So, I’m sitting here, on this beautiful, sunny, warm California early-spring day, and I’m wondering something.? No, I’m not? wondering? about the musical chirping of the birds, or if we’ll have a nice summer this year, or even who’s going to win the stinkin’ Democratic nomination? (by this point, it could be my dog Fergie for all I care—she says free liver biscuits for all, by the way).?
Nor am I wondering why I can’t decide, after months of deep and profound introspection, whether my son should attend morning or afternoon preschool sessions (these days, I’m just chalking? my indecisiveness? up to a disturbing genetic defect and leaving it at that).
No, what I’m wondering on this idyllic, lovely day, is this—would I, or would I not, serve jail time for chucking the largest rock I could hoist without breaking my back? at the moron across the street’s car, which is currently blasting? music at about a billion decibels and making my entire house vibrate from his pimped out base?
What, you think that’s extreme?? Puh-lease.? Can you honestly tell me you’ve never, not once, in your entire life, ever thought about? taking a giant baseball bat and bashing some dude’s dance club on wheels into smithereens?? Or blowing it up?? With maybe just a tiny nuke?
Okay, so perhaps I am a little warped.? But I mean, come on folks.? If people could just decide to be super noisy at appropriate times, that would be one thing.? But this dude had the audacity to make that unholy racket when my baby was napping.? NAPPING, I tell you.? It’s unacceptable, unpardonable, and goes against all the laws of nature, or at least, all of the important ones.? ?
And no, it? doesn’t matter that they have no idea I’ve got a snoozing infant in here.? If they’re neighbors, they should know I have a baby.? Babies typically sleep a lot, right?? Then I think it’s perfectly reasonably to expect them to assume she’s napping 24/7, and keep their stinkin’ speakers on permanent mute.? ? Or at the very least, keep them? at the level at which you would play a Barry Manilow song when your big rocker brother is home (and you don’t? aren’t craving a? good ass-kickin’? every day for the rest of your natural born existence).?
Let’s face it—when she’s napping, the chirping birds alone make me long for a good? pellet gun.? You can only imagine the kinds of cravings shaking walls bring on.? Okay, so maybe my urges don’t really necessitate nuclear weapons and bludgeoning (at least on really good days).? ? But they do involve flaming poo bags and upholstery.? Or (on really bad days), a smallish bazooka.
Heck, I’ll ‘fess up.? When my daughter is tucked away in her crib catching up on some zzz’s, I even want to rip the mailman a new one when he’s kind enough to bring our mail to our door.
So, I guess the moral of my story is this—Nobody messes with my? napping baby.? ?
Oh yeah—and if think you’re gonna pump up the volume around my ‘hood, you’d better sheath that ride in stink-proof armor.Share on Facebook