Eyeore and Woody. (and Oompa Loompa Flower Children, if we're counting ALL the weird today)

In today's edition of Townhome Twits, Eyeore.

But first...today at lunch I (foolishly) drove over to the strip mall with Byerlys (grocery store) so I could feed my book addiction spend too much money eat at Barnes & Noble. And read. This is the same Byerlys where a random old lady accosted me with racist commentary about how the neighborhood USED to be (which is why I no longer eat in the Byerlys diner area unless it's nice enough to be outside).

Anyway.

I paused for pedestrians like a decent driver (who doesn't like blood on the mustang OR filling out police reports) for a couple of teenage girls leaving the grocery store. One looked like any other teenager (and thus, I have NO IDEA what she looked like at all). The other looked like an Oompa Loompa had unfortunate sex with a 60's flower child. She was glowing in that unhealthy, Chernobyl sort of way under her short-shorts, and her bright magenta dye job was held down by a headband that looked like she's pulled it all forward and didn't understand that headbands aren't crowns. Or tiaras. And she wasn't wearing enough flowery bits to be a true hippie. Apparently the combo of hair dye and skin dye made her cranky, because I was given her most severe hairy eyeball look (also known as the stink-eye, if you aren't familiar). As an approximately 17 year old, she did a pretty good snarky teenage girl look, but the effect was ruined by her orange. And I was utterly unable to not chuckle.

I SO WISH I'd gotten a picture.

And on that note, let's discuss Eeyore and Woody.

Eeyore lives across the driveway from my townhome, right next to the CIA Sneaky Peeper. I suspect that drives some of her woe-is-me attitude, because honestly, who WOULDN'T be woe-is-me sharing walls with that dude?

The unit on the other side of hers was abandoned for over a year (the former owner passed away and his widow went somewhat off the deep end into drugs and such). Therefore Eeyore was constantly convinced that 1) SOMEONE was cooking meth in the abandoned house and 2) that I, being on the HOA Board at the time, should do something about it. I said "call the cops" because let's be realistic here: I'm only intimidating to certain types of people, and I'm 99.99% certain methheads and drug dealers are not included.

I actually have quite a bit of sympathy for Eeyore. She lived alone for a very long time, and I never EVER see company at her house. I'd not assume that means anything, except she gives off the desperation odor whenever I see her. You know that look: a little too much hope in the eyes combined with the hunched over posture that screams "I need to tell you how much everything sucks." I listened to her in the beginning, because I thought I should and felt bad if she has no one to talk to (I discovered otherwise quite fast, and the Whirlwind Bitch, Eeyore's best friend, is another topic).

Also, she's nosy as hell, which is both a detriment and a boon to our complex. I mean, when the crazy methhead dude (unrelated to the meth house next door to her, which turned out NOT to be a meth house and now has a very nice couple and their dog renting it) ran through our complex the first year we lived there, I was happy she was home to call the cops. 

But when she suggested that the board should keep a list of all residents living in our community and the license numbers for every car, I firmly told her that's NOBODY'S business but the homeowners' and she needs to get a different hobby (other than wandering around the parking lot looking for out-of-date license tags or visitor parking violators).

GOOD GODS can you imagine the amount of work that would've been for the board? NO FRICKEN WAY lady. No fricken way.

Instead, she got a dog...and now she has an excuse to walk around and look in windows, backyards, and cars every day while she walks Woody. Woody, the long-haired mini-daschund, is ridiculously cute and quite charming. Unfortunately, Woody hasn't removed any of Eeyore's generally glum attitude or outlook on life, and so Husband and I quietly go the other way when she's outside, except to return a wave and "hello" from a distance.

I listen to a LOT of people who need, emotionally. Eeyore is one of those who would suck out every drop of helpful energy a person possesses and point out just how shitty YOUR life is, as well. Yeah. No time for that, even though I do pity that she sees her life as so miserable.

Side note: when I ran Spell Checker (which doesn't recognize important terms like "meth" and "Methhead") I discovered I spelled "Eeyore" in about 15 different combinations. All of which are now fixed. You're welcome.

I Am Not a Dude, Yahoo. Stop Offering Me Women.

My yahoo email address isn't particularly masculine, so I'm mildly amused and somewhat disturbed that I received the following emails in my Spam folder this morning:

Sexy Brides! Hot Russian and Ukrainian Brides Looking For Love
Because a husband isn't enough: I NEED the drama of another wife in the house. Sister wife I am not, but thanks for trying. Sigh. I did wonder for a moment if I shouldn't turn this over to some organization that handles trafficking.

Canadian Pharmacy
To go with the new sexy Ukrainian bride I can pay X dollars to ship here (again, trafficking orgs need to get on this shit), I can get discounted Viagra and Cialis. Because clearly my erectile dysfunction is stopping me from enjoying my new mail order woman.

Hey YOU!
I love these: the same "person" in the from field about once a week who insists we know each other from way back on Yahoo IM and don't I want to look at her dirty pictures at this link? Um, no, Adriana, I do not.

Hmm.

You know, I started this post being amused at Spam's consistent assumption that I want hot, lonely housewives or a safe way to cheat on my wife, or a way to find a new one (when my cheated-on wife leaves me for someone who doesn't open spam emails) AND the drugs to get me going again.

Sigh. Now that I look over this post and realize just how much of my email is cheating/porn/otherwise objectifying women AND belittling men, it makes me sad. Can't we be better than this?

Therefore, I'm adding these links to my blog today:

The Polaris Project A World Without Slavery
LiveYourDream.Org Women helping women achieve dreams
WebMD Marriage Advice Because there are WAY too many relationship counselors out there.

I Scared the Legoland Clerks: Just Call me Darth Creepiness

I should not be allowed out in public.

The other day I got to hold heads in the palm of my hand.

Joffrey Baratheon would wet his pants!

Clearly this is not a power I should possess...because after my initial snicker my first thought was "I need a bunch of these to put on toothpick spikes to warn off bugs in my office!"

And so I told the poor teenage boy at Legoland WHY I only wanted heads (Legoland has a neat bunch of bins of parts so you can build your own people...IT'S MADE FROM PEOPLE!).

And then I told him I wanted a Star Wars set so I could put a head on the end of Yoda's lightsaber (that is NOT a dirty euphemism, you sickos). Legoland dude looked...disturbed.

Yup, you read that right: I weirded out a teenage boy with my darkness. MWAHAHAHAHA.

In the end, Husband put together a FABULOUS Sarlacc Pit Lego Set for me so I now have my OWN Sharklacc, AND the ONE awesome dude at the Legoland cash register thought my idea was cool as hell...so he gave me 3 heads for free.

Indeed, I got 3-for-free head.  

Why? Because apparently he throws away more heads in a day than that, so he didn't care if I got a couple to stick on spikes at home. I had to pick the right faces, though (obviously a grinning pirate head would look entirely NOT gruesome enough).

And thus, the end result (thanks to Husband who built my Sarlacc Pit scene for me!):


Threaten a Jedi on the edge AT YOUR PERIL.

SARLACC Snacks! Dude on the tentacle looks pained, and it makes me giggle.

Yes, those of you with eagle eyes (Superbetsy, I'm looking at you), there IS a set from Episode III mixed with my Episode VI Sarlacc Pit, because we only have so much open space on the kitchen table and Husband wanted the Lava fight scene.

I ran out of heads, so those will have to have lego-heads-on-pikes/lightsabers/guns/toothpicks another day.

Dear Lego: I love you. Please don't hate me for doing bad spikey things with the mini-heads...they fit SO WELL on Lightsabers!

Snakipeder Defense League: ACTIVATE!

So this showed up on Facebook today.

thanks, J.H.Heimdal's Facebook page

And of course my IMMEDIATE reaction was to consider the value of a Viking Squirrel Horde, preferably in full Berserker mode, to send into the crawlspace under my house.

To attack and kill the Snakipeder(s) under there.

Because I planted a container vegetable garden on my back patio and seeded the dead space on the back lawn, and I STILL HAVE NO OUTSIDE WATER.

Because I'm a 6' chicken, that's why. I can face down human bullies all day, but I'm not going anywhere near any snake/centipede/spider things.

I'm not metal, so no, you can't call me Beyonce. She lives at The Bloggess's house.