THE JOYS OF APARTMENT LIVING

Ahhhh...apartment living.

It is so nice...so cozy...so carefree.

...You know...if they would just come and fix our washing machine so I had clothes to wear to work, everything would be great.

We have not washed any clothes now for about 11 days.

I'll be the first to admit...my underwear selection is kinda slim. I think I have 10 pairs of underwear.

Scratch that...doing the math here, I KNOW I have 10 pairs.

...Because I had to go commando yesterday.

There's a certain kinda thrill going without underwear all day. You feel rather...sexy. I caught myself several times closing the door to my office, putting my hands behind my head and thrusting my hips around my office to some imaginary music like I was a Chippendale's dancer.

It was probably just coincidence that every time I did this, someone would walk in my office.

It was probably just coincidence that it was the CEO of the company both times.

And it was probably just coincidence that he gave me the same type of twisted stare both times.

Anyway...if the apartment maintenance guy doesn't come today to fix our washing machine, we're running it tonight and letting the water just flow out and when they have to come and lay down new vinyl in the utility room...hey...it's your fault, Buster Brown. Shoulda been here when you said you'd be here.

I came home from work last night, opened the door and was greeted by the pungent aroma of dog diarrhea.

My job...to find the offensive pile.

Maggie helped me find it. Hell...she led me right to it.

Right back by our bed was a big pile of black squirty poop.

"Why Maggie?" I asked.

Maggie couldn't answer me. Mainly because....and follow me here...she's a dog.

So I grabbed about two rolls of paper towels and started trying to pick up the squirty poop.

Have you ever tried to pick up dog diarrhea? It's like trying to scoop up soup.

I sprayed some carpet cleaner on it and let that soak and THANK GOD it all came up. We've already stained the carpet once with some errant bleach which left a big green spot the size of the end of a paper towel core. I certainly don't need a black splotch on the carpet and have to explain in three months..."Hey, my dog's old and was off her diet for a few days. Sue me."

Because...you know...they probably WOULD sue me.

I made a mental note to stop and get her some dog food today and to quit feeding her lasagna and tequila. A dog MUST have a proper diet while in an apartment.

Last night we did something that Susie really wanted to do. We went for a family walk around the complex after dinner.

I'll admit...it was nice. It was the first night in about three months that was carefree. After stressing all that time over selling the house, we could just relax and not worry about anything for a change.

Surrrre...I guess we could now devote our attentions to the fact that in two days, Al-Queda terrorists are going to strike our country in acts of terrorism that will make us say "What happened on September 11th again??"

But we're Americans, baby. We just deal with these problems and keep trudging forward. That's what our president with an IQ of 88 tells us to do. Trudge forward. Take no prisoners. Brush and floss. Look both ways before crossing the street. Rawk on.

Anyway, we walked over to the playground where Andrew found delight in putting rocks in his mouth and swishing them around.

"Are you cleaning the rocks, Andrew?" I asked.

"Mmmmphammpha" he replied through a mouthful of rocks.

"Don't swallow them," I reminded him.

Well shit, Daddy. Where's the fun in washing rocks if you can't swallow them?

I then taught him how to put rocks on the slide and watch them tumble back down the slide, making a loud noise.

This kinda freaked him out in a way. He was scared but was laughing. A nervous laugh...but laughing nevertheless.

He's really adapting well to the move. It hasn't seemed to freak him out in the least that he can no longer go outside by himself and wander around a backyard picking flowers and throwing his ball around. Now he's gotta have Mommy or Daddy with him and there's no flowers to pick.

He'll be okay.

Meanwhile, the notorious shit squirting dog is a different story altogether.

Every time we walk out the door, she howls. This pleases our neighbors immensely. I'm sure they're clapping with glee and doing little jigs in their apartment, saying things like "Oh goody!! The new neighbor's dog is going to howl and bark for the next 30 minutes!!"

Yep.

We're popular alright.

That's all that's happening in my neck of the woods.

I've gotta go find a pair of shorts that will act as underwear today.

And I need to find my razor too. My pitiful facial stubble is starting to look grungy.

I guess I could tell people at the office that I'm going for the babyface psycho killer look.

Alright...I'm done here.

Seriously.

Here I go.