VICTORY
I figure this is special enough an event to warrant my return to LJ.
The bane of my existence for the past several days has been one lanky "sup, brah" dude who has been practicing his futbol technique in the parking lot adjacent to my building. This "practice" consists of him kicking a soccer ball as hard as he can against an apparently deserted house that lines the opposite end of the lot. The problem with this? I work at 4 a.m. in the morning, and generally sleep in the afternoon. Which unfortunately is when people like to play sports. OK. Whatever. Quit whining like a little girl and allow normal people their normal daytime activities...
HE WAS DOING THIS AT 3 a.m. YESTERDAY. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
*ahem*
Anyway, get off from work today, run my errands, and I'm ready for bed by 5 p.m. Who should appear in said parking lot but "sup, brah." At this point, I actually considered going out and asking him to tone it the fuck down, but what happened next was the equivalent for me of, oh I dunno, catching the one wreck during 10 hours of NASCAR coverage?
*rolling* *kick* *SMASH!*
I seriously had just walked to the window to observe when this kid's errant kick sends the source of my annoyance straight through the house's window. Oh no! Let me grab my mop of pain-stakingly disheveled hair in despair! The tragedy!
FUCK YOU, SOCCER. I WIN.
...until he buys a new soccer ball.
The bane of my existence for the past several days has been one lanky "sup, brah" dude who has been practicing his futbol technique in the parking lot adjacent to my building. This "practice" consists of him kicking a soccer ball as hard as he can against an apparently deserted house that lines the opposite end of the lot. The problem with this? I work at 4 a.m. in the morning, and generally sleep in the afternoon. Which unfortunately is when people like to play sports. OK. Whatever. Quit whining like a little girl and allow normal people their normal daytime activities...
HE WAS DOING THIS AT 3 a.m. YESTERDAY. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
*ahem*
Anyway, get off from work today, run my errands, and I'm ready for bed by 5 p.m. Who should appear in said parking lot but "sup, brah." At this point, I actually considered going out and asking him to tone it the fuck down, but what happened next was the equivalent for me of, oh I dunno, catching the one wreck during 10 hours of NASCAR coverage?
*rolling* *kick* *SMASH!*
I seriously had just walked to the window to observe when this kid's errant kick sends the source of my annoyance straight through the house's window. Oh no! Let me grab my mop of pain-stakingly disheveled hair in despair! The tragedy!
FUCK YOU, SOCCER. I WIN.
...until he buys a new soccer ball.