I promised I wouldn't mention names, so lemme just say that this 14 year old girl I know who I once gave birth to was talking all out loud about Viagra in the middle of Target.
What the—?!
I thought that was extremely strange 'cuz she's usually so quiet about such things. I inquired about her new found boldness.
Turns out she thought Viagra was an allergy medication.
My daughter has a friend. Let’s call her “Dippy,” because she is.
Dippy got mad at Gwen the other day because Gwen invited another girl over to our house this weekend. Dippy decided to get revenge. Her revenge? She claimed she fell, hit her head, got amnesia, and didn’t remember who Gwen was anymore.
Uhh…. okaaaayyyyyyyy.
(You see why I call her Dippy, right? Sharpest knife in the drawer, she is NOT.)
So, Gwen got HER revenge by “reminding” Dippy in front of everyone at school that before she got “amnesia” she lost a bet to Gwen and owes Gwen $1000!
And suddenly—*POOF*—just like magic, Dippy’s “amnesia” was cured.
GOD, I ADORE TEENAGE GIRLS!!!!
So, we spent Thanksgiving weekend at Scope’s parents’ house where there’s this—this—hey, wait a minute…. Have I ever bothered to describe Scope’s parents’ house to you before? Hmm?….
No?
Oh. Huh. Well, lemme try to paint a mental picture of it for you: it’s simultaneously an antique hunter’s heaven, a garage sale guru’s jungle gym, an eBay excavator’s bouncy house, and a thrift store surfer’s wicked wild wave. How’s that for summing it up? ;-)
The house is bursting full (FULL) of old collections. We’re talking dolls, buttons, skeleton keys, pins, photographs, figurines, books, plates, linens, artwork, and all kinds of other antique-ish goodies and treasures. You could spend a week exploring in there and still not see it all, I swear! It’s really quite something.
The doll collection sits posed around a chair on the recreation room floor near the couch where my daughter sleeps when we are staying there. Gwen has outgrown dolls, of course, but she doesn’t mind sharing the room with them.
Except for this one: 
I’m told his name is “Little Brother.” He looks perfectly innocent and harmless, right? Absolutely. Yet for some truly mysterious, inexplicable reason he frightens the living heck out of Gwen. She actually has panic attacks when she sees him. And there’s no use throwing a blanket over him or turning his back to the room or anything like that, no, no, no, because just knowing he is there is enough to freak Gwen out.
We’re talking about a 14 year old girl here. A 14 year old girl whose room at home is full of skeleton figurines and black bats hanging from the damn ceiling! So, I’m having a little trouble seeing what is so terrifying about a baby doll.
Aren’t you?
I mean…. it’s not like he watches you, unblinking, in the shadows with a sinister stare…. 
It’s not like his depraved eyes follow you across the room as he plots his evil plans…. 
It’s not like he lingers closer…. and closer, licking his vile lips while you change your clothes…. 
It’s not like he has a terrifying temper and an axe to grind…. 
It’s not like he climbs soundlessly into your bed and leans over you, maliciously smirking while you sleep and startles you awake when you feel his foul breath on your face…. 
It’s not like his unholy hand lunges out and grabs you as you scream and struggle to get away…. 
It’s not like he has a perverse taste for human flesh and the last thing you’ll ever see is Satan reflected in his eyes…. 
Nope. Nothing like that. He’s just a baby doll. Sweet dreams, Blogaritaville.
:-P
So, Scope and I have these neighbors who live one floor below us and I’m pretty certain they are the loony, snot-nosed descendants of Mr. Heckles from Friends. They are snooty, uberpicky and chronically unhappy about random everyday totally normal noises emanating from our condo.
And their constant complaining is SOOOOOOOOOOOO annoying.
*gnashing my teeth*
I’ve met them once. ONCE. When we were struggling to stuff a mammoth glass display case into the elevator on Moving Day. They walked into the lobby, stared at us, rolled their eyes and then took the stairs up.
Nice.
Very nice.
No introductions. No ‘hey, welcome to the building!’ sentiments. No flipping offer to flipping help us with that flipping, flipping heavy display case, the flipping flippers!!!! Nothing but snottiness. And it hasn’t gotten any better from there.
Nope.
They email us now. Oh joy. They email us to lecture and whine and cry and throw hissy fits about what awful neighbors we are because they can *gasp* hear us when we are home.
Yep.
We’re not talking complaints about excessive or ridiculous noises here. No, no, no. It’s not like Scope and I are screaming at each other, having bowling tournaments in our hallway, yodeling “Welcome to the Jungle” or having Richard Simmons and Gilbert Gottfried over for dinner. Nope. We’re talking complaints about average, normal, everyday life noises here. Noises everyone else in this building has the privilege of making without getting hate mail from their neighbors.
Gah!
Last night they sent us ANOTHER rude email. Our horrific crime this time? They heard us walking across our dining room floor.
Yeah.
Walking.
Across the dining room.
Ooh.
Tragic.
Are you kidding me???? Who on Earth emails someone to complain about stuff like THAT???? Who????
That is completely ridiculous, of course. Completely. Ridiculous. When did walking across one’s own dining room become offensive? Hmm? What are we supposed to do, scoot around the house with pillows on our rears until we effectively learn how to levitate from room to room to avoid irritating the Heckles Herd (which is what I am hereby nicknaming them since they’ve never bothered to even tell me their real names: Adolph and Cruella Heckles. Heh heh heh)?
Needless to say last night’s email was the last straw. Scope is boiling mad now (and Scope NEVER gets mad, people!!) and is brewing up a scalding, blistering reply email as we speak.
(Give ‘em hell, Hubba Hubba Hubby!!!!)
As for me, I tend to fight like a girl. Sneakily. Sooo.... the next time I cross our dining room floor, I fully intend to do it while tap dancing in a bikini made of cow bells while banging pots and pans together and yelling "AYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYI!!" like Xena.
So there!
