Neighbors

So I've been very "vocal" about the jacked-up old house we used to work in. But I haven't mentioned much about the swanky new space, which is awe and then some. I have my own office with brand new furniture and a window out into the hallway (though sadly no windows to the outdoors). But I thank my lucky stars for what we ended up with. It's really amazing. No more stench vent. No more weird sound tunnels. No more everything creaking.

And right now, we don't have the full space. We had kicked out some folks for this space, but one department had to stay behind until their new space is built. We were concerned upon moving in that these folks would hate us. I mean, we're a loud bunch. We have 18-20 year olds busting in with their cell phones and their sometimes less than courteous manners. These people never make a peep over there.

But they've been awesome. We did a formal breakfast meeting this week with introductions, and they are all really hilarious. Well, except for a few sour apples. I'm thinking of this woman I can only refer to as Scowlella. She has this permanent frowny face and doesn't make eye contact. I think she needs sex. But then, that's my mental solution for anyone who's fussy.

And speaking of which, one of our "neighbors" has this smoking husband I like to call Hottie McHotterson. This man is sexay! He has nicely defined arms, perfectly tanned, great smile, sideburns (and I love a good sideburn), and today he was wearing this t-shirt tucked in behind his belt, board shorts, and sweet little Keen shoes. I was praying right then for a show called "Husband Swap." But then, I don't have a husband, so let's just call it "Husband Snag."

Then of course he spoke, and if I hadn't known better, his mannerisms and speech softly whispered "gay" into my ear. Damn these hot ambiguously straight men!

He's usually in our shared break room for lunch, and today we had this nice chat. they were telling me how great Keen brand shoes are and he says, "I can let you use mine for a while. Are you a 10.5?" For you, sweetie, I'll be anything you want. But much like Cinderella's wicked step-sisters, my foot was too big. "No, I'm an 11.5." But for you, I'll be anything you want...

Then home today, I noticed my not-yet-legal teen boy neighbor running down the street shirtless. Here we go again. Totally not fair. He runs into his house, and then I see him going in the opposite direction shirtless, underwear exposed, skateboarding. Today has been pure torture! Yeah, I know, call the police on the homo pedophile, right?

Certainly a break at my favorite coffee house will provide a needed respite from alluring men. And right into the den of estrogen I go. And no Barista Boy in sight, thankfully.

But instead I'm sitting, as I type, next to this table of 10 angry cheerleader moms arguing about fund raising for their precious lovelies. From what I gather, there could be an inevitable showdown between them and the skanky football moms. Take out your earrings, ladies, and get the Vaseline. It's time to take it to the streets, old-school. Cranky booster betches. This one mom, the outspoken ringleader I'm calling Momzilla, is a bossy sort. These women need sex.

But that's my answer to everything...