Crap, and plenty of it...
I don't often get headaches, in fact they're so rare for me, I don't know what works for one of mine, really. Weird, I know. So it was especially discomfitting that I woke up with one today. Plus iffy stomach, just for fun. Yuck. I had trouble doing anything, but I kept trying. My eyes were so light-sensitive I wore sunglasses until noon. Indoors. Honestly thought of calling in sick to work, but I would have hated to do that on the Friday before a holiday weekend. So I went and stuck it out as best I could. Finally bailed at the three-hour mark, because I'd noticed that I was unable to smile and be pleasant to people. That leaves me with a paycheck for less than fourteen hours this week. However, before I left, the front end coordinator gave me another five and a half hour shift next week. I think know she likes me.
Ray has written about what it's like to live across from a house where they're having an estate sale. It was tough dealing with the traffic on the street, especially considering that this is not an exclusive neighborhood, but it's isolated with regard to through-traffic. I like the sense of isolation, and find it jarring when fifty or so cars are parked along the street at various times during the day. I noticed quickly that few actual sales were being made, from the empty hands of people coming out of the house. At one point I walked over to another house across the street, and as I came back, I encountered a woman who regularly shops at the store where I work. She asked if I were going into the sale, I said no, and she volunteered that they "have a lot of nice things there". Yeah. A glance at her booty revealed: one decent chef's knife, a large floral china platter, a smaller plate of some sort, and a picture frame which evidently never held a photo other than the one the manufacturer shipped it with. In other words, crap. I find this particularly interesting because I've seen this customer's house from driving by it on Sheridan Drive. It is plain from what I've seen that she's a hoarder. The grounds are augmented with a little of this, a little of that, and plenty of weeds. I bet anything she's buying crap to add to her stacks of crap inside the house. Eeee gads.
Another note about the parking: a couple walked across the yard of the neighbor next to the estate sale house to get to their car on the adjacent street. The owner of that house is the mean old guy whose health must have just slipped a notch and who therefore gave away his beautiful dog, Buddy. MOG is the type of person who yells at school kids who step on his lawn before waiting for the bus there. I hope/fear he sees this latest trespass on his sacred property and bursts a blood vessel just after. It would serve him right.
A person similar to the hoarder lives two doors over from the house with the estate sale. The woman of the house gardens. Sorta. Really sorta. She buys plants, puts them in her front garden area. Then never actually digs a hole and plants them. I traversed this field of failure in taking a tennis ball over there today. At least maybe it's their tennis ball. It showed up in our front lawn this morning and I logically thought it might be theirs. She and her son play tennis in the street when it suits them, on a court somewhere when it suits them. Okay. But years ago, when I locked myself out of our house, I navigated to theirs to use a phone, call Ray, etc. When I crossed the threshold, it was bizarre. Clean stuff, dirty stuff, clothes, dishes, books, whatever. All over the floors, all over the other horizontal surfaces. Scary place. I had to pick a path between stuff to find a place to kneel on the floor. Since then, it's become obvious that they cannot put vehicles in their garage. Ever. Because of all the crap they have in there. But !?! they own and use a boat. Yeah. I can't imagine what that's like. Yikes.
You know what? I really like our house and what we've done with it over the years.
In other news, my daughter's boyfriend Cameron got and accepted a job offer from Wegmans today. I have so many emotions around this, it's amazing. He is deserving. I will do anything to help him, especially because it's painfully clear his biological father is hampered by his biological mother who pretty much can't help herself, when it comes to nurturing her own damn son. I fervently hope this is the beginning of a far-better chapter in his life.
Ray has written about what it's like to live across from a house where they're having an estate sale. It was tough dealing with the traffic on the street, especially considering that this is not an exclusive neighborhood, but it's isolated with regard to through-traffic. I like the sense of isolation, and find it jarring when fifty or so cars are parked along the street at various times during the day. I noticed quickly that few actual sales were being made, from the empty hands of people coming out of the house. At one point I walked over to another house across the street, and as I came back, I encountered a woman who regularly shops at the store where I work. She asked if I were going into the sale, I said no, and she volunteered that they "have a lot of nice things there". Yeah. A glance at her booty revealed: one decent chef's knife, a large floral china platter, a smaller plate of some sort, and a picture frame which evidently never held a photo other than the one the manufacturer shipped it with. In other words, crap. I find this particularly interesting because I've seen this customer's house from driving by it on Sheridan Drive. It is plain from what I've seen that she's a hoarder. The grounds are augmented with a little of this, a little of that, and plenty of weeds. I bet anything she's buying crap to add to her stacks of crap inside the house. Eeee gads.
Another note about the parking: a couple walked across the yard of the neighbor next to the estate sale house to get to their car on the adjacent street. The owner of that house is the mean old guy whose health must have just slipped a notch and who therefore gave away his beautiful dog, Buddy. MOG is the type of person who yells at school kids who step on his lawn before waiting for the bus there. I hope/fear he sees this latest trespass on his sacred property and bursts a blood vessel just after. It would serve him right.
A person similar to the hoarder lives two doors over from the house with the estate sale. The woman of the house gardens. Sorta. Really sorta. She buys plants, puts them in her front garden area. Then never actually digs a hole and plants them. I traversed this field of failure in taking a tennis ball over there today. At least maybe it's their tennis ball. It showed up in our front lawn this morning and I logically thought it might be theirs. She and her son play tennis in the street when it suits them, on a court somewhere when it suits them. Okay. But years ago, when I locked myself out of our house, I navigated to theirs to use a phone, call Ray, etc. When I crossed the threshold, it was bizarre. Clean stuff, dirty stuff, clothes, dishes, books, whatever. All over the floors, all over the other horizontal surfaces. Scary place. I had to pick a path between stuff to find a place to kneel on the floor. Since then, it's become obvious that they cannot put vehicles in their garage. Ever. Because of all the crap they have in there. But !?! they own and use a boat. Yeah. I can't imagine what that's like. Yikes.
You know what? I really like our house and what we've done with it over the years.
In other news, my daughter's boyfriend Cameron got and accepted a job offer from Wegmans today. I have so many emotions around this, it's amazing. He is deserving. I will do anything to help him, especially because it's painfully clear his biological father is hampered by his biological mother who pretty much can't help herself, when it comes to nurturing her own damn son. I fervently hope this is the beginning of a far-better chapter in his life.