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  1. By Lisa Harmon

    Cat yodeling - that’s right.  My husband calls it yodeling.  I am going to kill this cat.  How can a skinny, ancient cat make sounds that loud?  She must’ve swallowed a conch.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  I live in New York City. 

    Trying to relax in New York is like trying to have a good meal at a food court.  It’s impossible, and someone is going to end up yelling and crying (simultaneously).

    Anyway I’ve given up on crying and yelling and now I just accept my yodeling cat, my horn-honking neighbors, the kids upstairs who run all weekend and the fresh direct truck that parks and idles across the street all day.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  How about how loud people talk?  You’re talking too loud.  Stop it.  This is a public place.  Oh, and the ladies at the restaurant that let their toddler crawl across the table.  Yes, I eat in classy establishments.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  What about the people that walk right on top of you.  Not a ray of sunlight can pass between you.  TOO CLOSE!  YOU’RE TOO CLOSE!  Back up.  Back up.  I will kill you.  Also, that’s why those short old ladies walk with carts that they ram into you with.  It’s a pre-emptive strike.

    Furthermore your kid on a stroller does not belong pushed out into traffic.  But hey, you’re an excellent Mom. 

    I’m high strung.  So what!  People are idiots. 

    Which reminds me!  Here’s the topper to end all toppers:  a kid at the mic said he was boxing in his gym against a female opponent.  After a while she said “Watch out for my baby.”  I think he said Whaaaaa???? to which she replied “I’m pregnant.” 

    Is it just me or does everyone think this unborn kid is doomed?  Kid you’ve got back luck already and you’re not even born yet!  That FUCKING MORON is your Mom.  I’ve never had kids.  I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re supposed to let people punch your developing baby.  And probably after he’s born too.  At least the first six months.

    I’m high strung, so what.  What about the guys that drive right up to you?  Yield to pedestrian is a concept beyond these people.  These are the first generation of boys that were born here and they’re so ecstatic about it they drive ninety miles an hour on residential streets.  Streets which have a pesky stop sign every hundred feet.  The stop signs are very tiresome and luckily, here where I live, optional.  The only thing more tiresome than the stop signs are the pedestrians in the crosswalk.  But its ok to give them a nudge in the hip with your bumper.  That’s totally cool with everybody.

    So I’m high strung.  So what?  Do you know what it is like for a tenant to sucker punch you into a conversation?  I’m so naïve and they do it to me all the time.  It starts out innocently “Hi, nice weather huh?”  “Yes its beautiful.”  “By the way tell your husband…” and they rattle off five things.  Oh you think I work here?  That’s cute.

    The days of the Super’s wives helping the Super are over.  Thank goodness.  It is supposedly an insurance thing.  I think it’s a “you a hire a person, you get a person (not a family)” thing.  Sure I’d love to be my husband’s unpaid assistant for the benefit an outside corporation.  But I can’t because of insurance concerns.  I am thinking some Super’s old lady got crushed in the elevator shaft or something, and thanks to her, we’re all free.*

    *Yes it is a mean joke.  Get over it.
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  2. 2 comments:

    1. i'll be careful not to ram you with my shopping cart when i ask you how you are to be followed by a list of seven things that need fixing in my apartment, you high strung free wife of a super, you.

      fun blog. :-)

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