Suburbia

So far, I seem to have made a lasting impression. Adam and I have been systematicallytaking out our MOUNTAINS AND MOUNTAINS of garbage created by the move. First of all, let me say that the garbage down here is TOTALLY WEIRD.

There are no garbage men. Garbage men! THERE AREN’T ANY! There are garbage truckdrivers, but no actual garbage men. They drive trucks that have these ginormous mechanical arms that come out and scoop up giant plastic bins. If your garbage doesn’t fit in the giant green plastic bin, then you are shit out of luck, my friend. I already felt like I was moving into a Stepford-esque neighborhood since it was a planned urban development, but this really put me over the edge. Seeing this GIANT CLAW leap out of the side of the truck to pick up my garbage was freaky.

Back to garbage adventures and Reasons Why We are Already the Pariahs of Our Development:

1) Because of the mind-boggling amounts of garbage we’re generating as a result of unpacking, we are exceeding the capacities of the Giant Green Containers nearly every single day. Because it would take us nearly 15 weeks of garbage days to make the slightest dent in the mountain of garbage, we have been forced to seek other means of disposal. The head of the homeowners association recommended we toss our broken down boxes into the dumpster near where they are building new Ant Farm houses like ours “when no one is looking.” We have interpreted this to mean, “Dump every day at least twice a day whatever you want.”

Thursday, while dumping our Eleventy Millionth Pile of Garbage in the dumpster, we heard a noise rustling behind the monstrosity:

“STICK ‘EM UP!”

We screamed as if we were being held at gunpoint by Saddam himself. It was a no more than 11-year-old boy who was hiding behind the dumpster. Unfortunately, our screams alerted the nearby neighbors to our perpetual presence at the dumpster, and brought about a fair amount of judgmental tut-tutting and stares. Dumping must now be done under the cover of nightfall, like a covert SEALs operation.

2) As if being known as the Couple Who Dumps wasn’t bad enough, Friday morning, Adam and I were taking out our giant plastic bin for the mechanical arm. Lou, our retired next door neighbor was out in his garage, as he always is and said hello. I’d only met him once, but he seemed like a nice, Midwestern man. While gesturing with my right hand, my thumb got caught in the edge of my t-shirt, and my t-shirt went OVER MY FACE and exposed my COMPLETELY BRALESS BOOBS to poor Lou, who was no doubt looking at me because I WAS TALKING TO HIM.

I panicked, pulled my t-shirt down and muttered, “Um, er, excuse me. Um, wow,” and giggled like an ex-stripper taken suddenly out of her element.

3) Sunday night, I was irrationally screaming at Adam because I am hormonal and mean. Screaming screaming screaming the entire way home from his parents’ house. SCAAAHREEEEEMING. As we entered the garage, I let it rip by screaming, “FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUU!” and stormed off. If you listen very very hard, I’m sure you can still hear the reverb in your neighborhood. Oh and, um, I locked him out of the house.

So now we are the Couple Who Dumps with the Psychotic Woman Who Screams and Strips. Fantastic! We likely won’t be invited to any barbecues soon.

12 comments September 4th, 2005