29 January, 2009

Finding home, a little history...

When my doctor finally got around to jerking my stomach tube out, I knew it would be all better now. Well, almost. "Aren't you gonna stitch it", I ask?" "Nope" he said. I have to say it was as fun going in as was coming out.
So, I got real busy on finding a new home, since I would soon be kicked out of my first condo. So, I got a friendly realtor to help in my search. If I only had a brain. He would drive me around, and view what you can’t afford just to put me in place. So, he would just drive me to other side of the tracks. "It’s got great bones," he would say. So, after a month or two of this I threw a tantrum. Then he just dropped the MLS book in my lap, finally I could chose! Enee, meanee, miney, mo. My finger lands on a page. Watch out here comes the cripple, and watch him drool out a meek hello. Time was awasting, with a deadline to get out of my old old condo before they bulldozed. I finally found a cute little probate. “I smell dead people.” I was so happy, this is it! I already had signed the papers and was busy saging the house to find that my friendly home inspector missed 100k worth of termite snacking on the house. Oops. Conveniently, the fine print says I can only recover his fee. Silly me, I still can't really read yet. I knew I had really done good, when I find out my next-door neighbor pounds out my wake-up call on our joining walls at 3:30 am. Sally also makes a perfect 10-point turn when she polishes off a vodka bottle. It is cute how the crunch sound of neighbor’s car reminds her to back-up and turn. I would come home, and find her passed out in her car, wake her only to find out she wanted me to help bring her vodka gallons into her house. Occasionally she would ring my bell, and forget why, so she would just rant on the fact that she could not understand poor little old me. Well, 4 years of this and she was found to be just a little expired after 2 months of quiet, but oh, so well pickled. Home free! Not. I forgot to tell you about Billy. The wanderer. When I could see the bed hair at 3pm, I knew I in for a good staring down. He would wobble by without a word, fixating on you. He likes me. Oh, yeah and he was a great parker as well. If not on the sidewalk, he was splayed on our street, like the car just up and died from his bad breath. Charming, friendly Billy used to wander up and down the street leaving his mark in new concrete, BILLY WAS HERE, and a few years later he was not. I missed a good friendship and a free house, damn.The welcome wagon has finally arrived, my humor.
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