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Friday, January 13, 2006 · posted at 3:27 PM

What's the number for 911?

Q: How many emergency vehicles does it take to investigate a missing Jeep?
A: However many the city has on tap.

I dont like who I am when I'm "home." Mostly I'm lazy and spend the day in my pajamas waching TiVo or staring at the computer willing the words to magically appear. I've been back nearly 4 weeks now and I fear I've hit a low - I've resorted to my mom's favorite pasttime of staring out the window to "look at the green trees" but really spying on the neighbors.

I've discovered that the black lab down the street likes to come take sh*ts on the lawn at about quarter past 10 in the morning. Also that my dad isn't the only one who likes to walk around swinging his arms backwards in full circles - the grandfather next door does too (Asian people, you know what I'm talking about). And that the golden retriever at the end of the block will never tire of chasing after a tennis ball. And mostly that as far as street scenes are concerned, my little cul-de-sac is about as exciting as watching ~~strawberries rot~~ Starbuckses pop up around the corner. When you live in Dairy Valley, a stolen newspaper makes the Crime Watch and remains the talk of the town for the next week, or until the next round of standardized tests come out, whichever comes first.

So when the police cruiser skidded to a halt in front of my neighbor's house and called for additional "back up," the excitement was enough to actually rouse me out of my seat (no small feat I assure you - my sloth knows no bounds).

What the heck is going on?

I'm sure I could have just gone and asked, but I didn't want to seem noisy (note the choice of the word "seem" because obviously what I was, was nosy). So instead I craned my head out of the window as best I could to discern what was going on.

Four cop cars, a ginormous fire truck, and interrogations of the equally nosy yet less covert neighbors, it's determined that all the hoopla is because this guy had moved his truck out of his garage. Seriously? This is what our tax dollars are going to?

And thus the story ends, the words as anticlimactic as the reality. Welcome to my life.



	Friday, January 13, 2006 · posted at 3:27 PM What's the number for 911? Q: How many emergency vehicles does it take to investigate a missing Jeep? A: However many the city has on tap. I dont like who I am when I'm "home." Mostly I'm lazy and spend the day in my pajamas waching TiVo or staring at the computer willing the words to magically appear. I've been back nearly 4 weeks now and I fear I've hit a low - I've resorted to my mom's favorite pasttime of staring out the window to "look at the green trees" but really spying on the neighbors. I've discovered that the black lab down the street likes to come take sh*ts on the lawn at about quarter past 10 in the morning. Also that my dad isn't the only one who likes to walk around swinging his arms backwards in full circles - the grandfather next door does too (Asian people, you know what I'm talking about). And that the golden retriever at the end of the block will never tire of chasing after a tennis ball. And mostly that as far as street scenes are concerned, my little cul-de-sac is about as exciting as watching ~~strawberries rot~~ Starbuckses pop up around the corner. When you live in Dairy Valley, a stolen newspaper makes the Crime Watch and remains the talk of the town for the next week, or until the next round of standardized tests come out, whichever comes first. So when the police cruiser skidded to a halt in front of my neighbor's house and called for additional "back up," the excitement was enough to actually rouse me out of my seat (no small feat I assure you - my sloth knows no bounds). What the heck is going on? I'm sure I could have just gone and asked, but I didn't want to seem noisy (note the choice of the word "seem" because obviously what I was, was nosy). So instead I craned my head out of the window as best I could to discern what was going on. Four cop cars, a ginormous fire truck, and interrogations of the equally nosy yet less covert neighbors, it's determined that all the hoopla is because this guy had moved his truck out of his garage. Seriously? This is what our tax dollars are going to? And thus the story ends, the words as anticlimactic as the reality. Welcome to my life.	Recent Posts I am dreaming for a purpose. ~ Innocent, Night... sh*t or get off the pot. Heather Graham's new sitc... Nursery Tales. I've read The Nanny Diaries, thumbe... And then? No, no 'and then'! I'm always surprise... A GPS for all time. In Movies and the Meaning of ... I'm ideologically promiscuous. ~Louis, "Mu... Ply Wars: Why is 2-ply paper softer than 1-ply?Whe... Walden dreams, part II. I was at the public librar... Walden dreams. People bug me some time. Everyone ... There must be some Toros in the atmosphere. My fir... Morning news babie goose ryan bluemouse daves son dawntaught desiree diorama emily escadawg galveric high entropy invisible cube jepgato kyellow lilly mhuang mogbert nudream starfish + coffee verbivore Archives March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 January 2007 March 2007 April 2007 November 2008

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