spew it real good

1. Potentially the dumbest dude in America, besides the guy who hit our car and has yet to be found, (because he isn't returning phone calls and when the insurance collectors go to his house, the blinds are drawn and he's under the bed or whatever: note to internet, if you ever want to not have your insurance rates rise after cluelessy backing into someone, simply DON'T SHOW YR FACE. Apparently, this way, you never have to worry about whatever accident you caused. Your insurace will just shrug their shoulders on your behalf when someone makes a claim against you, and be all "can't find him") and our dog, who is just fucking ridiculously dumb, is the guy who works in my parking garage. Every weekday morning for the past 7 months, I have driven in in one of two cars. There are only a few of us monthly people- it is a small garage. Some mornings, he waves and it is as if we are old friends and should go get a brew sometime. Some mornings, he panics, and frantically cranes his neck to see if my tag is hanging from the review mirror of one of two BUSTED ASS cars we drive.

It is easy to spot me, I am either in PIAB CAR A, w/ demolished wheel well courtesy man previously mentioned, or PIAB CAR B, missing half a side panel, and a vehicle you could probably smell from 2 blocks down because of the dog/BO/soccer cleats odor. Hi, it's me. Again. Remember?

Completely unrelated to his stupidity: The N. has taken to calling him "the Indian Jeffrey Tambor."

2. Keeping in theme: oh my god, the art class. There is... a woman. She is....

She is that woman.

It is hard to be in an adult education class full of skirts, mostly in their 30s or 40s, who are jocking on yr clueless, quiet young male teacher; a guy so nice and unassuming he wouldn't notice until a size 22 kitten-print granny undies hit him square betwixt his eyes. But you deal, and I only sometimes exchange mutual eye-rolls with my class secret-BFF, a high school goth girl in jelly bracelets (natch); and most of the time the natives are under control, and quiet, and drawing, and only making stupid remarks every hour or so. To most of us student's credit, besides the making of occasional doe-eyes at Teach, everyone really wants to learn something and are copasetic.

Save one.

Thus far, Wednesday nights with her goes a little something like this:

Instructor: "So, does anyone have any drawings they worked on this week they'd like to share with the class?"

Loud Lady: "Oh I JUST HAD NO TIME because MY HUSBAND AND I, you know my husband I'm MARRIED, just got a puppy and HE PEES ALL OVER THE PLACE ALL THE TIME and it's JUST SO MUCH WORK and I mean who has the time to DRAW YOU KNOW I MEAN GOD."

Instructor: "Um, okay."

Crickets chirp around the classroom.

and

Instructor: "Can everyone see the still life okay?"

Loud Lady: "How long HAVE YOU HAD THAT FRUIT? That's the same one we USED LAST WEEK RIGHT? Do you KEEP THEM IN YOUR FRIDGE AT HOME? Does your WIFE THINK THEY ARE GROCERIES? You're MARRIED RIGHT? I bet it's rotting. It smells rotting. I LOVE PEARS THOUGH THEY ARE MY FAVORITE FRUIT."

and the constant, set-yr-swatch-to-it, comments after every SINGLE drawing (we're learning gesture right now, which means you create approx. 700 quick POS charcoal nightmares per class)

Loud Dramatic Sighing Loud Lady: "I REALLY HATE THIS ONE. I am just NOT TALENTED. REALLY, I mean look at it."

Love me! Verify my existence! Please someone for the love of god, pay attention to me!


3. Kind of Obsessed with. *

Here are the entries I'm planning on suggesting:

- Nick B's House
- Bleachers Where I Kissed a Guy Named Dave
- House I Grew Up In That My Parents Sold Pretty Much 24 Hours After I Got Engaged
- Site of Roller Rink Where My 8th Birthday Party Was Held (No Longer in Existence)
- Bill Allen Field Where Every Middle School Fight Involving the Murphy Brothers Took Place
- Baylor Drive **





* In the satellite photos used for Wikimapia, there is a red car parked in my neighbors driveway. Seeing as I lived in that house for 17 years and our next door neighbors never owned a red car, it is pretty safe to say that this is my dad's car. These particular neighbors only lived at their house after their retirement during the summer, in the spring/fall/winter they fled back to the wife's native France. And we treated their property as if it was our own, because my family is redneck. In short, there are no cars parked in our driveway if you zoom in close enough, but you can clearly see my father's midlife crisis parked next door. Thanks, crazy spy technology!

** Drumroll and bang - I deliver. (That joke's fr you, S. No fear is for the truly scurred.)