02-05-07

One Night With the Champ

I am the only stable tenant in my apartment building. That's a scary thought, I know.

Since I moved into the building, there has been nonstop moving activity in the apartments above and below me. Each are on their third tenant. I don't know what it is about the place that makes people not want to stay. It's a nice place. I'm quite content. All I can come up with is that they must all be college students.

Boston is a big college town after all. There. That's it. I just figured it out, at this very moment, whilst typing. They're students!

I guess I could introduce myself to them all, then come right out and ask them why they move out so quickly. But I don't want to mistakenly lead them into believing that I'm friendly. They'd eventually get a humiliating rude awakening, and I don't want to put them through that. I guess I am a thoughtful, kind person after all. But I digress.

The apartments in each building are set up exactly the same, so our bedrooms are all piled on top of each other. What that means, of course, is that I have been hearing a very wide variety of people having sex, above and below me, for the past two years.

I have to admit that at first it may have been a little bit titillating to listen in on the forbidden - to secretly share their private, intimate moments, then snicker like a schoolgirl when I see them in the hallways. But somewhere along the way, it became boring.

There's not enough variety. Everyone seems to sound exactly the same when they're having sex. Where's the creativity? The only variation was that I could hear the loud bed squeaks from the last couple upstairs. Their un-oiled bed was directly over my trying-to-sleep head. From downstairs I only got the moans and the groans, and the occasional shriek. I think that guy slipped a lot. It sounded like the all too familiar "wrong hole" shriek. They moved out earlier this month. I'll miss them.

Night after night, I lie there listening to the oooooooohs, the aaaahhhhhhs, the mmmmmmmms, and the "OH GOD"s of the girls, and the grunting "uh, uh, uh, uh, rrrrr, mmmm, ahhhhhhhhhhhh... FUCK YEAH"s of the guys. It never seems to last long. Maybe three to five minutes at the most. One can only hope that there's a lot of silent foreplay before the steamy, noisy finale. I'd be one pissed off girlfriend if that was all there was.

They must be satisfied though. They all always seem to cum at exactly the same time and live happily ever after. (I wonder if there might be some faking going on here.)

New upstairs tenants moved in a couple of weeks ago. At exactly 1:30 this morning it began. She started moaning softly, along with the muffled sounds of his breathless words. Her moaning got rougher and louder, and his breathing more rapid. His words became more gruff as he continually spoke to her (very sexy things, I'm sure). Her moans quickly became animalistic grunts. Soon he was moaning too, and the bed was dancing all over the room.

All too quickly, the rapid build-up came to a crashing crescendo. They were panting and ooohing and aaaahing and shaking the room. I heard that final manly grunt, and BOOM. It was over.

Silence. I could finally go to sleep, happily knowing that my neighbors were satiated.

But wait a second... did my ears deceive me? They had been silent for only a few seconds, yet I heard signs of life again.

They were not passed out?? All the other tenants pass out immediately after the climax. What would this couple do next??

This was so exciting. I listened intently.

I heard him first. He started singing... LOUDLY... Then, as if on cue, she started to joyously sing along...

"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS MY FRIENDS. AND WE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING TILL THE END. WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS......................"

What the fuck???!!

Anyway, guess what I was whistling when I saw them getting into their car this morning?

I love making people blush.

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01-19-07

The Potato Bowl Incident

Drive-thru fast food... ahhhhh. One of the most convenient modern creations for people who have fairly short lunch breaks. Drive up. Order your food. Pay for food at the first window. Pick up food at the next window. Drive back to work. Shovel food sloppily into your eager mouth while driving back to work, or eat at your desk while finishing up an important project. Either way, it doesn't get much more convenient than that.

Some days it just doesn't work that way.

Have you seen that Mashed Potato Bowl they have at KFC? As soon as I saw a commercial on TV, describing in detail the splendor that is the KFC Mashed Potato Bowl, I knew that my unbearable craving for those four layers of Kentucky fried deliciousness wouldn't cease until I drove my ass down there to experience it. Today was the day. Joy was to be had at lunchtime.

I turned the corner toward KFC and, to my dismay, I found myself behind an oversized boat of a car with a handicapped plate on the back, a handicapped sticker on the side window, and yet another handicapped tag hanging from the rearview mirror. (These people wanted to make damn sure that they got all the good parking spots.) Upon closer inspection, I noticed that all three occupants of said automobile had their bright white hair pulled up in tight buns. I caught a glance into the side mirror and saw that the driver wasn't a day younger than 92. Her passengers looked to be her mother and her grandmother. Let's just say that these women were OLD.

Sure enough, these women were driving into the KFC parking lot and heading for the drive-thru.

DAMN IT!

On a day without intense cravings I would've skipped KFC and driven the 3 extra minutes to McDonald's, but today that Quarter Pounder with cheese just would not have done the trick. I wanted a Mashed Potato Bowl. I NEEDED a Mashed Potato Bowl. I made the decision to take a chance.

The big, old car inched its way toward the drive-thru as though it was gasping out its last breath. I glanced outside and was sure I saw snails and sloths running past it. And there was no driving around the damn car to cut in front of it either. It took up the entire goddamn parking lot.

The car eventually made its way up to the menu sign that sits 50 feet before the speaker. The women were taking an awfully long time to read the menu, or so I thought. Then, after a century or two, I saw a pickled arm reach out of the car to tap on the sign. Apparently the women thought they had to make their order there and they were trying to get the cashier's attention. I tooted my horn at her to let her know that she hadn't reached the speaker yet. And the old biddy had the nerve to turn around and give me a filthy look. I leaned out told her she was in the wrong place, so she waved and drove on.

On and on she drove, until she was up to the next sign, which was PAST the speaker by 6-10 feet. From somewhere in the distance a faint voice crackled from a speaker, asking "Can I help you?" The old woman looked around in confusion, trying to figure out where it was coming from. It could have been the voice of God, for all she knew, yet she took this as a sign that she could finally order some food.

"I'll have three chicken wings and three biscuits", she squawked to the sign. The sign didn't seem all that helpful, and the lady in the speaker couldn't hear her, so her order was all for naught. Again the lady in the speaker said, louder this time, "CAN I HELP YOU?" Yet this was still a faint sound to the old lady in the big boat.

After going back and forth with the attempted order process about five times, the lady in the speaker finally caught the order. "You want 3 chicken wing meals with biscuits?" she shouted. The old lady croaked back that she didn't want meals, just wings and biscuits; "Three of each!!"

This confused the speaker lady, who finally gave up and yelled "COME UP TO THE WINDOW PLEASE". Of course she repeated it four or five times to no avail. Finally I stopped playing with the Rip Van Winkle beard that had sprouted from my chin in the time that I was waiting, long enough to stick my head out the window and yell "GO TO THE WINDOW!!!!!"

And she drove on.

I heard a sudden loud cheering coming from 50 people in the cars lined up behind me. I looked back and I believe I saw some of them doing the wave.

I finally had my turn and got my Mashed Potato Bowl, and then realized I couldn't leave the parking lot. There, parked in the middle of the exit eating chicken wings and biscuits, sat the three old ladies.

Convenience, my ass!!

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12-10-06

Emergency

Sitting three quarters of the way back in a line of 80 gazillion cars at a huge intersection, waiting for the stop light to turn green, then watching only three cars inch their way through said intersection while the light is green, because the damn thing only stays green for all of 20 seconds every 80 seconds is frustrating enough. Adding in the fact that we're all sitting in just one lane, due to the fact that the other two lanes are closed for construction doesn't help in the slightest.

Occasionally I anticipate this and come prepared. I bring a book. Occasionally I leave my house in so much of a hurry that I forget all about the construction area and drive straight into it unprepared. All I can do is sit there aggravated and cursing life... unless some unexpected entertainment comes along. This morning that entertainment came along in the form of an ambulance.

First of all, one would think that ambulance companies should know ahead of time where the impossible-to-get-through traffic is on a daily basis, therefore taking alternate routes to get to the sick and dying. This construction/traffic situation has been going on for close to two months. Everyone in the general vicinity knows all about it. When I'm in a huge hurry, I can always take a longer, but less congested route. It's less frustrating, and in some cases quicker, if you hit all the green lights with good timing. But that shouldn't be a problem for ambulances seeing as they can go through red lights without being ticketed. Either way, it was amusing watching everybody try to figure out how to scramble out of the way of an oncoming ambulance, lights flashing, sirens blaring, while sitting in one lane, with no place to go. I think the ambulance driver was just fucking with us. But I kind of enjoyed it.

I was in the lucky spot where I had a wide open median strip area right beside me, and I quickly pulled into that. The few cars directly in front of me and behind me were able to do the same. There was enough space for around five cars. The rest of the median strip in the area is all trees and some fencing. On the other side of the one available lane that everyone was stuck in is all construction barriers and "Do Not Cross" signs, etc.

Safely in my spot, I turned to watch the chaos behind me of people in cars going into full blown temper tantrums and panic, trying to get out of the way of the blaring ambulance. People screaming, yelling, swearing, beeping their horns, driving into barriers, crashing into trees, one person almost driving into a huge hole in the ground, shit breaking, car alarms going off, large men raping small animals (OK, I just threw that one in there to see if you were still paying attention), all while the ambulance continued to scream in the background. It was sheer bedlam!

The funniest one was a woman who side-swiped another car and had to explain herself to the extremely angry man in the car that she hit. She stood over his window, in hysterical tears, howling "I HAD NOWHERE ELSE TO GO!!". All I could picture was Richard Gere in Officer And A Gentleman and I chuckled to myself.

It took a while, but the ambulance somehow made its way through. I doubt any good came of it though. The emergency case probably died due to that intersection, and the stupidity of the driver who chose to attempt it.

After all the pandemonium died down, we were all safely back into the lane waiting again for the traffic light to change. I saw visions of a few future cases of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, and quite a few serious cases of jitters around me. Yet all I could think of was "Why the hell do emergency vehicles and ambulances always have "EMERGENCY" or "AMBULANCE" written backwards on the front??" Someone once told me it was so the people in the cars in front of them could read it easier and quicker that way in their rear view mirrors. Then they know for sure that it's an emergency and they have to get out of the way.

For how many fucking retards out there is it that the wailing sirens and flashing lights are not quite enough to know that it really is genuinely an emergency?? How many of you hear the siren and see the lights, yet still feel the need to look in the rear view mirror just to MAKE SURE that the vehicle behind you says either emergency or ambulance?

I want to meet you and pummel you with my fists.

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11-28-06

Run-On Drama

Don't you just hate it when you are sitting at home, in your jammies, with your greasy hair in a ponytail, looking like something that would frighten young children on sight, and then you realize you're famished because you hadn't eaten all day and, after a quick forage through the cupboards, you see that they're quite bare, and you realize that you are going to have to get off your ass and leave the house if you want that horrid growling in the pit of your stomach to go away, so you thank the good lord above for drive-thrus, and get into your dark car and head out into the dark night, in your jammies, with no makeup, and a crooked, greasy ponytail, only to get up to the drive through, give your order, then drive up to the window to hand over your money, but they're going too fast for you, so you try to hand over your twenty dollar bill, while a whole bunch of other crinkled up bills are still in your hand and, as she's taking the twenty from you, she's also handing over your Bucket O' Mountain Dew at the same time, so in trying to grab the drink and the straw with one hand and hand over the twenty dollar bill with the other, you lose your grip on the other bunch of crumpled bills, and they go flying out into the breezy night, under your car and into the parking lot, so you have no choice but to get out of the dark, private car in your jammies and your crooked ponytail and chase the flying bills, leaving your car at the drive through window, and causing all the other drivers in their cars, waiting for their food, to start beeping their horns and swearing at you, and telling you to get in your fucking car and get out of the goddamn way, but you continue to run through the parking lot in your jammies, because you're not a rich person, and you need all your dollars, so you ignore the screamers and you commence with your money chase, even crawling on the ground and reaching under your car to get the ten that flew under there, and you start to wonder if crawling around on the ground in your jammies in a well lit parking lot, at 10:00 pm, while at least 15 people are yelling at you, was worth the fucking taco supreme, and you come to the conclusion that drive-thrus are the work of the devil?

I know I do.