Tag Archives: poop

rear window.

image courtesy IMDB

Daryl and I have lived at our current location for close to 5 years now. Our 2nd floor condo has a small tastefully decorated patio that overlooks several other areas of our condo-opolis. During the warm days of summer, I like to partake in the occasional cocktail whilst (hate pretentious writers that use that word, but I’ve always wanted to use it myself just because… I can) observing this condo-opolis community whilst tossing the obligatory three-finger wave to those neighbors that insist on communicating.

I remember, as a teen, being infatuated with the 1954 Hitchcock thriller, entitled Rear Window staring James Stewart and Grace Kelly (not to be confused with a favorite porn flick entitled “Back Door” starring Mitch Cock). I’ve always considered myself an “observer” of life’s situations and I believed to have a front row seat (albeit a WHEELchair and armed with high-power binoculars) like Mr. Stewart would be the perfect way to do just that!

That being said, I have recorded several “observations” from our 2nd story patio. We live in a rather diverse neighborhood, so please bear in mind that I am in no way perpetuating stereotypes, however I can only say what I saw… see what I saw… seesaw…

These observations are in no particular order:

Mexicans do all the landscaping.

Black men do all the trash pick up.

“The Gays” have the prettiest patios.

Lesbians have the sturdiest decks.

Italians have the smallest decks, but act like they’re huge.

Baptists play Gospel music the loudest (for some reason more so when the gays/lesbians are having friends over).

Thugs always have cars with tinted windows, the deepest bassed music blaring from the tiniest of speakers and usually three out of four shiny hubcaps.

Republicans always fly American flags.

Democrats usually have pretty flower or cute bunny flags.

Blue collar maintenance men have the filthiest mouths and the nicest asses.

Fat people don’t pick up their dog’s shit.

Men always spit.

Retired folks always have a bench or a chair just outside their front door, under a hand-made wreath.

The mailman has the best looking legs.

Little kids always stomp UP the hall stairs, run DOWN the hall stairs, and never fail to SLAM the front door.

The UPS guy is always hot.

Birds always dive at rogue cats.

Cats always ignore diving birds.

And finally, baby strollers are beginning to look like SUV’s as are the Mother’s pushing them.

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bathroom mystery solved

I found this in the bathroom the other day and wondered what the hell it was.

At first glance, it looked like some sort of shoe gadget. You know, one of those things the manufacturers put in a shoe to help keep its shape? Daryl DID just recently purchase a pair of sneakers online (which I told him was probably not the best way to purchase shoes) and I thought perhaps it was from one of those.

The sneakers he purchased really couldn’t sneak up on much of anything though. He put them on like a giddy 9 year old who thought he would be able to run faster and jump higher! That is until he got out on the sidewalk in front of our condo. He was behind me as I heard the dreaded “squeak… squeak… squeak” of his walk in what we now refer to as his “squeakers.” At least he kept the receipt, if we can locate it.

As I got down on the floor to more closely examine this “molded plastic,” I noticed a couple of used Q-tips and a huge lint slash hair ball behind the toilet. I was beginning to realize that I needed to clean the bathroom a little better next time as I finally came to the conclusion that this unknown white thing was not for a shoe.

As I lay on the bathroom floor in my robe I wondered if maybe it was some sort of “spork?” It had a handle and it appeared as though one could hold it like a utensil to eat with right? However, I deducted that an eating utensil would most likely never be found in one’s bathroom. Although, recently, I did find myself finishing a half bag of popcorn one night after some extended wine drinking while sitting on the hopper. Sorry for the image.

Still unsure as to what this mystery plastic was on the floor of the bathroom, I had an “a-ha” moment and realized it MUST be a sex toy! After all it has a handle, and odd shaped holes all over no matter which way I turned it, so it must be something from ToyBox.com right? With all of our “frequent-buyer” points, perhaps this was a “bonus gift with case” purchase that Daryl ordered as a surprise for me?

To my dismay, as I examined this white synthetic mystery much closer, I noticed the word “Hydra” embossed within its wide mouth and realized that it was simply a holder for a razor. I immediately wondered why Daryl would keep it around after ripping the razor from its package and realized with a grin that the man keeps everything. He’s one of those hoarders you see on TV that lives under piles of stuff. I’d snap a few photos to illustrate this to you, but I’ve already signed an agreement at the onset of our relationship that I have to run photos involving personal space, ass shots, shower pics and sleeping drool portraits past my partner first. Sheesh. As if I’d expose anything about our private lives online.

Now, I have to get up off the bathroom floor. ugh.

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Poop fest.

So this morning after I finally talked myself into having a great attitude for the upcoming day after a week of dismal sales, I came to THIS on my car roof.

It’s as if the entire bird population of West Goshen decided that Ed needed a little public humiliation before the start to his day. I mean, it looked like a “poop fest” on the roof of my car!

One would assume that birds, having evolved from a world of terrifying dinosaurs that eat everything in sight down to these sweet little flying creatures that mankind now runs over on the highway with nary a break light and also has delegated to cages in your local Pet Smart, would want revenge with their little feathery minds; and what better way to do that than to sh*t all over my car? I was targeted I tell you!

Already running late for work, I had to speed down Route 202 trying to get all the lights so I wouldn’t have to STOP so small children could point and giggle at the guy with the sh*t covered car. There’s just something that’s not cool about that. Also, you can’t look professional or sexy when as you steal a glance at the car next to you at a red light through several white runny explosions of the diet of a full flock of birds.

So AFTER work, I immediately RUSHED to the nearest carwash and “flushed” the offensive excess excrement off of my vehicle. Whew! I felt SO much better.

I think tonight for dinner I’m going to make a STUFFED chicken or perhaps a big ol’ plate of WINGS. Bastards.

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Dog poop is not sexy.

I’ve lived in a loft center city, I’ve lived in a rural historic village in the country, I’ve lived in a row home, and I’ve lived in a cookie-cutter development in the outskirts of suburbia. Throughout all of these residences, there has been man’s best friend the DOG. Either mine OR someone else’s.

Love ‘em. REALLY I do. Daryl and I don’t have one currently because we just don’t think it would be fair with our schedules to give it enough attention and time… and I personally don’t want to come home at the end of the day to take it outside. The cute and cuddly payoff just isn’t working for me at this phase of my life.

When you DON’T have a dog, you seem to notice a little more about OTHERS who DO. I actually don’t recognize individual people in our development if I don’t see them WITH their pooch. It’s like they’re a “couple.”

To tell you the truth, on mornings like this when it’s very cold and somewhat icy… I’m SO glad I don’t have to throw on a pair of sweats, a coat, hat, gloves, scarves, shoes and sunglasses so I can take the dog out to “do its business.” Granted, if you have a fenced-in yard, you’re gold. A daily or weekly shovel run and no one is the wiser. City and condo living, on the other hand, give new meaning to dog poop control.

How graceful is it to watch a 20-something woman, dressed to the hilt with 4 to 5 inch killer pumps, bending over with a clear bag no less, picking up a pile of shit? I know, I know… it’s daily living, and at least she IS picking it up unlike so many who “forget,” but I have yet to see ANYone look “cute” picking up after their pooch; and the fact that you have to carry the little  bag with you while chit chatting with the other dog owner neighbors is just not hot. Flipping the bag around in circles, flirting with the hunky guy with the Pit Bull who has an even larger bag of it tied around his waist.

Do I have a solution for this “pet peeve” of mine? Not really. Just remember the next time you’re bending over clawing at a fresh, steaming pile of crap that SOMEone is watching and SMH.  : )

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