Garbage Day

After an exhausting erradication of the mint patch in my backyard and beheading of the aspen upstarts that shouldn't be in my groundcover, I pause. I wonder: How am I going to fit all this in my garbage can with the grass and the tree clippings? It just can't be done.
So, acting upon an idea from my mother, I stand and watch my across-the-street-neighbor's garbage be emptied. I wait for the garbage truck to go around the corner before I hurry over and drag the black can over to my withering mint/aspen pile. I smile casually at the mother and children out on a walk and hastily stuff my garbage into my neighbor's can. I put it out on the curb beside my own can.
Stealing? No, of course not. Dave has let me use his can for similar things. A large pile of man-eating rosebush branches. Grass that wont fit in my can.
Manipulating the system? Perhaps. But if the neighbor's want to look at my yard without wincing sacrifices are needed on every side. I have to take precious study time to prune my bushes. Dave lends me his can. The garbage lady has to empty two cans instead of one at my house. But my yard becomes less of an eye-sore so ultimately we all win.
Why does this matter? Because it pleases me. Which is what this blog is for.

Dear Creepy Dude

Who tried to follow me home.
I'm sure you're a nice guy. I'm sure all your ex girlfriends would say you're a nice guy.
I'm also sure they would say that you're not as religious as you say you are and it's really not the holy spirit you want to share.
I go with my instincts and they say to run, but not while you're looking.
Because you're a control freak. How can I know that?
Because you wouldn't believe that my number was my number until you heard my phone ring.
Why did I give you my number in the first place? Because I don't want to make you angry. I'd rather wait and get my mom to tell you to get lost when you call next.
As you can see I've delt with control freaks before. They're best fought off with long-range weapons. Like mothers.
Do I 'love everyone'? Um... how does one answer that? Sure, I love everyone.
But I'm not going to make out with you et cetera, et cetera, in the back of a movie theatre.
No I will not go on a date with you.
I am religious. Therefore I do not view the commandments as multiple choice.
No you may not find out where I live.
I've known you ten minutes. That may be sufficient for someone looking for sex in a crowded bar, but I am not that girl. You can tell from my distinct lack of visible cleavage. Also from my lack of bus-combing bedroom-eyes.
I'm not completely opposed to guys who are a little forward. I wish more guys had the guts to ask for my number. But you are not the kind of person I want to give it to.
I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings.
I'm not sorry that I wont sleep with you.

Just Try Not To Think About What Will Happen If You Don't Pass

Writing Mechanics. Does the comma go here or there? Or does it require a comma at all? Dull grind of lead filling a circle. Past tense or present tense? Change it or no? circle, circle.
The CAAP test. Some anagram that means "are smart enough to be a teacher?" On a normal day I'd say of course I am. But not this morning. This morning I'm waiting for the mathematics section, praying that I can pass. You may begin. I work frantically because I know that I wont have time for them all. I never do. I can be left with fifteen minutes left to stew at the end of the Critical Thinking but with Math every second is precious.
Ooh! I know that! Add... carry the one. circle circle. And... hmm. I think... If I put... Yeah! And that's not an option. I used to be good at trig! I scribble in the scratch margins. I'll come back to that one.
Five minutes remaining.
What?! Fill all the bubbles. C, circle circle. C, circle circle. C.
Three minutes left. I think if I ... Yes! Erase, erase. A, circle, circle.
Oh, this I can do! Ok! Smile. That one actually was C. Flip back and forth for something I recognise.
Round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel... Plus B squared minus 4AC all over 2A. Thank you Mrs. Pack. I doubt I'll ever forget the quadratic equation even though I haven't used it since eighth grade.
Pencils down.
Ugh. I can never do it fast enough.
Hurry and collect the test booklets! Pressure from the numbers has made me desperate to use this five minute break to pee.
Two hours down. Two to go... if we end on time, which we wont.
I read and scribble as fast as I can. Maybe I'll actually be able to sleep tonight.

God Loves Irony

Foiled again!!!
Carrying his armload of stolen goods the thief sprints for the getaway vehicle - when suddenly the jeans slide down the shiny backside of the would-be-shoplifter.
You stumble and fall.
I laugh at the video of your lily-white tushy on aol's homepage.
It's a sight that soothes my soul and proves to me that God has a sence of humor and ironic timing. And gravity punks the punk... now!
You drop your armload of whatevers in favor of skinning your palms and hastily yanking up your droopy drawers and screaming at your buddy to hit the gas.
What did you get from this? Nothing.
Because you were foiled again... By fashion.
Mmmm. Good stuff.
Because I hate your saggy pants.
I don't want to see your plaid boxers, or find out that you are going comando today.
I wish I had a bucket of spackle to fill in that crack.
But instead I settle for the satisfaction of knowing that you can't run with the same bowl-legged walk you use to hold your britches around your knees. Can't do it.
Some crime-boss are you.
(If you hate baggy bottoms, google the 'devolution of the trouser.')

Yard Work

A glorious morning in quiet suburbia. The immaculate lawns glistening emerald with morning dew. Edged to perfection and not a weed in sight of the ordinary split-levels that litter the street. All the flowers are in boxes or planters. All is as it should be.
Then there's my yard.
Oh yes. I'm that neighbor.
I was the child that kicked the puffs of seeds to see how far they would float. Right over the fence into your yard.
I keep the weeds mowed... I do. I lop off the dandelion heads as soon as they pop up high enough. I think they're pretty. A sprinkling of yellow in my grass. Except for that cluster of tulips that stand alone in my lawn. I have no idea how they got there. But they're pretty too, so I leave them.
i try to be courteous and pick the seed pods before they bloom. I try to contain the neighborhood hazard.
I could get fertilizer and weedkiller and all that jazz.
But then I would have a patch of dirt. Do you have any idea how much sod costs?
Oh, yes. I'm that neighbor.
More weeds than grass. Yappy dogs. Flowers in a patch, not a box.
College student. Homework before yard care.
Savages.
Living with my single mom. Spring cleaning before tree trimming.
Savages!
If I have time this summer I'll de-weed the lawn. Maybe.
Or maybe I'll learn to decorate cakes instead.

Lung Cancer Is For Sharing

(If you aren't familiar with satire you might want to hit wiki and look it up, otherwise you wont get the title) So I'm waiting Grand Central for my bus (you might also want to familiarize yourself with the word 'poverty.' Although unless you're a CEO or a senator, you probably know that term pretty well). It's a public place so all the puffers are puff puff puffin' away. And (just like pedestrians on the crosswalk) they space themselves just so, and no matter which way the wind blows I feel another two minutes docked off my life. I've known people who smoke and they would check and put me up wind of them, so we could both be happy. But you can't do that when there is no down wind, or when the people in question are all fifty feet away from you in various directions forming a smoker-circle. I'm sure you're nice people but ... icky.
Kissing you must be like licking an ashtray.
I guess what I'm saying is no, I don't have a lighter.

Almost three years? How sad is that?

Having graduated high school and nearly completed my AS degree, I have since discovered that there are men who do dance backwards in high heels. Talk about disillusionment. Say hey cuz I'm back baby!