rue-madame's Diaryland
Diary
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When it rains�
The neighbors on the northside of my apt building built a fence a while ago. The fence is in the back of their building, right smack on the property line which divides their space from my building's. Everyone in my building was irate when the fence was going up. It was impossible to maneuver our cars in and out of our parking spots, and more than one tenant scraped her car on the posts and lumber. One time during the construction of this thing, Terence and I were pulling out and one woman from other building snarkily said, "I guess you're gonna have to learn to drive!" It's a good thing I was wearing my seatbelt or I would have used my dukes to smack that smirk right off her fricken face. Terence laughed it off, and had no trouble getting the car around our building and out onto the street. Unlike him, I was never a valet and do not have his finely honed driving skills. I knew it was simply a matter of time before I ran into the fence, and every time I drove and avoided scratches, I considered myself lucky. Well, last night, I broke their fence. It was a thing of beauty, people. I went forward, I went backward, fence boards got stuck underneath my car's push bars, and I yanked two whole planks off the framework. The wood came screeching off, nails and all. The car, of course, was barely damaged (a little sawdust and splinters on the hood, push bars bent a teensy bit--the joys of driving an indestructible truck) and the sound was far worse than anything else. One of the tenants in the other building came running out, all disoriented and grouchy. He wasn't exactly nasty to me, but he wasn't real neighborly either. I felt like killing him, naturally, but I just stood there looking as sorry as possible. I was actually on my way to a friend's house to watch a silly movie, and she came by to pick me up because she said it was stupid for me to stay home and stew about the dumb fence. So we watched about ten minutes of some god-awful Cameron Diaz/Christina Applegate movie, then switched to last season's final 2-hour Buffy episode which was much more satisfying in a junk food sort of way. Today I worked my ass off, and tomorrow I have class all day with the hippy burnout printmaking teacher. I've got all the supplies and I'm going to be mighty pissed off if we don't start printing already. Sheesh. After school, I've got a focus group (one hour = $100) then a friend from SF is coming into town for design and fun. Why must it pour?
9:41 p.m. - 2002-09-12
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