Like Ghandi, only not as skinny

Slow on the journalizing because of novel chapters. Sucks, but… wait, actually that doesn’t suck at all!


Damn, we’ve got icicles all across the eaves, and they’re falling off like swords driven down into the ground… I mean the snow, which is what the ground is… VOOMP! Scary.

Anyway, what was I saying?

I’ve expanded my repertoire of non-confrontational confrontation. I went to the post office on Wednesday to mail Danny his birthday presents. I was packing them into a flat-rate box, when I was viciously attacked by the tape dispenser. (On the way home that night I was viciously attacked again, this time by a Yorkshire terrier. Funniest damn thing…thought it was a rabbit coming at me at first. I was wearing boots, though, so no harm done.) The few pieces of tape I managed to wrestle from the thing came out mangled, and then it gave me a big old cut on the heel of the hand. So I took it to the clerk, saying, “This thing doesn’t work.”

She looked at my like I was a wayward toddler and said, “You have to do it like this, with both hands, see?” And very carefully pulled off a piece of tape, in a way that would be totally impossible to replicate while holding together box flaps with one hand.

Fine. “Uh-huh. Got a band-aid?”

And she had one right there. Like, maybe this happens all the time, right? After I stood in line and gave her my package, I said, “Thanks. And, sorry about all the blood!” nice and loud. That got some looks.

Then this morning I intercepted the guy whose dog has been pooping on my theoretical lawn every day. (It’s covered with at least a foot of snow, but I know there’s a lawn under there somewhere.) I waited until he made it to the sidewalk in front of my house, then stepped out from behind a big yew bush with a plastic bag, walked over to the snowbank where his dog went yesterday, and picked up the dookie. All I said was a nice, big, cheery, “Good morning!”

If I had any doubts that this person was guilty, the look on his face would have banished them.

Not only that, the dog acted furious that I was out there messing with his stuff. This dog kept looking back at me, glaring pointedly at the bag of dookie in my hand, like it was thinking, “That is mine, bitch! Even this human I have on the leash here doesn’t mess with my product, and he feeds me!”

Beautiful dog. Long black fur, really sleek.

Also contacted the city on two non-shovelers: one absentee landlord and one business, both of whom have been bad about shoveling all winter. The business plows their parking lot and drive-up just fine, then leaves their sidewalk a lumpy, icy mess. The duplex I called on has the sidewalk shoveled between their front door and driveway, but the rest of it is untouched. It’s so hazardous you basically have to walk in the street.

I didn’t report Party Chick next door, though, even though she’s just as bad. That would just be mean. She has an excuse: she’s lazy.

Okay, enough crusading for a while! Man, I feel like some kind of middle-aged superhero, righting injustice and all that.

Or maybe just a grumpy old witch. Hard to say.


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