You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 7

C and I live in a really nice part of Dallas. I'm not trying to brag (for once), but it's really nice. To get a handle on what I'm talking about, think of the nicest part of your town. If you're not sure where that is, it probably ends in "Heights" or "Hills" or it is so nice that its just been abbreviated down to its initials (think O.C.). Yeah, I told you it was nice.

So, here we are, living in our nice part of town. But here's the problem with the nice parts of any town: rich people live there. "What's the problem with rich people?" you ask?

They're assholes.

Example:
In our very nice, very small, four unit apartment building there are only five parking spots. Being in the nice part of town, space is at a premium. One parking spot belongs to us, one belongs to the neighbor next door, one belongs to the neighbor in the unit above the garage and the other two belong to the unit downstairs. If you're following along and doing the math at home you've probably realized that there is no place for me to park. C gets the spot and I park on the street. What can I say, I'm a gentleman.

When a new rich (read: asshole) neighbor moved in downstairs, we immediately starting having problems with people parking in a way that blocked our only parking spot. "I'm sure it was an accident," you say. No. No one accidentally blocks in a car that is surrounded on three sides by two fences and a brick wall.

After experiencing this outrage multiple times and trying to eloquently point out that only an asshole would do something like that to another human being, C and I thought for sure that the message had been conveyed.

Until tonight.

We arrived home from Italian class (we're learning the language, not how to be Italian. Although that would be cool.) to find a Range Rover parked diagonally across our parking spot. Infuriated, I knocked on the door downstairs and said, "We're trying to park in our parking spot out back and there is a car blocking it. Again." The Asshole stared blankly at me. "Could you move it? So we can park in our spot?"

Blank stare. And then, "I guess I can go see what's going on."

I know what's going on, you self-centered megalomaniac. You're blocking our spot.

I get out back to find The Asshole looking at the Range Rover and looking at the six inch gap between the Range Rover and the fence and she says, "What's the problem?"

"The problem is that either I'm going to hit that fence or I'm going to hit that car." Maybe I'll hit your face, but that would just be for fun.

"I don't need your attitude. I'm not in the mood." Not in the mood? What the hell do I care about your mood?! Move your fucking car!

"Sorry if I sound a little upset, we just want to park in our only parking space and we can't." Because you blocked it, asshole.

"I guess you guys don't like me very much because you always have an attitude whenever..." Whenever...? Whenever you block our spot with your giant gas-guzzling asshole mobile?!

"Look, it's nothing personal. We just want to be able to park in our only spot." I'll kill you.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? There's not enough room back here." Not enough room? With your two car garage? Not enough room? Your two parking spaces have more combined square footage than our apartment.

"I've been parking on the street for three years now. Also, your lease clearly outlines where it is and is not OK to park." Learn to read, idiot.

"I don't feel comfortable parking on the street with all the break-ins recently." What? This is where I knew I could not possibly continue a civil conversation with this asshole. Remember that nice part of town you thought of a little while ago? Good. Now think about how often "break-ins" are a problem in that particular part of town. That's right, they're not! Why? Because nice, wealthy parts of town can afford so many police officers that no one would dare break into cars for fear of serious reprisal.

Fed up and unable to continue to hide my displeasure with the situation, I looked at The Asshole right in the eyes and said, "You're a horrible person. And you need to scale back on the amount of animal print in your apartment. It's tacky."

I'm afraid things might be a little awkward the next time I bump into her at the mailbox.

That Can Be Arranged

Col. Gaddafi,

So, you want to fight to the "last drop of blood" and "die a martyr in the end," do you? Well, be careful what you wish for, big guy.

You remember what we did to your old neighbor Saddam a few years ago, right? Let me refresh your memory:





Gruesome. Now, let's consider some similarities and some differences between Mr. Mustard-Gas and yourself to get a feel for your chances of having that martyrdom wish granted:

1. Saddam didn't really do a whole lot to provoke us, or anyone else, and we still managed to wage two successful wars against him based solely on the idea that he was a "cruel dictator." You, by comparison, are currently dropping heavy artillery from fighter jets onto crowds of your own civilians who are participating in a peaceful protest. "Cruel dictator" would be a compliment.

2. Iraq is sitting on a modest oil supply that (some say) would be a far more likely motive for those aforementioned Gulf Wars I and II. (Whether or not that is true, click here to compare oil consumption rates around the world and tell me that you wouldn't off a few "cruel dictators" too, if you had the kind of crude oil addiction problem that we, as a country, have.) Libya has the largest proven oil reserves on the African continent, which already makes it look like the house down the street that has lots of nice stuff worth stealing, but now the social unrest and your indefensible decision to continue clinging to power have left the door unlocked and hanging wide open. We are a nation of oil addicts and what do addicts love to do? Give yourself ten points if you said, "home invasion and burglary to feed our addiction."

3. Saddam never had to deal with a broad-based, legitimate political uprising. You, on the other hand, have hoards of normal, everyday people who are are sick of your nonsense and willing to risk their lives to make sure that you know it. And it seems that firing on unarmed protesters has just made them more committed to being rid of you. There's a good chance that, eventually, they will get to you and who knows how peaceful they will be feeling when they do.

So, in summation, I would recommend dusting off your martyr pants and making sure that your last will and testament are up-to-date because if your own people don't finish you off when they storm your castle carrying their torches and pitchforks, there's a good that chance we will.

When in Rome

C and I are taking Italian language classes in preparation for our (twice postponed) trip to Italy. To help me with my foreign language skills, I downloaded an app for my phone that allows me to listen to live streams of radio stations from all around the world. It's called Tunein Radio and it's very cool. You should check it out.

But be careful.

While listening to an Italian pop station, I was exposed to the most offensive musical assault my ears have ever experienced. It was like Katy Perry, Fergie (with and without the rest of The Blackeyed Peas) and Cher had all vomited on the same CD and then the DJ said, "Well, let's take a listen and see what this sounds like."

It's called "Ogni Tanto" by Gianni Nannini and you can listen to it here...if you dare.

You've been warned!

Romance is Undead

For Valentine's Day, I bought my lovely wife some flowers as a way to say, "I love you and thank you for being the most important person in my life."

She returned the favor by getting me two zombie-killing video games. Clearly, she feels the same.

Or she thinks I should start preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.

Either way, I can't stop smiling...or imagining my co-workers are hordes of undead intent on eating my flesh.

You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol. 6

When this guy appeared on the TV screen during a commercial:

C: "I thought that guy committed suicide."
Me: "Why would you think that?"
C: "Wishful thinking, I guess."