The portion of the post in which I come very very close to ranting:
Why does it piss me off to always have to shut down the little “help” pane in Word whenever I open the program? It’s a 1-second procedure to click the “X,” and yet I get ticked off to HAVE to do it each and every time. The program should be smart enough to know I don’t need that stupid pane, and that I like to open a blank document, and that no I don’t need it to babysit me and offer me the option to open a new template or wizard or whatever the hell it’s offering up. Just let me open Word, put a nice clean sheet of e-paper in front of me, and leave me the heck alone already.
Another thing: people who drive 45 in a 60 MPH zone, only speeding up when people try to pass them, giving hope to those in line behind them that at last they might choose to go the speed limit and so don’t pass in their turn, should be taken to the side of the road and beaten about the head and neck with a tire iron, or maybe with one of those ladders they had on top of their ancient hulk of a station wagon that kept threatening to wobble off every time said slowpoke had to veer from side to side to see if perhaps THIS was the road they wanted to take. Two words, Mr. Slowpoke: GOOGLE MAPS. And get off my lawn.
The part in which I almost cast aspersions, then balk:
New people are moving in a cross the street. It’s a rental, so I can’t wait to see what kind of neighbors they prove to be. Rental people come in all types, some of which are more worrisome than others. You all know what I mean.
If the huge black trailer they just installed in their driveway is any indication, I can expect to see racecars being worked on at some near future point. Nothing wrong with that, of course, it’s nice to have a hobby, but I’m not sure what racecar people are like. From all appearances they’re fine, if a little heavily tattooed about the calves and forearms, but I have tats and purport to not have any prejudice against people who have tats, except of course for those folks who have prison tats and scary shit on their eyebrows or necks, so that’s a mental hurdle I need to clear out right now. They cleaned the house for at least a day, so I suspect they’re tidy, which is a happy thing. Tidy people rock.
There are numerous rentals in the Tiny House’s neighborhood, some of which are fodder for much amusement and sometimes amazement. The next-newest people down the street are latino/hispanic/mexican, and they spend a lot of time on their front porch just talking and visiting and listening to music, which is kind of nice. The next-next newest people are a puzzlement to me, being as how I almost never see them out and about, but from time to time they haul out a BBQ and spend time in their side yard hanging out, Big Mama chasing down the puddin’ head child in a squirt gun battle, the stick-thin Dad chatting over a Bud with his buds, nothing major or even the slightest bit disruptive, but I see them infrequently enough to make me wonder if this is somehow a vacation home for the mystery neighbors. The Tiny House’s neighborhood, it must be said, is nobody’s idea of a vacation destination. SRSLY. It’s just a bunch of little houses, neat on their quarter acres, full of working people and artists. So, I wonder about the next-next newest neighbors, and try not to weave stories of great tawdriness about them in my head.
It's an ongoing battle, y'all.
The bit in which I hate myself a little:
Thing 2 has friend who lives a couple of blocks away from us, and who comes over every single day the boys are with me. For dinner. I suspect that this friend gets little to no supervision at home, in fact he’s said that he’s alone all the time at his house, and so enjoys the company at my house. This is OK, I guess. The Tiny House is meant to be open to all, but I’m fighting what I’d LIKE to have happen with my hermitic nature. Yesterday I actually told the boys that the friend, if he showed up, could come in for half an hour, but had to leave after that. Well, he stayed for dinner. I invited him. Then asked if he needed a ride home. Yes, I felt guilty. Didn’t help that Thing 2 said “go away!” to friend when he showed up, then explained that friend shouldn’t come over every day, at which point I heard my own mean little words coming back at me through the lack of filter of an 11-year-old boy, and felt worse about that than I have about many things. He’s a little boy. He wants company. He apparently needs to be fed. I shouldn’t be so paltry, so protective of my little cave, so stingy with whatever it is I have to offer. So, dinner for 4 became dinner for 5, and it all worked out just fine. There was a ‘whistling through matzoh’ contest and scary videos after dinner to boot. This getting used to being in a neighborhood thing might take a while, but I think it’s going to be OK.
And the closing salutation:
It’s Tuesday. You know what that means. Time to TOOOZE it, people! And have a wonderful day.