,It turns out that two months of quarantine doesn't magically make the tone deaf wannabe musicians upstairs any more talented. One of them is still banging around on the piano while the other alternated between playing the recorder or singing, two skills they have never possessed and never will never possess.
Apart from a possible career recording shred videos for Youtube in 2012, I can't imagine what benefit their continued abuse of instruments does. It doesn't even seem to relax them or assist them in having a good time. They seem to be as frustrated by their incompetence as everyone else in the building. But that won't stop them from singing the same four note progression, or continuing to flatly exhale to the rhythm of Hot Crossed Buns.
For revenge purposes, I've been looking at bagpipes online but they are prohibitively expensive. As they should be.
I have a writing project I need to work on, but first Dude and I will have a late breakfast.
Ok, the water has boiled over slightly, dampening one burner, and this has, somehow rendered all the burners useless, while not impacting the oven. No problem, I'll just use some matches to ....
There are no matches or lighters in the house.
Is Dude the first person I've dated for more than a month that doesn't smoke?
Dude and I decide to have some cereal for breakfast and watch some Brooklyn 99.
About three minutes into the episode, a wasp and a bumblebee find their way into the apartment. Selina is delighted. Motherfucker doesn't pay attention. Dude and I briefly try and figure out a way to open the window without interacting with wasp and bumblebee before leaving the house to go buy a lighter for the stove and Raid for the flying pests. Not to be mixed.
Bread is purchased. Provolone is purchased. Milk is purchased. A grill lighter is purchased. Wasp, Yellowjacket & Hornet Killer is purchased.
An Ignorance of Bros hang out by the corner of the store, less than two feet apart not wearing masks. I consider spraying them with Raid.
I read the packaging on the Raid and realize it will be super unhelpful as it is an outdoor spray and would be dangerous even to incredibly intelligent cats. Selina would be doomed.
Knowing my feeling on wasps and hornets, Dude volunteers to go in to try and "Rambo those bastards. Oops, is that hate speech?" (This is a Dr. Bobby joke that has somehow crossed over to Dude, even though the two have never met, or even talked to each other.)
I sit in the hallway, looking at my phone while I hear sporadic noises from the apartment. Soon, Dude comes out of the apartment in goggles, his facemask, and oven gloves, holding a balled up paper towel, which he carries outside. Thus is the bumblebee reintroduced to the wild.
Dude pulls of his facemask when he comes back in. "Selina is useless. The wasp was having trouble flying when I went in, and she was just looking at it real close. Not even trying to paw it, just watching it hover and fall. I whacked it with the paper towel roll, but it escaped into the shades for a few seconds before reemerging. Then I whacked it to death with the paper towel roll. Want to see it?"
It has now been about two hours since I set out to get some writing done. The cereal is, of course, ruined, even if I didn't suspect it had been massively tampered with by the sting bros. But I have a lighter, and, lo, I manage to reignite the stove.
First, however, I have to pick up the kitchen since someone (and Dude swears it was Selina, while we were out) has destroyed the kitchen by first knocking over the trash can, and then distributing the trash to the previously garbage deficient portions of the kitchen.
By the time the kitchen is cleaned, and the now late lunch is prepared, the writing is no longer on the schedule. The wasp's descendents will be hearing from my lawyers re: lost wages.
Oh shit. The wasp's descendents are my lawyers?
This seems weirdly famliar.
I have lightly ribbed my father over his embrace of Pandemic Socialism (he gets his food from the local high school. instead of buying his own groceries). But, for the most part we don't discuss his politics because they've decayed to terrible in recent years.
Today, he called, telling me about how his friends and neighbors hadn't received their stimulus checks, and he hadn't received his, and how he didn't understand what was taking so long. And, lo, last Friday a stimulus check arrived in his PO box, and he bragged to all of his more liberal neighbors about how Fecalface Sucksatgolf was making sure the people who supported him got their stimulus checks first (as if he could somehow now).
You, Dear Reader, may have figured out that it was Not his stimulus check, but was in fact, My finger-on-nose, Clinton-voting stimulus check that arrived because that was the address I filed my 2018 taxes from last year.
A few of his neighbors have since received theirs. His has not yet arrived.
Sex Therapist, teaching a college class, after showing a video of The Incident: "Where do you think this interaction went wrong?"
Student #1: "Well, like, I assume that when A said 'At least I didn't sneeze on your back this time.' he was referring to a previous time where sex was ruined because he sneezed on B's back."
ST: "We don't know that, though. There might not have been anything happening, sexually, when A sneezed on B's back. But maybe don't bring sneezing on your partner up while you're trying to be sexy unless they've mentioned that it's a turn on for them."
The class nods. S1 takes furious notes.
ST: "Anyone else?"
Student #2: "Was it when A elbowed B in the face?"
Many of the students make positive mmmmmm sounds, and there is more nodding.
ST: "While being elbowed in the face is an uncommon fetish, it seems to have happened accidentally in this case, and B was not hurt or injured, just surprised to see an elbow that close up. So I think, in this case, while I wouldn't Reccomend elbowing someone in the face, that it's not, Necessarily where the interaction went wrong."
Student #3 raises hand.
S3: "Was it when B said 'I'll take an elbow in the face over an Elmo in the face, any day?"
ST: "That was a little odd, yes. And while I would say it was a contributing factor, it probably could been overlooked if ..."
Student #2 oooh oooh ooohs and raises their hand.
S2: "It was when A said, in a creepily accurate Elmo voice 'Elmo's gonna stick his huge hairy erection in the eye socket of your rotting corpse.' and then laughed until he cried."
ST nods. "That's it. Yes. There is no recovering from that. Using Muppet voices to deliver threatening sexual lines is ALWAYS a turn off, and you must wait at least forty-five minutes before you even think of saying anything mildly flirtatious again."
S3: "Did A & B ever recover from The Incident?"
ST: "Those two weirdos? They were making out before either of them had stopped cry-laughing."
Today, while waiting for my ride to work, a guy with long hair, a pound of hallucinogens in his body, and no mask on, twirled for times in front of me, and asked me if I knew how to free the sun from its its its you know its thing that was you know free the sun.
When I shrugged, he danced away. Poorly.
Dude: "Do you realize how frequently you tell your cats to 'calm (their) tits'?"
Me: "Cats have lots of nervous energy AND lots of tits."
The upstairs piano playing neighbor leaves his car in front of our window, instead of parking it in the lot like a considerate person. Tonight, after he parked in front of it window, an unfamiliar voice asked "Do you like living here? Is it quiet?"
At which point, Dude began making loud sex noises.
Dude: "I can't help but notice you got Double Stuf Oreos instead of Mega Stuf Oreos. If we're having financial trouble, just tell me."
When confronted with a potential minor argument, both Dude and I do the "You're a--" repeating back the last word or phrase someone said.
While discussing why I buy certain types of foods for the cats, I came across the ultimate "You're a--" response, which I shall now use whenever someone tries to start small potato argument with me.
Imaginary Person: "Your mashed potatoes are bland and runny."
Me: "YOU'RE bland and runny."
IP: "You're being a child."
Me: "YOU'RE a nary tract infection."
Me: "I wish I had written down the name of the artist who had the show at that diner in Central Square. I tried to look up his website, but it's not his website, or he hasn't paid for his domain recently."
Dude: "You should call the restaurant and see if you can get his contact info."
Me: "I don't think it's open. It's a diner that doesn't have a lunch menu."
Dude: "They took a delivery order while we were there. Someone ordered an omelet"
Me: "Who would order eggs delivered? Cold breakfast foods are disgusting."
Me: "Hi, Diner? I''m a big fan of your business. I really like the way you cook food, I just wish it was colder. Could you slowly drive some to my house when you get a chance?"
Me: "Oh my god. That's what all restaurant delivery is. 'I like your food. I just wish it was colder.'"
Dude: "I guess we're not ordering in tonight?"
I shake my head vigorously. We stay in. Without buying anything.
Just took a break from posting on Ebay to get something to drink and the Health Food Store across the street was playing "Don't Fear The Reaper".
I'm going home.