If it weren't for the fact that Hubber works for an old folks home....excuse me, "assisted living community"...coupled with the fact that because he works with these people I get to hear all about how INSANE they are which scares the crap out of me because this is what we will all become some day and I need to give them a break because when I grow looney, I would expect the same the same kind of break...if it weren't for all that, those damn Amber Alerts on the freeway signs during rush hour would send my ass over the edge.
For some reason it doesn't bother me when the signs relay messages about missing or kidnapped children, but when the "elderly missing" signs are flashing at 5:15 p.m. just as I'm determining whether to get on the freeway ramp or take the feeder or back route home, it gets me all worked up! Why can't those damn old farts stay put? Why the hell do they get the urge to wander all over creation at the precise time I'm counting on the traffic signs to actually relay TRAFFIC news?! And it sure seems like they're getting loose more frequently these days.
I blame Hubber for this sudden surge of awol old farts. Everything is his fault. He's letting them loose just to drive me nuts and make me late to work and late coming home...he gets his kicks when I'm all crazy pissed and mad at the world.
Me: Tie those fuckers up, damnit!
Hubber: What the heck?
Me: Tie their wrinkly asses to their bed posts so that I can make it through traffic without losing my damn mind. Shit!
Hubber: I believe all our residents are accounted for.
Me: Nope...one's loose, driving a blue Buick LeSabre evidently, and heading towards friggen Austin on 290!
Hubber: I didn't think Buick LeSabres still existed.
Me: Who cares! Get your ass on the phone and tell Transtar you found the guy so they can clear the signs!
Hubber: I'm sure the missing guy's family wouldn't appreciate that.
Me: He's probably dead in a ditch or something anyway...you'd be doing half of Houston a favor.
Hubber: What if it were your mom missing?
Me: My mom can't DRIVE.
Hubber: Or my mom?
Me: Seriously? Don't make me answer that.
Hubber: good bye. *click*
Uhm...so, I guess I hit a dead end. I can always count on Hubber to ruin my day by working for old farts.
Further Proof That I Like Dogs
Would an obsessively paranoid mother who hated dogs allow her child to get this close to the face of a 70 lb Mastiff?
Meet Harley, the newest member of our completely insane family. She's only 9 months old and is already weighing in at over 70 lbs! I know, I know...after all the ranting and raving about poop in my yard (see previous poop stinks like shit post), here I am, contributing to the cause. The only way Hubber would agree to such nonsense was if I promised on a stack of bibles that I would be in charge of poop scooping. I've decided that once scooped, I'll either fling it over the fence into the yard of a clueless neighbor or stockpile it and spread it ever so generously in the yard of the yip-yapper-dog-neighbor who I detest....I will call it returning the favor. Just when I thought lil J's poopy diapers would suffice, along came the largest dog EVER...who, in a matter of months will bless us with the hugest, most stinkiest, closest to the size of elephant dung mountains a girl could only dream of. It will be the sweetest revenge.