I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Fred, Cat Vomit, And Tighty Whiteys.

I ran to the bathroom door and banged politely on the door.
"Hey Laura?"
"What? I'm in the shower!"
"Uh, Laura do you have a huge tattoo on your back?"
"A tattoo. Do you have a tattoo on your back?"
"I knew you were spying on me. That's why I didn't take off my underwear or bra. You freaking pervert, I'm gonna..."
"It isn't me, it's you."
"What? I'm the pervert?"
"No. You didn't close the blinds."
"Yes, I'm blind. Duh."
"THE BLINDS. There are blinds in the bathtub, you didn't close them. Mike the next door neighbor just sent me pictures of you."
"You're letting the neighbors look at me in the shower?"
"I'm not doing letting anyone do anything! You're the one giving the peep show. Close the blinds!"
I could hear Laura fumble around with the blinds and eventually hear them slam shut.
"Why do you have blinds in your bathroom? And why didn't you tell me?"
"I told you. Close the blinds, I said."
"You said something about and blind girl with no clothes in the bathroom."
"No, I said 'close the blinds! You probably couldn't hear me because that animal of yours is loudly destroying my bathroom."
"I'm sure he isn't destroying it."
"Oh really? I don't remember a hole in my door before."
"Oh wah! Like your house wasn't a pit, even before we showed up."
"Do you have many friends? 'Cause you're kinda acting like a bitch. Beautiful, yes. Nice, no."
"Gosh, am I? Am I not being nice to the the guy who got me drug down the street and tied up, covered in road kill, punched in the face, and to top it off, has naked pictures of me on his phone?"
"An elbow."
"I elbowed you in the face, I didn't punch you."
"I'm tired of talking to you. Can I just finish my shower? Or do you have any other nasty surprises for me?"
"Nope. Being mostly naked for the neighborhood to see, about covers it."
     So I left and went back to my cleaning efforts. I wonder, is it always this hard to have a relationship? Is there always this much blood involved? Speaking of bleeding, I wonder where Bill the Cat is? Hmm, last time I saw him he was on the ceiling fan. I should go check on him.
     Yup he's still there. Maybe I should turn it off, he's looking a little dizzy. As the fan turns to a stop, Bill looks down at me and gives me a plaintive meow.
"It's OK Bill, that bad old dog is upstairs, you can come down now."
     Bill looks down at me knowingly, throws up on my head in reply, and falls off of the fan claws first, leaving long angry lines down my arms as I attempt to catch him. Bill runs in a serpentine pattern into the the kitchen. Now that he's empty, he needs to reload.
"Argh! You got to be frickin' kidding me."
     I can't even take a shower. Laura is hogging up my bathroom. Ugh, I'll go outside and spray the vomit off with a garden hose. As I open the front door, Mike is coming up the stairs.
"Hey man, who's the hot chick? Why did you close the blinds? Is she still here? Can I meet her? Oh my God, what is that smell?"
"Cat vomit."
"Dude, why don't you just cuss? You sound silly with all those sort-of curse words."
"No, Mike. It's cat vomit. On me. That's what smells."
"Oh. Why don't you go take a shower at my place and I'll watch your chick for you."
"That isn't some chick, that's Laura from down the street."
"Dude, I'm pretty sure she's a she. I got some pretty good pictures."
"Mike, go away, or I'll tell Laura to sick Conan on you."
"Conan is here? Oh man, I forgot about that vicious thing. Did you tell her it was me?"
"Already did, If it were me, I would get out of here."
"I'm gone. Tell her I'm sorry. I didn't know it was her. Tell her I'll get rid of the pictures."
"Will you?"
"Nah, probably not."
"Mike unless you leave right now, I'm going to give you a big pukey hug."
"Ech, OK I'm outta here, we'll talk later."
"I hope not."
     I go around the side of the house, turn on the hose and begin to wash the throw up off of myself. Hmm, I'll have to remember that for next time. Apparently water out of a hose, that has sat in the sun in Las Vegas, Nevada, comes out somewhere north of boiling. I have to strip, to make sure my pants don't stick to the burns that have surely appeared on my legs as the lava like water shot out of the hose. My legs are red, and I'm pretty sure there will be blisters at some point but for right now there aren't open wounds. The water eventually approaches a temperature that doesn't melt metal, and I rinse the cat vomit, blood and various other exotic foreign substances I have acquired in the last couple of days.
     I make my way back to the front door, covering myself with my wadded up clothes. As I reach the front  steps, the wind catches the door and it slams shut, in a slow motioney way, replete with me reaching out and yelling "NOOOOOooooooo!" as I realize that my keys are sitting on the hook next to the door and I am standing on my front step in my tighty whiteys.