Eine kleine Unverschämtheit!

So I haven't bitched about the neighbours upstairs because, well, it's tedious. And on some level, I just need to get over myself. Besides, they haven't been that bad lately. At least, I seem to remember fewer incidents of having to flee the office in order to avoid the thumping of their overamplified Eurotrash. (Or is that just a sign of getting over myself? Nah, probably just the season.)

But now they're back in my sights. I had a bad night Wednesday, and Herr von Stomp's clomping around until midnight helped not at all. The next day, I came home to find my honey in a state of agitation after a series of unfortunate events. First, the doctor cancelled his appointment after making him wait over an hour. Then he foolishly tried to call the Worst Home Depot in Chicago to check on our screen door. Finally, the doorbell rang and it was UPS with a package for Frau von Stomp. "She said just to ring any of the buzzers and someone would come and sign for it."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This is the woman, remember, that doesn't have the time of day for anyone else in the building. Her husband at least responds when I greet him (which is more than he does for monshu), but neither one actually interacts with anyone else in the building, let alone contributes to it in any way. (Yes, they're renters, but they're not the only ones.) And now we're expected to sign for her packages?

I was furious. So furious, in fact, that I knew going up to give them a piece of my mind was a Bad Idea. How do you even talk to such people? How do you explain the social compact to someone with such a huge sense of entitlement and so little consideration for anyone else? Especially since I don't want to explain; I just want to break their legs.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!!

Since the world has enough negativity in it without me spewing more, I try never to post a complaint here without that I balance it out with some positive news. And fortune (aided a bit by me) has just dropped a doozy into my lap.

I haven't posted much about my crushes either, since these are likewise tedious for anyone who doesn't share them. So just because I haven't mentioned Mr Brick Shithouse in months, it doesn't mean that I've ceased making lame attempts to chat him up from time to time. A couple weeks back, his coworker was asking me about sports, and I had to confess that watching soccer held no appeal for me. How that went over you can well imagine. I've been trying to redeem myself by feigning interest in the exploits of the American mens' team, which pulled off a shocking upset of Spain a month ago, only to lose to Brazil in the final. Now the next grudge matchup is the USA vs. Mexico in the Gold Cup Final this Sunday at 1 p.m. and El Tapatío wanted to make sure I didn't miss out. I told him that he really needed to come over and explain it to me. To my surprise, he took down my address and asked, "¿Te gusta Dos Equis?"

So in three days, I will have three hundred pounds of Mexican hotness ten feet from my bedroom door. Any suggestions for getting him through that door and into Buddy Position No. 1 without sending me through the door of St Francis Hospital's Emergency Room will be most warmly entertained.

Code switching en el barrio

EL PARQUE DE ROGERS
GRANDE STUDIOS
REMODELD CON APARATOS

Viejitos pero buenitos

Espero que estes chistes seran bien conocidos de todos, pero de mi no y los encontré muy graciositos.

Un catalán se encuentra con un amigo:
- Pero tío, ¿dónde está tu anillo de matrimonio?
- Es que esta semana lo lleva mi esposa.

Un catalán hablando a su hijo:
- Este reloj perteneció a mi tatarabuelo. De mi tatarabuelo pasó a mi bisabuelo, de mi bisabuelo a mi abuelo, de mi abuelo a mi padre, de mi padre a mí, y ahora quiero que pase a ti. Te lo vendo.

Está un catalán en su casa y le da un ataque cardíaco, lo montan en la camilla lo suben en la ambulancia y el médico le dice a su ayudante:
- ¡¡Póngale la mascarilla!!
Y el catalán:
- ¡¡No por favor, pónganme la más baratilla!!

Here are some Catalan jokes I hadn't come across before. The last one rests on an untranslatable pun, but the others work reasonably well if you substitute whoever is the target of miser jokes in your milieu. For purposes of illustration, I'll use Scotsmen with terrible stage accents.

A Scotsman runs into his friend:
"Och, Jock, where's yer wedding ring?"
"My wife is wearin' it this week."

A Scotsman says to his son: "This watch belanged tae ma great-great-grandfaither. From ma great-great-grandfaither it cam tae ma great-grandfaither, from ma great-grandfaither tae ma grandfaither, from ma grandfaither tae ma faither, from ma faither tae me, and nou I'd like it tae gang tae ye. I'll sell ye it."