adventures in awkward

When I was young there was a woman who lived across the street from me that I had on good authority to be a witch. She lived in a small one-story house closed in by a tall wooden fence with paint chipping off, and covered in a shade of pine trees. Let’s be real here – she scared the ever-living shit out of me and all of the other kids I knew. Theories flooded the neighborhood, and when you’re an impressionable six-year-old, it’s not a big leap into believing she killed her husband and let her dog eat his corpse in some sort of sadistic ritual. I was convinced. Every time I saw her walking her massive German Shepherd down the street, I clutched my Cabbage Patch Kid, hid, and sent out a few prayers. She frightened me so much I’d start crying if I was alone outside, or if I thought she caught me through a window. It was a truly terrifying time. She was my Boo Radley.

I’ve had an ongoing issue with one of the neighborhood kids in my cul-de-sac. I’ve posted about him before – making him swim in dog-poop-water, and kicking him in the balls one night when he walked – without knocking – in my front door. To sum it up, he’s a kid that has no respect for anybody and has asshole parents that don’t pay attention to him. I haven’t had much issue with him lately, except for the fact he leaves shit in my yard all the time even after I ask him multiple times to move them. So, I decided to start storing them in my garage for him, you know, so they don’t get ruined. I wouldn’t want his pretty new bike to get rusted or something, right? Okay, I’m a petty thief. I’ll admit it.  I noticed him yesterday evening knocking on every person’s door but mine looking for his bike. He would glance over towards our house, but he was too afraid to come ask. I even went outside to get the mail, giving him a chance to talk to me in a neutral area, but he scurried away inside the second I started to emerge.

This kid literally ran away from me and was willing to give up his new bike just so he didn’t have to talk to me. That’s pretty bad. So, I’ve come to the sad realization that I am somebody’s Boo Radley, too. I don’t know if I should take it as an honor, or feel bad about it. Am I that crazy that the townsfolk are scared of me? Should I try to make nice with these kids, or ride it out until Halloween and  try to scare them so much it’ll be a night they’ll never forget? What do I do with this great power?

(Don’t worry, this morning I wheeled his bike back to his front yard. I didn’t actually intend on keeping it.)

On another note – today is my 3-year-anniversary for signing up on WordPress. Woo! Granted, I didn’t start actually blogging until months after that.

marriage

Today is Alex and my wedding anniversary. Can we give him a round of applause, please? Dealing with me on a daily basis is a whole roller-coaster of crazy. And not a fun one where you scream, throw your hands in the air, and make a plan with your friends to give a big thumbs-up and a cheesy grin to the camera as you zoom by on the rails. Keep your arms and legs inside the cart at all times, folks, or you might lose one. 

toystoryhug

Even though I’m a bit crazy, our marriage is quite the opposite. We have an easy, respectful and loving relationship, and I couldn’t possibly be more grateful. I thought it would be fun to share a poem I wrote for Alex this year. Now, let me forewarn you: an 8-year-old has better poetry skills than I do. (I probably haven’t written one since then, anyway) This poem was meant to be a silly joke, and that’s all.

“Oh Alex, I really love you
And the way that you love me
Your butt, your smile, your sense of humor,
Jesus, you make me so crazy.

You’re sexy when you’re cleaning
Take charge of that litter box!
Hurry up, now. I can’t stand it
Strip down into your socks!

Thank you for accepting me,
Farts, hairiness, and all
Even when I shed like crazy,
And leave it on the shower wall

I’ll love you ’til you’re old and wrinkly,
I’m honored to be your wife
You’re stuck with me forever, babe
I’m yo bitch fo’ life”

I know, I know. I won’t quit my day job.