This post was originally started in mid-December 2009, before Mamacita Nature hit Balmer with two more cray-cray blizzards. So....consider this one the warm-up.
Before I begin this post I have to say that even though the Jesus Syndicate has moved away I'm still receiving their CHRISTMAS CARD MAIL! Yes, I have actually had a Christmas card for the JS dropped in MY mailbox as clearly nobody lives in that house anymore. So, I now know, even the mailman is in on the conspiracy to NEVER let the JS actually be gone from my life. Maybe it's time I contacted The Savage Nation to let them know that wacko conspiracies afflict us lefties as well.
OK, so the actual topic of this post is around the notion that "if you didn't have a shovel in your hand it's not your space". This is the kind of petty shit I have to be consumed with by living, as I do, in a Balmer rowhome with no access to even a parking pad let alone a fucking garage. We got 24 inches of snow in Balmer a couple of weeks ago which basically meant that the city (excluding my job) shut down. Fine. We paid two yahoos a decent wage to dig us out of that dump of snow, including and especially, our two cars. Once the plows come through, however, they redeposit a foot or so of a snow cliff right next to the car. We shoveled out again and, thinking everything was now hunkydory as there was no further snow predicted, went to bed to dream the ABIB's dreams of anarchy and such. But NO! The person I let use my car to go out for the evening rang the house phone at about 12:30 A fucking M to query:
"Um, where should I park your car?"
To which I groggily replied:
"In my fucking DUG-OUT parking space."
"Theres a truck parked there." Was the reply.
"WHAT THE FUCK???!!!"
So, now it's 12:30 A fucking M on a work night and I'm fully awake and across the bedroom floor in seconds, peering out the window only to see that, indeed, there is a motherfucking TRUCK parked in MY DUG-OUT SPACE!!! Not a truck, really, but one of those useless fucking SUVs that do nothing but suck up our gas, pour shit into the air at a great big rate, and pretty much block my view whenever I'm stuck behind one of them. GIANT HEMIs!!!! BIG TIRES!!!!! YOU CAN EXTRACT GIANT TREE STUMPS WITH THEM!!! I'm guessing that they generally serve as the manhood-consolation prize for having a little dick.
It took me all of 45 seconds to pull on some sweats over my nightgown (attractive image, I know, but HEY an ABIB's gotta do what an ABIB's gotta do), step into my clodhopper snow boots and throw on my ski jacket. Out the door, into the frigid night, at 12:30 in the FUCKING morning on a work night, where I see MY CAR now, tires spinning, stuck in a snow drift, while a FUCKING SUV is parked in my paid-for, dug-out parking space. Oh, MOTHERFUCKER I don't THINK SO!
I also notice that my uber-creepy neighbor is out there (at this hour) calmly clearing the snow off of his wife's car windows. It doesn't occur to me immediately that it's HIS SUV, since it's fucking dark and it's fucking 12:30 A fucking M.
What does the ABIB do in a sitch like this one? The ABIB, being the ABIB, announces her status and her intentions. At the top of my lungs, in the middle of the street, at 12:30 in the A fucking M, here's what I screamed:
"WHATEVER MOTHERFUCKER HAS PARKED THEIR FUCKING TRUCK IN MY PARKING SPACE BETTER COME DOWN HERE AND FUCKING MOVE IT. I'M GOING TO STAND HERE AND KEEP SCREAMING UNTIL YOU FUCKING MOVE YOUR FUCKING TRUCK! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!"
I screamed for about 25 seconds before I hear Uber-Creepy say:
"Hey, calm down!"
What the what? Man, I don't know how old you are but the last thing you want to tell a hormonal, middle-aged, sleep-deprived WOMAN is to "calm down". As they said in one of my favorite movies, "Galaxy Quest", "It's like throwing gasoline on a flame."
I stalked over to him and asked what he said. Foolishly he repeated it.
"Is that your fucking truck in my space?"
He chuckled. "Your space?"
"Did you shovel that space out?"
"DID YOU FUCKING SHOVEL THAT PARKING SPACE OUT?"
"Then it's NOT YOURS!"
"What are you saying that you OWN the parking space?"
How I didn't stroke out on the pavement at that moment was a miracle that told me that I clearly was doing the Lord's work. Someone had to set this fucking dipwad straight and I was apparently getting the green light to go ahead and do it. So be it.
Well I took the next several moments to explain to shit-for-brains, that, if you want a parking space, you DIG OUT a parking space for yourself, you don't wait for a neighbor to have a parking space dug out and then assume it's for YOUR LAZY ASS! He backed up a few steps and incredulously said:
"You PAID to have this space dug out?"
"Yeah. I PAID to have this space dug out. Plus, considering that you're driving a fucking lunar vehicle, you can pretty much park wherever you want, asshole. So move your car."
To make a long story short, he at first refused but then I got closer to his house and presumably his sleeping spouse and kid, and started screaming again, so he reconsidered. Atta boy! My car was still stuck in the snowbank but I got it dislodged and went back in the house where I was then wide-awake and up until after 2:00 AM. Next day I saw freakjob and he apologized for not understanding the "culture of the neighborhood" in spite of the fact that it was fuckwad's third freaking winter with us. I wished him a barely audible "Merry Christmas" and continued on my way. So, you see, even threatening scare-oids can ultimately be cowed by a screaming banshee in a nightgown, sweatpants and clodhopper boots. As "Cathy" once said: "Never underestimate the power of going a day without makeup." Or indeed, in the case of the ABIB, even a few moments on a cold winter's night.