I don't live in Bumtown.

This morning I came downstairs with a babushka towel on my head, wearing my bath robe (aka house coat).  I was serving myself a cute little bowl of yogurt when Hubby pointed out that there was a random guy outside. 

Some ass bucket had backed his pickup truck into our driveway and was digging through our post-party recycling boxes to thieve our discarded bottles and cans. 

Now, in theory, this doesn't bother me.  In theory, if people want to get up early and rummage around through other people's trash, well, all the power to them. 

But in practice?  In practice, people are idiots and they need to stay the fuck away from my house. 

I know, I know.  I should just return the bottles to the store myself.  And if I'm not going to benefit from the bottle money, that someone else probably should. 

But I also know that the 3 measly dollars garnered by 1000 sticky beer bottles is not at all worth the headache of sorting and loading the damn things, let alone driving them around town. 

I also know that people are idiots and they need to stay the fuck away from my house. 

So, I put on my best "don't think I won't punch you" facial expression and boldly marched outside to ask the shithead if he was serious, if this was really necessary, and, of course, could he stop being an idiot and kindly stay the fuck away from my house.

Buddy wandered off, and Hubby started ranting that we were certainly, thanks to me, going to get shot - or robbed - or egged - at some point in the near future.  

But then, not FIVE MINUTES LATER, when Hubby went out to his car and there was ANOTHER wannabe-hobo with his fucking minivan backed up to our driveway... Well, needless to say, Hubby wasn't tolerating it any more than I was.

I'm not sure what Hubby said to Idiot Number 2, but I suspect it was something along the lines of "Stay the fuck away from my house.  Please."  Because Hubby's polite.

You guys.  This CANNOT be an unreasonable expectation.  I don't think it's absurd to want strangers to stay the fuck away from my house.  My quiet little street doesn't need them here, and I certainly don't need them scavenging through my stuff. 

This is a disturbing new trend.  It's unseemly.  It's annoying.  It's unnecessary.  And I will not hesitate to go marching out there every goddam week if I have to until these idiots get the hint.   

Bazinga!

Six weeks ago, I was clever enough to decide, with adequate advance notice, to throw Hubby a SURPRISE 28th birthday party.  What was originally just a fun idea became a perfectly executed reality as of yesterday afternoon. 

Last month I told Hubby not to make plans for the Saturday of his birthday.  I said we were going somewhere.  I had plans for us.  Just the two us. 

Clearly, I was a LIAR. 

Although I did have plans, my plans included 20 or 30 of our closest friends shouting BAZINGA at Hubby as he obliviously walked into the house. 

So Friday night, Hubby's actual birthday, he and I had a nice dinner at a nearby restaurant.  Hubby spent most of the meal convincing himself that he'd figured out my Saturday plans.  He was quite certain that we'd go see a favourite local band.  He quizzed me repeatedly, watching for my reaction.  "It doesn't even matter what you say," he said.  "I can just read you."  Oh really, Hubby?  You can read me?  Wow.  That's IMPRESSIVE.

Little did Hubby know, I'd been playing him like a fiddle for weeks. 

I started by asking his friend Larry to come to town, and get Hubby the hell outta my house for a few hours while I laboured. 

Then, I convinced Hubby to take a break on Saturday from roofing our house.  "You deserve a break, Honey.  It's your birthday for christsakes." 

Next, I asked my hilarious genius friend LB to tweet me, inviting me for a late lunch on Saturday afternoon.  Hubby would see the tweets and his subconscious would be incepted with the idea that I'd made plans. 

This meant that when Larry made an "unexpected" visit to town and wanted to hang out during the day, Hubby was free to do so.  The only rule was that he HAD to be home BY 7 O'CLOCK.  We had plans, of course. 

When Larry and Hubby left at 1:15 yesterday afternoon, by 1:16 I was cleaning, preparing food, collecting beer and cheese that was hidden at the neighbour's house, picking up the cake, and making up a dozen air mattresses for our house guests.  And while Larry managed to expertly distract Hubby for SIX WHOLE HOURS, I didn't manage to sit down even once during that same six hour period. 

But when Hubby walked through our door at precisely 7pm, all our effot was totally worth it.  He basically freaked out.  It was precious. 

Aaaaannnnddd... then we all rocked until 4am.  There was guitar playing, song singing, food eating, beer drinking, and of course late night living room dance partying. 

Thank you Sheldon Cooper. 

International Beer Pyramid.

Hubby wearing his new "Madame" sunglasses. 

 

 

Happy birthday Hubby darling.  I'm glad you didn't have a heart attack.  Although hospital parties can be fun too, I suppose.