And now for something completely different...
A lot of BLOGs have a niche or a certain format they follow. Kim has her American Idol theme that she cashes in on for 12 weeks give or take an Idols Give Back week. Once every seven days she gets to be funny and recap what goes down on the stage. I also frequent a BLOG that has a thing called Wii Fit Wednesdays which encourages me to share stories of getting in shape with other women. And then there's me, all over the place, the only theme present is how can I embarrass myself today?
Should I start a theme?
Let's try out this segment called:
You've Got Balls!
This week's winner goes to our landlord! Let's hear it for Lord Land! *pause for crowd cheers and jeers* Apparently I have been under the assumption his wife clamped down on those suckers years ago but he proves me wrong this weekend.
Some back story on their little bastard spawn: When we move in the kid is still in baby form. All he does is cry all day and night. Seriously. All day and all night. Every time he cries there are no footsteps that go over to him. They just let him constantly cry. It gets to the point Steve and I have to use a sound machine just so we can sleep through the night without hearing this baby cry on the hour. Then about four months ago they decide, “let's get our crybaby a bed so he can access us at any time of the night!” And when I say access, I mean stomp back and forth down the hallway at 430 in the morning.
I don't know about you but there was no running in our house growing up. I remember mom telling us to slow down because there were many surfaces we could have tripped on and cracked our heads open. These wonderful parents gate the stairs and let him run back and forth all day and all night. All day and all night. And this little annoyance starts his day at 6 in the morning. During the week, fine, Steve and I are already gone at 6 in the morning. On the weekends? Not so much. I don’t even set an alarm on the weekends anymore. What’s the point? I need to be at a run by 730? No problem. The kid upstairs is on it!
Monday, after being shaken awake by an incessant banging above our bed at 8 in the morning, Steve stomps the floor as loud as he can to get his point across. Lord Land then waits for one of us to leave the apartment to have a heart to heart. Ballsy Move #1: "If he wakes you guys up you can call us and we'll handle him. You know, he's hard to deal with. He wakes up and is ready to go."
Stop right there dude. He's hard to deal with? You don't deal with him so how would you know? You let him run rampant. You forget you have no carpeting so we know when you guys get up to intercept this wild creature and I know for a fact it's not as early as he starts his stomping. Don't play dumb with us.
"I don't want to have that kind of relationship where you bang on the walls. Just call us."
No dude. I'm not calling you when your kid wakes up. You know when he wakes up. Get your ass up and move him into his giant play room until an appropriate hour. At least give us ‘til nine!
So Steve tells him that after getting up to be at work at six all week, it's ridiculous to be woken up so early on the weekends. He tells Lord Land that he's grumpy in the morning and the kid is seriously pressing his buttons.
This falls on deaf ears because the kid freaking drops marbles on the floor or something as I'm getting ready at 515 this morning. I'm able to hear all three of them. They're not even trying to be quiet. It's a full out circus up there. As I leave I see Lord Land putting a suitcase in the car and I hope they're sending the kid away forever. So they'll be going on vacation which means their dad comes to stay at the house probably to make sure Steve and I don't get rowdy, if that's even possible.
And here's Ballsy Move #2: They leave Steve and I a note with a deposit slip. A DEPOSIT SLIP! Know where this is going? Can you freaking believe the gall?
"Here's a deposit slip for the rent. Please deposit the rent money in the bank for us."
...
...
...
What? You're kidding. You HAVE to be kidding. No one can possibly be so bold as to force me to deposit money in their account for them. Sure mom's done it for me but that's my mom! Steve's made some Apple runs but that's my fiancé! I've never even had a friend ask me something like this! Going to the bank is personal but this act is just so fucking rude I can't even fathom how he would think this is okay.
I think when they get back they'll find a post-it (a yellow one) on their door.
"Welcome home! Can you do me a favor and pick up my dry cleaning? It's all paid for so here's the ticket. Thanks! Oh and can you get me some milk since you'll be by Dairy Barn? Great!"
Lord Land, you've got balls!
Should I start a theme?
Let's try out this segment called:
You've Got Balls!
This week's winner goes to our landlord! Let's hear it for Lord Land! *pause for crowd cheers and jeers* Apparently I have been under the assumption his wife clamped down on those suckers years ago but he proves me wrong this weekend.
Some back story on their little bastard spawn: When we move in the kid is still in baby form. All he does is cry all day and night. Seriously. All day and all night. Every time he cries there are no footsteps that go over to him. They just let him constantly cry. It gets to the point Steve and I have to use a sound machine just so we can sleep through the night without hearing this baby cry on the hour. Then about four months ago they decide, “let's get our crybaby a bed so he can access us at any time of the night!” And when I say access, I mean stomp back and forth down the hallway at 430 in the morning.
I don't know about you but there was no running in our house growing up. I remember mom telling us to slow down because there were many surfaces we could have tripped on and cracked our heads open. These wonderful parents gate the stairs and let him run back and forth all day and all night. All day and all night. And this little annoyance starts his day at 6 in the morning. During the week, fine, Steve and I are already gone at 6 in the morning. On the weekends? Not so much. I don’t even set an alarm on the weekends anymore. What’s the point? I need to be at a run by 730? No problem. The kid upstairs is on it!
Monday, after being shaken awake by an incessant banging above our bed at 8 in the morning, Steve stomps the floor as loud as he can to get his point across. Lord Land then waits for one of us to leave the apartment to have a heart to heart. Ballsy Move #1: "If he wakes you guys up you can call us and we'll handle him. You know, he's hard to deal with. He wakes up and is ready to go."
Stop right there dude. He's hard to deal with? You don't deal with him so how would you know? You let him run rampant. You forget you have no carpeting so we know when you guys get up to intercept this wild creature and I know for a fact it's not as early as he starts his stomping. Don't play dumb with us.
"I don't want to have that kind of relationship where you bang on the walls. Just call us."
No dude. I'm not calling you when your kid wakes up. You know when he wakes up. Get your ass up and move him into his giant play room until an appropriate hour. At least give us ‘til nine!
So Steve tells him that after getting up to be at work at six all week, it's ridiculous to be woken up so early on the weekends. He tells Lord Land that he's grumpy in the morning and the kid is seriously pressing his buttons.
This falls on deaf ears because the kid freaking drops marbles on the floor or something as I'm getting ready at 515 this morning. I'm able to hear all three of them. They're not even trying to be quiet. It's a full out circus up there. As I leave I see Lord Land putting a suitcase in the car and I hope they're sending the kid away forever. So they'll be going on vacation which means their dad comes to stay at the house probably to make sure Steve and I don't get rowdy, if that's even possible.
And here's Ballsy Move #2: They leave Steve and I a note with a deposit slip. A DEPOSIT SLIP! Know where this is going? Can you freaking believe the gall?
"Here's a deposit slip for the rent. Please deposit the rent money in the bank for us."
...
...
...
What? You're kidding. You HAVE to be kidding. No one can possibly be so bold as to force me to deposit money in their account for them. Sure mom's done it for me but that's my mom! Steve's made some Apple runs but that's my fiancé! I've never even had a friend ask me something like this! Going to the bank is personal but this act is just so fucking rude I can't even fathom how he would think this is okay.
I think when they get back they'll find a post-it (a yellow one) on their door.
"Welcome home! Can you do me a favor and pick up my dry cleaning? It's all paid for so here's the ticket. Thanks! Oh and can you get me some milk since you'll be by Dairy Barn? Great!"
Lord Land, you've got balls!