I can't remember if it was the day before I went in the hospital or the day I got out, but I got a call from the female part of the New Kids. I'm not a nice sick person, ask Bambie. Some people are patient and kind even when their sick. I'm almost never that way (sick or well) and this probably accounts for the small number of friends who still speak to me. If you put your foot in your mouth in my presence, I'm likely to point it out to you. Nice people will probably pretend they didn't notice, and go right on with the civil conversation and reasonable tone of voice. Not me.
The female part of the New Kids called to tell me they would be moving in April or May. This means they will no longer be making the slightest effort to help out, since they now have no incentive to stay on my good side. They were trying to at least stay out of my way before, since there have been problems from the start. I should have listened to Madam Z who left a comment to my post about the New Kids when they first moved in. Here is her comment in full:
I was happy to have the New Kids move into the main house. I thought that would allow me to concentrate on my little part of this little slice of a moderately good life. I also thought that their both being writers we'd understand each other. Oh dream on, ancient one.
I don't know why I always assume that an adult male will know how to screw in a lightbulb. When I grew up men were either taught things by their fathers or they learned how to do things during their time in the Military. Those were the days. Now it seems men don't even know how to empty an ashtray or take out the garbage. This particular one doesn't seem to know how to use a rake either. I blame their parents, but that doesn't get them off the hook entirely. If no one taught you how to empty an ashtray and you are the only smoker in your household, pick up the ashtray that looks like a bristling porcupine, so overstuffed with brown butts it is, and walk the ten feet to the garbage can outside, lift the lid, and dump the goddamned contents in the trash. How hard can it be? I know six year olds who could handle a chore that simple.
The female part of the New Kids had unfortunate timing in calling me either they day I went into the hospital or the day I got home. Neither day was very pleasant for me. But hearing that they were going to move after only staying here a couple of months really pissed me off. What is it with young people who move every few months? My guess is they bit off more than they can chew, economically speaking. And I think they thought they could leave their two dogs outside all the time they were gone and their dogs would behave themselves and not piss off the neighbors. If you have an untrained border collie who doesn't get much attention, it will find some fairly negative and destructive way to complain.
Yesterday when I got home from my doctor appointment I checked the mail before heading back to my cottage. There was a gas bill. Since I did not have them put the utilities in their names (just in case) I was curious to see if they paid the past month's bill. They had not. I was already pissed off and not feeling very good, physically. Then when I walked through the gate into the back of the property, I noticed the three ashtrays lined up on the side of the grill all stuffed with butts. Torque that temper a little tighter.
I needed to change my sheets and do laundry so I opened the door to the laundry room to discover that the door to their house was open. Hot air was blasting out of their house, since the laundry room isn't terribly well insulated and airtight. I find this after discovering that they didn't pay last month's gas bill. I snap! No one is home so I just walk in and turn down the thermostat which is set at 70 degrees on day that's sunny and balmy. I'm sure their dogs, barking from one of the bedrooms upstairs, are hot. Heat rises and it's hot downstairs. I'm guessing they might have windows cracked upstairs and the sucking sound is gas being wasted. I object to this on so many levels, but is it really any of my business? It is now.
Sunday Morning Bobblehead Thread
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