little_tristan: (Emergency! Johnny facepalm)
Remember the neighbor with the loud car? The guy who made me so crazy that I wrote a Riptide fic where Murray and Quinlan had a neighbor just like him and destroyed his car over and over until he lost his mind? He's out there right now revving that engine for all it's worth, and I realized that I miss the days when he was our worst neighbor.

Now we have the screaming fighting drunks across the street, the ones with eleven people in a three bedroom house, who've always kind of hated us because Steve used to go over there to drink and complain. It isn't just the fighting and screaming obscenities, or even the lies about what happened to Heather's car that day we came home and it'd been hit. It's that they're actually de-evolving now. Like, full-on Jonathon Coulton, There's a Monkey in the Future for You, de-evolving.

Right now they're in a primitive man state where the males urinate in the front lawn in broad daylight and drag the women around by their hair. These things are true. I've seen them while sitting on the front porch at two in the afternoon. But the other day six or seven of the eleven were outside yelling YUUUPPP, in imitation of that guy (Dave?) on Storage Wars that everyone hates. That's not even primitive man, y'all. That's primates trying to imitate human sound.

And there's nothing modern science can do.

little_tristan: (Kitten Prepared for War)
The house has become sort of an unarmed camp. Since I last posted, the boys have swung around to my side, but even with three of us we're losing. Or maybe we've already lost. The nemesis is convinced that Willow is attacking him when he's sitting in his office chair in the library. (Having finally destroyed the manual wheelchair he took from me, he's now appropriated the last of the boys' chairs with working features.) She jumps on him, yes, because we can't seem to break her of jumping on everyone. But when she does it to us, we either tell her off in an appropriately stern voice (followed by sit, so she has something to do), or, if we're feeling warm and fuzzy, grab an armful of puppy and get our faces licked. Really, it depends on if she's been out in the mud or not.:)
Much complaining this way... )
little_tristan: (Home)
The arch-nemesis actually set an alarm so he could get up at five this morning and catch the boys before work to tell them to move Mom's van off the lawn, since the mowers are coming today. There are a lot of reasons that this turned into a screaming match in just a matter of seconds. First, he opened with, "You know only white trash keep cars on their front lawn." This isn't the insult you might take it for, as he has actually called me white trash to my face, while telling me we have the worst house on the street. And this is when there was an actual crack house directly across from us. So relatively speaking, today's shot was a minor one.

But the real reason he got yelled at is that it's his fault. Our driveway could actually hold four cars and have all of them be accessible if they were arranged correctly. We used to do it, even when there were only three vehicles, because the fewer there are, the better it worked. But one day the boys went out separately, one taking the van and one the truck, and he went out and moved his car to the exact center of the driveway, which is technically the best spot. The spot you'd use if there was only one car. The spot that no one got to park in with our configuration, because the center had to be open. He's held that spot ever since, and there's been nothing we can do about it, short of moving his car. Which we've done, btw. He just puts it back. So not only can we not fit Mom's minivan in the drive, we have to park our Econoline with two wheels in the grass and then back it onto the sidewalk to lower the lift, because, you know, his car blocks it. (We can't park on the other side of his car because that side of the driveway is gravel and the current lift won't work on uneven ground.)

So he's bitching at us over something that's his fault. And his solution is to park the minivan in the back yard, instead. Because it's okay so long as no one can see it. (Remember the junk yard in the videos? We never wanted that, either.) I'm against the backyard because there are too many hazards. Little things that the mowers could pick up and throw at it. It'd also take up most of the dog's exercise space. But the best part is that it doesn't start anyway. No one could legally drive it until the estate reached a point that wasn't reached until last week, so it's just been sitting. The battery went flat and we jumped it once, to move it out of the driveway so the landscapers could back their truck up to the gate, and now it won't hold a charge. (I also have to mention that even when it was in the driveway, he was bitching and whining at me to put it in the backyard because it blocked his view of the kids walking home from the high school. Considering that he was watching while standing in front of a totally uncovered window in just his boxers, I didn't have a problem with that. Presumably the kids didn't, either.)

Anyway, it needs a new battery, which isn't as easy as it sounds because there are some after-market electrical modifications crouching on top of it and we haven't figured out how to get it out of there yet, but it's somewhere on our to-do list. Just because driving and keeping it in shape is the right thing to do, not because I'm going to pull a parking space out of my ass and save him, the fat hairy guy in the window in his underwear, blaring the musak versions of the greatest hits of the 1940s, from the accusation of being white trash.

But the real showdown? Will be in a few hours when he comes and says these things to me, and I respond with all the arguments I've written here. I saw Kay on Wednesday. She says we need to set boundaries for him. No better place to start than with things that are none of his business, like where I park my mommy's van, and what I do with my lawn.

And, if he pushes me, we're going to talk puppy, too.
little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Sod Off)
It actually makes the opossum thing look pretty good, I think. The story goes back years and years, to when I went to a state agency that helps disabled people find jobs. They gave me a caseworker, D, who got me the interview that led to my only "real" job. We stayed in touch until D moved to the other side of the state. Then I kind of forgot about him until two or three years ago, when he moved into a house up the street and a couple blocks over from me. I ran into him once and decided not to walk down that street anymore. Then, a couple days ago, I ran into him again on a street that I always use, since it has the best curb cuts. We talked for a bit and, since I'm an inherently honest (read: stupid) person, I gave him my real phone number when he asked. Because, you know, old friend.
Click here to find out how stupid I really am... )
little_tristan: (Moo)
I Love You, Phillip Morris is finally coming out on DVD April 5th! No, it's not an ode to the tobacco industry, unfortunate title aside. Rather, it's the story of Texas cop Steven Russell who falls in love with prison inmate Phillip Morris after his own arrest, and then has to find a way to follow when Morris is transferred to another facility.

Of course I haven't seen it yet. Movies like this aren't screened in my town. But I've been waiting over two years for it to show up on DVD and now it's nearly here! Reviews are mixed, but on Netflix it seems to get either five star or one star reviews, and the tone suggests that the viewers either like Jim Carrey and/or gay romances, or they don't. In some cases, the gay romance angle ruined it for even die-hard Carrey fans. That isn't a problem I anticipate having. If they can keep the stereotypical nonsense to a minimum, it sounds like a lot of fun.

It's based on a true story, but from what I can tell from Russell's Wiki page, the movie plot takes a lot of liberties. Hopefully in the direction of more funny, less sad. And not all stereotypical.

I know, dream big. :D
little_tristan: (Kitten DJ)
For fans of The Big Lebowski, the Coen Brothers, Kenny Rogers, or anyone who wondered where I got my current journal title from.

Warnings for language & naked boobs.

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