Current mood: Furious. Hang on. Lemme get some socks. It’s COLD up in here.
…Okay. Now that I have on lavender fluffy socks I can really get angry.
As you know, from your Big Book of June Events, the guy next door has no water or power. He did have all those things because he had a woman living there, a woman who had a cat named Sissy, and that cat named Sissy was MY cat’s best friend. Therefore, said woman became known as Sissy’s Mom.
Sissy’s Mom was nice, and sometimes when she was running low on cat food I helped her out. I also helped her with flea meds. And to be fair, Milhous took many, many meals over there because Sissy’s Mom enjoyed watching the two cats eat together on the deck. They really were best friends. And it seemed like she was good for my neighbor and vice versa. Or, if you want to stick in my craw, visa versa. (Also, it’s YIN yang. Not ying.)
But then they broke up, Sissy’s Mom and the guy next door did. And it’s a shame, because she needed a place to live and he clearly needed help paying the goddamn water bill.
She’s gone from the neighborhood now, and Milhous runs around this house at a breakneck pace, turning to butter, with nowhere to get his energy out because he doesn’t have a young friend to run about with any longer.
Always get two kittens at a time; that’s my advice to you.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to be nice. The guy next door was regularly knocking on my door at night, which scares me every time it happens, and asks for things. Water, matches, a candle. I had to give him a really nice box of matches (one of those really big wooden boxes, that, to be fair, I got from my friends Chris and Lilly) (I asked if they had matches once and got this behemoth box when I thought they’d have a small bendy pack of matches, you know the kind I mean?) and my favorite French-vanilla lavender candle. Matches m’socks.
I eventually told him to just take water from my hose, put it in my bucket (I also gave him a bucket), no need to ask.
Yesterday I came home for EIGHT SECONDS between work and working out and the guy across the street, who I will call Mike, came bustling over. Oh, now what, I thought.
“That guy next door to you moved someone in and I saw him at your hose with a big five-gallon bucket,” he said. “I made him move along.”
Mike can be a busybody, but I’d heard people had moved in next door, and now I was a little ticked off. I said ONE guy could take my water. I don’t want to be supplying water for a family of six or what have you.
Sure enough, a large man was on my next-door neighbor’s porch. He waved at me. “Evenin’!” he enthused.
Yes. It is.
I left for my workout and came home, fed everyone, tended to the Eds, made something to eat (I act like I chopped carrots or something and didn’t throw a Lean Cuisine in the microwave) and I was finally, FINALLY, sitting down to catch up on some Poldark, which I don’t even like but now I have to know why that one guy is hallucinating his dead wife, when
WOO WOO WOOO WOOO! said Edsel, and thank god for him. From behind a door, Edsel sounds way more like he’d enjoy killing you rather than getting tea and catching a musical at the community theater.
Every time someone knocks after dark, it scares me. Are people that fucking clueless that they can’t for ONE SECOND put themselves in the place of a woman living alone hearing THE DOOR at 10 p.m.? Do they just not care?
WHO IS IT, I said, trying to sound armed.
“It’s Tommy, next door.”
No it wasn’t.
“NO, IT’S NOT,” armed and dangerous June said.
“It’s his friend. Do you have any seasoning salt?”
Seasoning salt? Who are you, Wolfgang Fuckedup? Seasoning salt. Did he just mean salt, by the way?
“No,” I said, assuming he really meant seasoning salt, which I do not have because MSG. “I can’t answer the door right now anyway.”
“What about pepper,” asked Chef Boy-he-has-nerve-ardee.
“I’M GOING TO BED,” I sterned, and shut off my porch light.
“What about a charger to–“
I don’t even know what the fuck else he asked because I had to LEAVE MY LIVING ROOM, TURN OUT THE LIGHTS, so I’d look like I was really going to bed, just so I wouldn’t be harassed at 10 o’clock at night.
Goddammit. I mean, that seriously pisses me off. Does he not realize HE IS A STRANGER?? Even if he meant well, which I doubt, Mr. Fifty Reasons to Get You to Open the Door, WHO DOES THAT?
So this morning I left a note on my front door that reads, If it’s dark out and you knock, I won’t answer but I WILL call the police.
I’ve become that person.
I’m done being nice. I experimented with nice, and it turns out being nice is stupid.
And why didn’t my actual neighbor knock if he was seeking the elusive seasoning salt? Why send a stranger to my door? And what are they batching up, over there, with literally no power?
Oh, I am LIVID. I’m opening up a can of Evelyn, the grandmother I’ve turned into. Why don’t you seasoning salt a can of Evelyn’s whupass, motherfuckers?
Anyway, that’s my latest and if I turn up dead you’ll know Dr. Pepper over there is who did me in. Jesus. Great salted Jesus.
That’s all I’ve got to tell you, other than I was amused by something this morning and you probably can’t identify unless you ever had a blog or what have you.
There’s a woman whose videos I admire due to her makeup skillz, and I also follow her on Instagram. She’s always called herself Crystal, and this whole time I just assumed that was really her name. Today she has a post up and I read her comments, and someone was all, “You look as beautiful as you always have, Amanda.”
In a million years I’d have never guessed her to be an Amanda. I’m gonna tell you right away I can’t take another day AMANDA.
And it amused me because there’s always that asshole. There always is. It’s someone you knew in college or they taught you gym in fifth grade or whatever but they just don’t get the concept. I can’t tell you how many comments here I used to sweatily edit that said, “Karen, you are still as funny as you were at day camp in 1976″ or whatever.
Now I don’t think there’s a single one of you who doesn’t know my actual name and, in stalkier cases, ex-boyfriend’s names and where we live and what my desk at work looks like and the results of my colonoscopy. So whenever someone Karens me now I just give up.
JUNE. For real. JUNE.