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2007-01-26 @ 2:00 p.m.
we're having a heat wave, a tropical heat wave...

Now that Garden Hacker Boy is in charge of everything (our previous guy went mysteriously downhill after Hacker burst onto the scene last April. I always thought he probably put some kind of mysterious poisonous drops into the old guy's ice tea over the summer since he REALLLLLY wanted to inherit the maintenance guy's job and become Commander-in-Chief, so to speak. And we already know how a tiny bit of power, can really make certain people become totally crazy and delusional.

Because now instead of just raking the creek 18 hours a day or cutting down beautiful innocent tree and bushes, he also gets to be in charge of such things as cleaning the laundry room (I no longer go down there, because it was creepy to begin with, but then add in Anthony Perkins to the nth power, sneaking around with a shovel in his hand and I say "No way, sistah!"). He's also constantly hammering shit down on his porch which is one apartment over from mine. Now in normal apartment etiquette situation, somebody could just call the apartment manager and say, "Hey, some dude is making a racket, could you please tell him to shut the fuck up?" But unfortunately since its King Wack-a-Do, no one is allowed to say anything. He's like totally golden. He's like Tori Spelling probably was, before she had the falling out with her family.

He does have a few hobbies though. He likes to watch the young college age girls come in from the parking lot from his porch (the real reason I suspect, he probably cut down all those poor bushes to the ground). Because I've now actually seen him chase after these poor young women. He gets all shy and smiley (kinda like Anthony Perkins in "Psycho") and they all kind of keep their heads down and try to keep walking really fast and then he follows them. I've seen this all happen, since I watch it from my bedroom window, since I don't have a life.

So anyways, now he's in charge of absolutely everything, including snow removal and I know he's psyched. We didn't have much snow in December which was TOTALLY AWESOME. I was out walking every day and saying hi to all the pretty little flowers trying to push their way up through the dirt. It was great! But unfortunately winter has returned with a vengeance and Garden Hacker Boy is now Snow Removal Boy and just like everything else he does, he does it SO excessively you just want to go give him a couple of Trazadone or something.

I do have to give him a smidge of credit though. The old guy last year, used to just push the snow shovel down the middle of the walk once a day...even if we had like 18" of snow and that was it. And then he'd throw like 12 grains of rock salt to melt the massive ice berg at the bottom of our stairs. (This place is a huge lawsuit waiting to happen). I actually helped to rescue one of the old ladies last winter when she fell and broke her wrist. She seemed dazed and I walked her back to her apartment and offered to call 911, but she said no.

But Snow Removal Boy is quite the little worker bee. He is out there like 3000 times a day catching every single snowflake that dare fall on Crazy Hilton. I like that he's keeping up on our very, very slippery walkway....BUT....and this is a very big but....he is driving me nuts. Why? because he is also out there in the middle of the night, clanking and banging around and he has woken me up twice in the last three nights. Once at 3:15 a.m. and once at 1:50 a.m.

Now there is absolutely NO REASON WHATSOEVER TO PICK UP A SNOWFLAKE AT 3:15 A.M. NONE! There is nobody coming or going at these hours and unless a tropical warm front sweeps through at 4 a.m., which I seriously doubt, I'm fairly certain that all the snow will still be there at 7 a.m. And more importantly its waking me the fuck up in the middle of the night and then I can't get back to sleep for at least an hour and a half. Naturally I can't say anything to the apartment manager because he's Joe Mr. Perfect with the manager even though he is crazier than Michael Jackson and Roseanne Barr combined. In fact he's out under my porch right now doing some strange ritualistic feng shui thingie with rock salt and hairs from virgins, I think.

How do I know? Well, because I have my porch door open. And its only about 4 degrees out with a wind chill factor of about -15. Why do I have my door open? Because the heat in the building has been so incredibly hot the last four days I can barely stand it. How hot? 87 degrees!! And I have the thermostat turned all the way down to 55 degrees. But I suspect that King Wack-a-Doo has been down playing with controls on the furnace and has to set to the rarely used "Hotter-than-the-Surface-of-the-Sun setting.

Even poor Guardcat has been affected. I couldn't find her for hours and hours and then I just happened to see the green glint of her eye when I walked into my bathroom and there she was sleeping amid the cool, soft sheets in my linen closet.

I guess she thought Global Warming was finally making a run for the East Coast and just wanted to be prepared in the cool confines of her new kitty condo.

So I really don't know what to do about the heat. On Wednesday night after my art class I was really tired from that early doctor's appointment and ended up conked out on the couch fully clothed. When I woke up at 4:20 a.m. with the TV blasting, I was drenched in sweat. I mean totally drenched. And no, it wasn't a menopausal thing. It was a Wack-a-Do playing with the furnace thing.

So in the meantime, all my plants are keeling over wilting. My skin is flaking off. The static electricity in the hair is so severe, that one brush stroke makes my shoulder length hair stand totally erect. And I've even been walking around my apartment like some hooker at the Mustang Ranch in Nevada. In other words...just panties and a tank top. And that's with my window and porch door OPEN with zero degree temperatures outside. Can you imagine?

So who needs to go to Jamaica for the winter. I just need to shut the door to my apartment, put on a bikini and turn on some Reggae music.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty