I'm just too old to live in this shoe box apartment. This is not my beautiful house. How did I get here? Well, occasionally this happens to those of us who do not jump off a cliff or just slice the wrong artery. Mostly it happens to those of us who are not consistently monetarily recognized for their special brand of deluded creative genius. I'm not complaining, mind you, our fleabag apartment has some perks.
Why our apartment came with it's very own slumlord, for no extra charge. We call him Scuffy. Scuffy doesn't walk. He scuffs. Scuffy is right out of central casting, a Dickensian landholder and tax lawyer for the new millennium. Scuffy doesn't talk but barks accusations. Scuffy's slum lord uniform consists of tan Rockports, a navy small peaked birdwatching hat, and a JC Penny beige windbreaker. Sometimes he brings his long suffering wife, the Australian Jane Hathaway with him on a date to empty the trash.
I usually stay out of Scuffy's way but I was so intent on vigorously shaking my new can of spray paint to tag the side of the building that I didn't hear the Rockport shuffle.
Scuffy: You didn't mix the glass bottles with the regular trash, did you?
GiGi: No.
Scuffy: Are you sure you didn't mix the recyclables with the regular trash?
GiGi: Yes. I'm sure.
Scuffy: You didn't throw a baseball through Apt #3's window did you?
GiGi: No.
Scuffy: Are you sure you didn't throw a baseball through Apt #3's window?
The fact that I'm not 11 years old eludes Scuffy. Apparently it eludes me too.
GiGi: (under my breath) Fuck you, Scuffy!
Scuffy: What!
GiGi: Nothing.
Scuffy:You are not going to write obscenities on this building with that spray paint are you?
GiGi: Yes, I mean no.
Scuffy: Are you sure you're not writing obscenities on this building with that spray paint?
GiGi: I'm sure. I'm making a Michael Jackson birthday cake.
This did not impress Scuffy.
Scuffy:You're making a Michael Jackson birthday cake?
GiGi: Yes.
Scuffy: Are you sure you're making a Michael Jackson birthday cake?
GiGi: I'm sure I'm making a Michael Jackson birthday cake.
Truth is, I really was. I was making a Michael Jackson cake for adorable 11 year old Cora's birthday party. I decided to use props around the cake because I coudn't figure out how to mold a cake into a glove. The white glove I purchased looked too much like that annoying hamburger helper white glove. Did you know that that that white cutesy hamburger glove singlehandedly kills cows? I digress.
The cake was a success. It looked better at the Nelson's house though.
The kids and adults gave it a thumbs up ;)
As an added surprise I gave each kid a can of spray paint.
Why our apartment came with it's very own slumlord, for no extra charge. We call him Scuffy. Scuffy doesn't walk. He scuffs. Scuffy is right out of central casting, a Dickensian landholder and tax lawyer for the new millennium. Scuffy doesn't talk but barks accusations. Scuffy's slum lord uniform consists of tan Rockports, a navy small peaked birdwatching hat, and a JC Penny beige windbreaker. Sometimes he brings his long suffering wife, the Australian Jane Hathaway with him on a date to empty the trash.
I usually stay out of Scuffy's way but I was so intent on vigorously shaking my new can of spray paint to tag the side of the building that I didn't hear the Rockport shuffle.
Scuffy: You didn't mix the glass bottles with the regular trash, did you?
GiGi: No.
Scuffy: Are you sure you didn't mix the recyclables with the regular trash?
GiGi: Yes. I'm sure.
Scuffy: You didn't throw a baseball through Apt #3's window did you?
GiGi: No.
Scuffy: Are you sure you didn't throw a baseball through Apt #3's window?
The fact that I'm not 11 years old eludes Scuffy. Apparently it eludes me too.
GiGi: (under my breath) Fuck you, Scuffy!
Scuffy: What!
GiGi: Nothing.
Scuffy:You are not going to write obscenities on this building with that spray paint are you?
GiGi: Yes, I mean no.
Scuffy: Are you sure you're not writing obscenities on this building with that spray paint?
GiGi: I'm sure. I'm making a Michael Jackson birthday cake.
This did not impress Scuffy.
Scuffy:You're making a Michael Jackson birthday cake?
GiGi: Yes.
Scuffy: Are you sure you're making a Michael Jackson birthday cake?
GiGi: I'm sure I'm making a Michael Jackson birthday cake.
Truth is, I really was. I was making a Michael Jackson cake for adorable 11 year old Cora's birthday party. I decided to use props around the cake because I coudn't figure out how to mold a cake into a glove. The white glove I purchased looked too much like that annoying hamburger helper white glove. Did you know that that that white cutesy hamburger glove singlehandedly kills cows? I digress.
The cake was a success. It looked better at the Nelson's house though.
The kids and adults gave it a thumbs up ;)As an added surprise I gave each kid a can of spray paint.
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