Department Of Revenge Fantasies I Hope I Can Refrain From Enacting
Previously, moiself has written in this space about The Little Drug House On The Prairie ® the drug and alcohol halfway house which moved in next door last autumn. I wish only good things for the revolving cast [1] of recovering addicts in their quest to maintain their sobriety and become the proverbial Productive Members of Society. [2] However, it is a continual burr under my saddle to note – read: smell – that most if not all of the occupants of the so-called “drug-free” house are allowed to maintain and practice their addiction to the drug nicotine via the delivery system of smoking cigarettes, which kills more people than alcohol, car accidents, AIDS, illegal drugs, murders, and suicides combined.
The house residents are forbidden from lighting up indoors (fire regulations) or on their front porch or front yard (house rules). Thus, first thing in the morning before they leave the house and then again in the late afternoon when the residents return to the house, [3] and after that until bedtime/curfew time, [4] they leave skidmarks heading out to the house’s back porch/deck to light up their toxic torches cigarettes.
The house’s backyard deck is on the side of the property next to the fence which separates their backyard from ours. Like most smokers, the house’s residents seemingly don’t know/care that their effluence does not remain hovering around those who produce it, but instead migrates to… Other People. [5] We don’t use our backyard anymore – gone are the much-cherished, leisurely summer dinners on our back patio with friends and family, because of the fumes wafting into our yard. Their smoke even drifts into our house if, as we are wont to do, we open our back porch door first thing in the morning in a futile attempt to get some “fresh” air.
Yesterday morning ~ 7 am, I went outside to pick our raspberries, which grow along the afore-mentioned fence. My picking bowl was only half full before I was chased inside by the smoke. Earlier in the week around the same time I had the back door open and was doing some morning stretches on the family room floor and suddenly…why does my house have that dreadful, rancid tobacco smell when THERE ARE NO SMOKERS LIVING IN MY HOME?!?!?!!
I told MH that I am very tempted to take up a collection of urine-soaked clay pellets from the various litter boxes [6] in our house, add a batch of particularly odiferous cat poop, [7] and let the collection “ferment” overnight. The next evening, when our neighbors begin their smoke-a-thon, I’ll fling the collection over the fence onto their back porch, with a note explaining that since they have been so generous with sharing their own particular, resident-specific aromas, I’d like to return the favor.
Then perhaps you know of another Klingon proverb about how bags of rancid cat shit are best served with an overhand fling….
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Department Of Sorry About That
Sometimes, when moiself is frustrated, the Really Mean Thoughts ® take over. Compassion is a daily struggle. I have found that taking an Annette Funicello/Beach Party movie break helps.
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Department Of Over-Thinking
“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
(Sigmund Freud )
What does it mean, when a college roommate’s ex-boyfriend – someone you haven’t seen or thought of in years – makes a cameo appearance in one of your dreams? Was my subconscious using him as a symbol of some other person, or object or allegory, or was the image created by a random firing of neurons?
Just wondering.
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Department Of Mere Words Cannot Describe How Little
This Local Newspaper Headline This Means To Me
World’s Largest Bounce House Rocks Hillsboro This Weekend [8]
(Hillsboro Tribune, 8-29-18)
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Department Of Things That Should Be A Thing, But Aren’t Yet
“You should put that on your iceberg.”
I refer to the above line – a survival piece of advice given by the “amputee stoner” character Jane, to the title character of The Miseducation of Cameron Post – which is one of the best movies of 2018, if I do say so moiself (and I just did).
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May you enjoy your revenge fantasies without enacting them;
May you have the opportunity to take an Annette Funicello/Beach Party movie break;
May mere words be unable to describe that which will rock your city this weekend;
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
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[1] The residents stay for a limited period of time; new are added when others “graduate” from the program.
[2] Even as we in the ‘hood curse the owners of the rehab, whose tactics of deceit and intimidation in establishing their business here were…regrettable, to say the least.
[3] The residents are mostly gone during the weekday, as they are required to go to either jobs/and or schools and/or various training and educational and rehab functions.
[4] Which seems to vary, but I’d guess is around 10 pm.
[5] And I have not asked them to move their smoking activity to another side of the property, because unless their house rules outlaw smoking entirely, they can only smoke in their backyard, and I would not feel “right” about having moved the problem to the rehab house’s two other neighbors – the elderly widow who babysits her grandchildren who play in her backyard, and the retired couple who seemingly spend all day with their grandchildren and other relatives in their backyard.
[6] Which rarely smell, even though we have four litter boxes, as we keep them clean and scoop each box at least twice daily.
[7] K’s cat, which is confined to the room he occupies, has some “intestinal issues” which cause her to occasionally produce feces that, aroma-wise, could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.
[8] Y’all understand now why I often head for the coast for the weekend? There’s just too much excitement for me to stay in town.
