IT’S CONFUSING, BUT I KINDA SORT IT OUT.
I went to our family’s second car (of two) to use in running some errands this morning. The car was situated in a “parking inlet” on our narrow street. These inlets allow for two standard cars/trucks to park bumper-to-bumper while allowing safe passage of much wider emergency vehicles, waste pick-up trucks, and street-cleaning machines on the main street. Also, since there are no sidewalks on this street, the inlets leave some room for two cars to pass, or one car to move around a mom walking her baby in a stroller, for example. It’s an “okay” use of the space by the developer and the city, and for the most part, everyone has (until recently) been pretty careful and respectful.
Over the nearly 17 years that my husband and I have lived on this narrow street (which is technically a “fire lane”), we have never experienced anything like the newly occurring “parking wars” and “parking retardedness” happening in this micro-neighborhood of 14 homes which is situated within a larger development of 58 much larger homes on streets that are three times the width of ours.
And yet, we ought not be surprised. We knew, in spring 2006, when all 14 families moved in within 3 months of each other, that all of those families’ babies and toddlers would come of driving age around the same time.
That time has arrived.
And here is the sign:
Yep, the original homeowners’ children are all aged 17 and up, and these misfits are all driving their own cars. We knew this era was coming, and it has come in a wave crest that feels like tiny shards of broken glass, with all the panache of a pampered little left-handed pussy, whether biologically male or female.
How did I respond?
First, I put aside the fact that I’m a Norwegian-and-Scottish super-freak who must constantly manage my hot head and my insatiable desire for perfection. (And that statement should be read as a physiological metaphor.)
Second, I had no clue as to WHOM I should properly respond, so that was a big buzz-kill. I mean, if I’d had more time, maybe a house-by-house visit?
I tossed the note into the car and did my errands. All the while, though, I couldn’t help think:
Did I ever write such a note to anyone in my late teens or twenties? Or EVER? If I did, was my use of language so blatantly self-centered while also presenting an abject pathetic cowardliness? And, with regard to the second “sentence,” did I write anything with this complete lack of coherence, cohesiveness, or cogency?
Well, the answers are no, no, no, and no, because I was far too preoccupied with trying to stupidly secure a boyfriend via my extreme sexual prowess. Believe me, I wanted to be very clear in my requests.
Also, I didn’t have a car.
Hey! Remember when people in neighborhoods knew each other? It was for social purposes, for sure, but also for security. Geez, my neighbors in rural Wisconsin were anywhere from a quarter-mile to about two miles away, but we damn sure knew each other and helped each other a lot. We made friends despite vast ideological differences.
Well, apparently, those days are long gone. Parents do not socialize with folks who live very, very near to them, and thus their children — who are trained by government indoctrination camps and Disney/MTV/Google/ChatGPT — become retarded, clown-like enemy combatants.
And All. Of. The. Socializing. Happens in the indoctrination camps . . . and online. This should scare the pants off of any sane adult, get them to start monitoring their children, and get them talking to their neighbors.
Anyone? Buehler? Buehler? Buehler?…………………………
Forget Ferris!
JEANNIE (formerly and for a short time only, “Shawna, Shawna”) is here and ready to outsmart the wayward wizards, their cushy-job-keeping career clowns, and the zillions of zombified, note-writing humanoids, with well-timed, well-placed street-smart kicks to unprotected, vulnerable areas.
It’s late and I’ve got a fun weekend of socializing with sane people and cooking for my clients!
I wish you all well!
P.S. Yeah, I know this post was loose and that’s not my usual style, but it’s late and these little toe-biting bastards need to be called on the carpet before they take over our free spaces in Nature and the Divine Order.
I understand and was a city mouse most of my life. The rural life fits me much better now. I understand everything you are saying and experienced it mainly in the larger cities I lived in. Green Acres is the place to be, at least for me.
I did not know your husband had been targeted at one time. I'm grateful to know he is healing. I'm grateful for people like you. Take it easy Sharine!