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2006-05-28 @ 8:49 p.m.
creek freak out, corn boy in. booya!

Itís OVER! Finito! My romance with my fake boyfriend, The Guy Who Rakes Garbage in the Creek(tm), is now officially history!! The bastard!

No, I didnít catch him fooling around with Prozac Face next door, or carrying laundry for Gerta the Nazi Lady or even gazing rhapsodically at Freaky Eyebrows over across the courtyard. Heís just an asshole. Why? Why you ask?? Because this morning when I went down to wait for my mom to pick me up for breakfast, I was walking down the stairs to the parking lot and the Freak in the Creek(tm) (his new official name) was over across the creek chopping everything down in sight. And he has been for days now. I mean, thereís only so much you can do with a 30 foot stretch of creek, before it starts looking, I donít know, a little creepy, throwing rocks back and forth, pretending to be doing creek feng shui. So now he has been pulling all the lovely greenery and bushes and wild flowers growing along the other side of the creek and was now sawing tree branches like 15 feet up the tree and I was like WTF? It already looked terrible with bare mounds of dirt (bodies buried?) all along the creek!

So I decided, against my better judgement, to kind of, I donít know, say something. Like WTF? Ok, I didnít say that, but I was thinking it. What I actually said was, ďI hope youíre not going to cut down any trees. They make the creek look pretty!Ē (smile).

Well, the Freak in the Creek, stopped sawing, looked over and said, ďIsnít that just like the people who donít lift a finger to do anything to make their apartment complex look better, to criticize those of us who do.Ē

WHOA! hostility alert. Whoop. Whoop. Whoop! I mean I think he did a great job cleaning garbage out of the creek, albeit, he stayed about a month too long. But what heís doing now, is not making anything look better. Heís obviously some guy with a lot of time on his hands, who is looking for stuff to do, and has absolutely no sense of what actually needs to be done or when to stop. Its not your private home, dude. Its an apartment complex. Youíre a tenant. Youíre not getting paid. Youíre just bored.

So I yelled back over to him that I didnít mean anything negative, I just wondered why he was cutting tree branches. He then yelled back that I obviously didnít know anything about trees and that he was cutting off dead wood to make the trees grow better. And I wondered, so then why did all the branches you just cut have fresh, green leaves on them? Because theyíre not dead, you dumb hick. I finally just turned and walked away.

Just then Walter, our 80 year old maintenance guy walked by. I followed him into this little room under the building and told him about our little exchange. He said the guy was and then tapped his head indicating ďmentalĒ. Oh great, a mental guy with sharp instruments who lives in my building is now mad at me. He then said he had already had words with him this morning about all the excessive yard and creek work heís been doing. He said the reason he likes our complex is because of all the greenery and the creek. I agreed and then he turned away from me, I guess indicating our conversation was over, so I went out by the street and waited for my mother.

While waiting (and naturally, my mom was about 10 agonizing minutes late), I heard Walter go over and talk to him from across the parking lot and there was some yelling. Yikes! I couldnít quite hear what was being ďdiscussedĒ but I think I know whoís shit list Iím on now.

Breakfast was uneventful. My mom didnít even notice my zit, probably because of excessive applications of many Noxema products yesterday. I did manage to get it down to Loni Anderson boob size today. Afterwards we headed over to Target in the Village and I thought, hmmm, with the zit somewhat under control, and only about 4 days until I see ďAĒ again, I should probably get hopping on that job application thingie, so I slid into the official Target employment kiosk.

Ever applied for a job at Target? Its all computerized. I told my mom to go shop. I figured Iíd type in my application in like 8 minutes because Iím such a whiz on the computer and that would be that. Forty five minutes later I was still hunched over the keyboard answering such questions as ďIf you saw another employee stealing something would you: a) Look the other way b) try and talk them out of it c) tell the supervisor d) try to steal stuff too. Good lord! Iíd take pictures and post them in my blog!!!!! Heh! Not really. Donít read my blog, Target. Iím just kidding!!

Anyways, once I finished the 60 question Spanish Inquisition, I had to pick up a phone (arghh, one of my phobias!) and talk to someone and then that phone call led to the manager of the entire fricking store coming over to meet me and having an on-the-spot job interview. Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

I was not prepared for that. At all. I had just put air in my momís car tires and my hands were dirty. I was wearing shorts. No make-up. The zit from hell. ďHi! Iíd like a job at your store! But only on my I donít want to deal with the public. I have to be able to go to my shrink appointment. Iím afraid of germs. What? Whatís that? Iím hired but only because you have to hire one crazy person per store. Do I want the job? No!!!!! Oh, I mean, yes! I mean. I donít really know what I mean. Do I really want to work in retail and wear beige pants?

I guess the interview went pretty well. I did the eye contact thing and leaned forward and acted all positive and shit. I havenít worked in retail in almost 20 years. Do I want to? Not really. Do I want to make more money than I do right now? Yes. I want to buy a car. I want to be able to buy new clothes. And art supplies. And get massages. And pay ďAĒ more comfortably. And get cable TV. Iím tired of living in poverty. Would I fit in with Corporate Retail America? No. But Iím used to being a square peg in a round hole. Iíve always been like that anyways. And at least this job would afford me a few luxuries.

So my mom dropped me home after that and I spent the rest of the afternoon, finishing up a painting of my new potential boyfriend, you know, now that Iím available again. Ok, so heís a little young, and a little skinny, and he smokes, but hey, at least he doesnít snap at me when I ask him a question across the creek.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty