Like when I’m in the Village, just standing around, observing things, and people walk by all cussing and shit? Talking about “Fuck this” and “Fuck that” and “Fuck her” and “Fuck him” or [some other comment or even some sexist comment]. Yeah, I can tolerate that. I obviously say ‘fuck’, too. Cause you know why? Because they’re drunk. I get drunk sometimes, too. And drunks often say shit they don’t mean. I know this.

But when I’m walking home, when I’m walking to my fucking FRONT DOOR minding my own shit, and some shirtless, beefcake drunk of an asshole is standing outside shouting, and I’m STILL minding my own business even though it’s one o’clock in the morning and he’s shouting, when this shirtless drunk asshole calls me a “fucking dumb bitch” just for the fuck of it? Yeah, that’s when I get angry.

Because I’m you’re fucking neighbor, asshole. And we’re supposed to be ‘neighborly’.

So, Hi, welcome to the fucking ‘Plex.

So you know what, Patrick? You and your fucking parties on the weekend? They can hum. Because we are having words tomorrow. When we’re sober. And they ain’t gonna be pretty.

You still haven’t addressed your other asshole friend pissing in my fucking Ficus. So that’s coming out, too.

‘Fucking dumb bitch’, indeed.

Holy fuck if we ain’t civilized up in here.

Again, Canadian, I miss you.

The Partner and I spent Friday night with his elder sister, who was visiting from out of town. We had been hanging out on campus, entertaining ourselves with the sight that is Weekend Before Classes Start. Which means: watching and mocking the scantily-clad gals in stilettos trying to get laid mixed with guys acting macho trying to get laid going in-between the four bars closest to campus. It’s always hilarious. This Friday night we were able to get spots next to a great group of folks, whose main aim was critiquing all the drunks as they passed by us.

Rule #1: If you’re out to get drunk, don’t wear fucking stilettos.

Rule #2: Make sure your skirt/dress covers your ass. Your whole ass.

Rule #3: Drink water.

Highlights of the night include seeing three different gals fall while trying to (1) exit a building and (2) get off the curb and into the street and (3) just walk down the sidewalk, and two random guys pissing in bushes, which were in plain sight. Much to my disappointment, there were no pukers, no fist fights, and no one was arrested in front of me.

We ended our night and proceeded to our car. On our way past a fast food joint, we saw a neighbor, Patrick, sitting/slumped on the stairs.

“Hey, Patrick! Thought you were having a party at your place tonight.”

“Oh my god! The Partner! Anne! [stand up, stumble forwards into The Partner] What’s up?! …Where are my friends?!”

A confused conversation ensues, wherein we manage to learn Patrick’s lost the location of the friends he’s supposed to be with and is so drunk he doesn’t care and just wants a ride home.

Yay, neighbors!

We get him to our car, I point out the little garbage bag in case of pukeage, and we drive home. The whole time Patrick’s all drunkard and yelling out of the window at random people.

We arrive home and stumble out of the car to find his lights are all on, the doors are all locked, the windows are locked, he has no keys, and no damn cell phone. By this point he’s belligerent, we’re trying to get him to drink water, and asking him to remember his roommate’s cell number. It becomes a cycle. He finally remembers the cell number.

I call the roommate.

“Hey, Roommate, this is Anne, your neighbor. We found Patrick and he’s really fucking drunk, and without keys, so can you come let him in?”

“Who? Who is this?”

“Your neighbor. Patrick is sick. Can you come home?”

“[garble, background bar noise, background bar noise]”

Hang up. Text message Roommate.

“This is your neighbor. We are with Patrick. He is very drunk and has no keys and doors are locked. Can you come let him in?”

Reply: “Yea be there soon.”

Twenty minutes pass. Patrick has been wandering around the backyard, yelling, sitting, passing out, trying each door, stumbling about. Two people come into the backyard, a gal and guy. Say they last saw him falling onto the floor of a bathroom at a campus bar and passing out, but they weren’t sure what happened to him.

My thoughts: What the fuck kind of friends are you to see your friend pass out on a bathroom floor and not take him home?

They don’t have the keys, or any cell numbers, and eventually leave.

I message Roommate again. “Patrick is really sick. He’s pissing on the wall. Has no keys. Can you come get him?”

Reply: “What? Whos this?”

“Jesus christ. This is your neighbor. Patrick is fucking drunk as hell, has no keys, can you come let him in?”

“Alright on our way damn.”

Ten minutes later two guys show up, one very drunk, and they wake up Patrick, who has since been passed out in a chair, and they’re all, “Dude, you totally fell down in that bathroom! We didn’t know what happened to you!”

Great friends.

Saturday we get back from breakfast and are outside letting George out to do his thing. Patrick was down with some other neighbors playing cornhole, comes over and is all, “I just want to let you guys know I’m not an alcoholic. It’s just our last bash before classes. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m totally going to make you guys dinner. I’m not an alcoholic. Thanks so much.”

Later in the day, around 5:45, The Partner and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating. There are people outside and it’s going good seeing as how folks have been drinking since 9am. Then some dude says, “I’m going to piss in this plant.”

The Partner and I look at each other. We leap and race each other to the door, as we’re the only folks on our side to have plants outside.

I get there first, throw open the screen door, only to see some skinny drunk dude pissing into my fucking ficus benjamina.

“WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT!”

The guy stuffs himself back into his pants. Looks shocked.

The Partner starts in, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOUR THINKING?”

I’m all, “YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! There’s a fucking FENCE there, fucking piss on that!”

He’s all, “It’s only water!” and goes to the fence to finish peeing.

I’m all, “It’s only water!? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! Let me piss on you, asshole, it’s only water!”

Yeah, the fucking students are back.

Jeff, I miss you.

At 11am yesterday, my university decided it wasn’t that bad, only a little bit bad, so they called a “snow recess” from noon Tuesday to noon today.

My only problem with this recess — okay, my second problem with this recess, the first being the university calling it a “recess” — is this:

My university actually expects me to venture out of my home and find my way to campus this afternoon.

UPDATE: While composing this post, my university came to their senses and at 10am has decided to cancel all classes today. I think the fact the county has requested no one leave their homes had something to do with it.

Here are some shots taken yesterday, last night, and this morning of the effects of this so-called blizzard.

By 11:10am the snow was beginning to drift in our backyard.

By 1pm our neighbors came out with their dog, Dice, looking for The Canadian’s dog, Zoe. The Partner joined them with George, while I stayed inside the door and took pictures because I’m still sick from last Thursday. I hate being sick.

Because of the drifting snow, some parts of our backyard were waist-deep — or chest-deep on Zoe, a lab.

Poor George with his little legs had to take flying leaps to get over the drift. He’s so cute.

Zoe could just manage the drift.

Around 3:30pm an idiot was trying to get into his parking spot, got stuck, and some neighbors were kind enough to help him.

And here’s evidence of how mean The Partner and I are: we see this commotion and notice something special. Instead of averting our eyes, we look at each other and The Partner yells, “Get your camera!”

If those guys had turned around, they would have seen us both standing in front of the window, fighting to get the best shot of this dude’s ass hanging out of his pants.

Try as he did, they kept falling.

Here’s a shot of the snow building up at our front door by 3:36pm:

By 10:40pm the snow/drifting snow had trapped us and our cars.

Here’s George coming back from a pee after braving the backyard

At 8:45am this is what we awoke to:

Here’s George being cute again.

I hope you are all safe and warm.

EDITED 07-24-08: Link to WLFI article expired.

Thank you, neighbors, thank you.

I’m going to be driving my car a few blocks this morning, parking it in some ghetto student neighborhood, and walking the rest of the way to class. But my justification is that I’ve got another dentist appointment this morning, a mere half-hour after class, and my dentist is on the other side of town. I can either walk the entire way to class, thus busting ass to get home and driving like a crazed loon in order to make it on time, or I can drive at least half the way to campus and save about 15 minutes.

See that? I’m justified.

It was so extreme of an action against an animal that it forced me to scream out, “Hey, dude! What the fuck?!”

I absolutely will not stand to see an animal abused, or even roughly handled in such a manner. It was my very first instinct to yell out at the guy, if that gives any indication as to how he was handling the dog. He mumbled something about how I should see how much stuff he chewed up.

The thing is, the dog is a puppy, and once more, it’s a beautiful, black great dane puppy. Already the dog is monsterous, and I’m not sure what he expects out of him at such a young age. I don’t think it’s fun to be cooped up in an apartment, being a big puppy and all. Plus, puppies chew shit. That’s what they do.

I hate people that take on the responsibility of dog guardianship and then act like assholes to the dog. It’s not tolerated in my community.