I just started this blog just as Trump finished his rally at Hartford, Connecticut. Today was weird, too.
Mom awoke seven, went back to sleep, and awoke at 0925 am. Dad awoke around my time at eight but takes freaking two hours to come downstairs. After taking a shower for my interview at 1300 and later putting on my war paint, I had to stuff the UPS bubble envelope with my old phone for the $50 credit in a buyback program. Then we had breakfast around 1000 am. I waited one hour until Dad finished his rituals upstairs; while Mom finished sewing my new blue camp-like shirt.
At 1100, we arrived at the UPS store and dropped off my prepaid package. At 1122, we arrived at the Divine Mercy prayers. At 1229, we took our Eucharistic host and drove to the bathrooms near the hall. I waited in the no-parking zone with my hazard lights turned on and the handicapped placard hanging on the rear view mirror. A UPS brown truck came and went. Humanz came and went. And my parents finally loaded themselves up into Dad’s Mazda Protégé.
At 1245, we arrived at the Mxxxxtt Txxxxs sectors. I didn’t realize this was name of the location. I logged into the kiosk, misspelled the last name of Kelly, waited for the kiosk to burp up the name of the contact name, selected the correct name, informed the receptionist to print out my badge, waited five minutes for Kelly to come out. I then interviewed with Natisha, who took notes and will forward the crap I unloaded, including my hearing impairment, to Kelly who may or may not contact “Shane” my headhunter sometime next week.
Thusly, I came out to my parents waiting patiently parked in the handicapped lot until 1335. We then headed northbound to Milpitas, shopped at the first Filipino grocery store for $0.75 cans of young coconut juice, shopped for grocery at the next Filipino store, and ate two order of Number Four with an extra chicken BBQ stick.
At 1320, we arrived home to see the crazy bitch living next door to us. Her electric garage door was wide open. The maroon Dodge caravan CA # ending in 689 was parked crooked almost over the public sidewalk but on the left-hand driveway. Mom pressured me to close the garage door quickly. Had that been Dad, that would have taken five minutes!
As we slowly unloaded our aged humanized forms, we can hear her taking out her sexualized, Jezebel-possessed jolly in the form of verbally screaming loudly at the crux of our shared chain link fence. I overheard her talking aloud to herself or to an imaginary listener over her free Obama cellphone: “She’s inside the house”, twice.
Once again, her home address in 1335. She her first real/full name followed by the street number, followed by Comcast.net. She usually arrives home around 1500 or so. How strange is it VISA tourists with cray-cray to get jobs over natively-born residents, like my brother and moi?
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