Sunday, February 27, 2011

A Pink Flamingo and a Double-Wide

So, when you sit with yourself, staring out through "make-shift double panes," which you cannot list as an 'amenity' if you chose to sell because they aren't actually real, you get a sense that you may or may not be right where you should be. And that is exactly where I am tonight, my friends. Right here with you, accompanied by a striped-blue glass that jingles with the sound of a couple ice cubes when you shake it, the 83rd Academy Awards Ceremony, and an illustrious feeling of dichotomy: Yes, I love the simple trailer life! and No, I fucking hate this life: Darling, give me Park Avenue!
Thanks for joining me tonight. The positive of it all is the Netflix envelope came in the mail this afternoon and if my favorite picture ("The King's Speech") doesn't win in the Best Picture category, I will certainly put in the DVD and turn to Bill and Barb and the wonderful world of polygamy, the compound, and my own adoration of everyone in Utah's seemingly remarkable ability to multi-task.
So, it's been one of those weeks where you wonder how your 130 lb. body can really hold all of your fucking emotions because there have been gallons and gallons of them and they just keep on coming...
You know what I'm talking about and really none of the emotions have anything to do with "the park" but oh yes...the park! Yep, it is alive and well, and well...
I must admit I don't spend a great deal of time on this thought, but when I do give it a split second, I am amazed at how much I really despise Erika at space 30.
I used to like her; well, not exactly like her but at least wear the facade mask that said, "You are sweet and yes I am the Manager, but we can still smile and wave and make like we both watch Oprah and act as if we are friends even if we are pretending." This has been going on for over 5 years now...
So honestly, unit 30 is a bitch. Pure and simple. She has 2.5 children who are perfect. (We just bought 5 boxes of Girl Scout cookies from her daughter because she can't help who her mom is.) Their dog barks continually every evening from 7:15-8:15 p.m. at which time she then opens the slider and lets him in...why she waits an hour I have no idea, but she does, so I ask the Goddess to give me the lesson of acceptance, but (truthfully) I'm sick and tired, at least tonight, of this pink flamingo and double-wide kind of life that seems to be fate or madness; nothing more and certainly nothing less.
I recall that it was about a year ago... I had figured out that she (unit 30) didn't have a Pet Agreement on file for her "barker mutt" and newly snuck-in kitten so I did my job and placed a Pet Agreement in her and her husband's box and much to my surprise, I received a type-written note in reply:
Dear Manger,
We wanted to say that we would never intentionally not fill out paper work. We honestly did not and do not understand this notice...yadhah...yadhah...yadhah...blah...blah...
We also weren't sure if we need to put our dog and cats on this form? It is very unclear what is needed?
(Standard form. Very clear. Just fill-in the blanks, Erika.) We have Daisy's license number on file, but we do not want to give it to you. If there is ever an instance when we feel you need it, please let us know. We feel like Daisy's license number is like her "social security number" and prefer not to give it out unless it is absolutely needed, as it should be confidential. We hope you understand.

And I do, Erika, I really do.

And if I may steal Colin Firth's line...
Please excuse me, if you will, as I have some impulses I need to attend to backstage.

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