co-mingles with neighbors because 1) I'm too shy 2) They might want to co-mingle back and what if they're weird and annoying and keep knocking on my door while I'm watching "Kinsey" in my panties and pink tight fitting teddy on a Saturday afternoon. 3) What if they're like totally perfect and I fall in love with them and have great sex and am suddenly inordinately happy. What would I do then? Because I'd be confused. Because I've never been inordinately happy before. Is there a manual that goes with that? Is there a website that I could go to? What? Arghhhh! Too much pressure. Arghhh! You say it probably won't happen? Oh, okay. We're back to normal. For a moment there, I almost thought I was going to have to BE something that 48 years hadn't prepared me for. Phew.
So what were we talking about? Oh...my weird neighbors. Not that I'm weird or anything. Ok, so I named the two ducks in the creek next to my apartment Fred and Ethel Mertz and talk to them everyday in our little half human/half duck sub-language. I was just being nice after the (cue dramatic music) bread incident. You know where I threw them bread and they thought I was trying to kill them and Fred almost got sucked over the waterfall to his imminent death.
And then there was that incident Thursday when we were having our first nice 70 degree day and I had flung open my back screened porch door and I was playing chase with Guardcat and singing her favorite song. You know, the "Guardcat is pretty, she's a pretty kitty" one, like 3000 times in a high pitched girlie voice. I had chased her out onto the porch in my nightgown and was still singing. And if you know anything about me, you know that my singing skills are great when I'm in the car, and somewhat admirable to kitties whose brains are only the size of walnuts, but to people in the real world? It was only than that I suddenly realized that I was out on my porch singing the "Guardcat is pretty, she's a pretty kitty" song in my high pitched girlie voice...in my night gown...in public view...with Walter the maintenance guy down in the courtyard sweeping dead leaves and probably everybody in the entire complex either tuning in or running to grab their video cameras to catch all the comedic glory of my kitty song.
So I backed into my apartment slowly, nearly falling over the cat, who was lolling around in the sun (subliminal message, you will see a picture of my pussy at the end of this entry....) and walked into the bathroom, looked into the mirror and said, "You're such a freakin' idiot."
But then again, we have Freaky Eyebrows in "C" building who is middle aged, single and has three cats (ohhhh, one of those, witty says scornfully) and Crazy Annie who yells out her windows open about God and masturbation and priests and masturbation and had been a big fan of Radio Guy but has now jumped ship and is calling my mom's Elvis Impersonator guy morning, noon and night and professing her love.
In my building there is my direct neighbor Prozac Face, a woman about 55, whose expression never changes. She likes to turn on her water while I'm showering. I think its on purpose because she's jealous of my naked beauty (new Google hit -- SCORE!) which emanates through the bathroom wall. Next to her is the Deutsche Lady, who I met when I first moved here. I had some flower pots by my front door. She greeted me all friendly-like but then leaned in and warned me about some evil teenagers who lived in the neighborhood. She said they would probably take my flower pots and throw them in the creek. And guess what happened? Go ahead, guess? The very next day...just hours after the Evil Teenager Memo was sent out, my flower pots were tossed over the railing into the creek below. Coincidental? I think not. Unfortunately I was unable to retrieve them, because the creek has a cement wall. Naturally I acted like nothing happened with Ms. Deutsche-land, because who knows what other evil she's capable of. Bwahahahaha!
And then there's Walter the maintenance guy. He's almost 80 and is from Savannah Georgia and knows everybuddy's bizness because he gossips with Freaky Eyebrows. Almost everytime I step out my door I see him walking on the walkway or downstairs or in the parking lot. I figure it was probably better to make friends with him than enemies since he probably has keys to everything. Happily he was cleaning out around the creek area this last week. As lovely as the creek is, its also full of garbage. Beer cans. Boxes. Wine bottles. In The Village!! Can you believe it? This place is generally like a Norman freakin' Rockwell painting. So I asked him the other day where all that junk came from. He said from the "white trash who live in our apartment complex".
I guess it makes sense. I don't think any of the old ladies who live on my stretch lob their beer bottles out over the railing when they're done, but there are others I suspect, like the guy(s) who live at the very first apartment on the landing. They're new, but I think they might fit into that category. Of course I may have to come up with a whole new category for them like Beer Guzzling Hobbits. Why? Because whoever is living there has about 4000 beer bottles on their back porch and then they have been leaving huge piles of size 26 Nike Sneakers in the front, strewn across the walkway, just as you hit the top of the stairs. I don't know how many times I've almost tripped over the damn things in the last month. They're all just like left out in random disarray. And they're like big enough to swallow ducks and UPS men and I feel like knocking on their door and saying "Hey Dude, I don't think your mom is going to pick up anymore, so do you mind?"
Of course that is a little obtuse, especially for someone with big feet (wink, wink). So I suppose I could put a note on the shoe that says: "Dear foot guy: Don't you love me? Why do you make me live outside? People have told me that there are places called closets. I wanna live in one of those. Pleeeease! I promise I won't any noise. Love, shoe. P.S. Some lady keeps kicking me everytime she walks by. h.e.l.p.!"
Well, if anything that might freak him out....that a shoe can write. Or is demanding to live indoors. Or loves him. And maybe he'll move. Unless he finds out about the pussy...who lives just up the way from him....
You pervs, what did you think I was talking about? Its just a picture of Guardcat on my bed. Geeze! Well, at least if you ever lose my address you can always Google something about "pussy or Fred and Ethel Mertz." And then maybe we can just get together for another random session of Naked Selma Hayek Sedoku. (I knew I could work that naked Selma Hayek thing in one more time. SCORE!!!!!). That would be nice.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty