Smile Like you mean it.

.

I realize that Ms. Armstrong has nothing on me.

She can write about pretty mundane things in life and be entertaining, well, guess what? So can I. I'm a writer in my own right, and I'm busy with my tiny life, much more tinier than hers I'm certain, but I can write about anything in it. And I tend to. It's strange but I have an opinion on almost everything, and I question everything, which, in the long run, makes me an oddball.



Not that I'm trying to be an oddball. I just question shit. Things that I can't imagine there being an answer for, like, why is the plastic bottles of Tide red? Well, mostly reddish deep orange. Or maybe it is red and I'm just a tad color blind. But isn't that supposed to be the color of danger? Red is for stop, danger, yellow is for warning or slow, and green is for okay, or go. Am I getting something wrong here? Did I miss the memo. I mean, do you ever think about this shit? Clorox bleach is in a white plastic bottle, and bleach will kill you. Bleach is toxic and caustic and can ruin clothes as well as clean them. Now why is that in a white bottle?



How about Downy fabric softener. That's in a blue plastic bottle. Blue. Almost sky blue. It claims to be baby soft, and it's even colored blue. Now that seems to be on the mark. So why do we have red, blue and yellow bottles to do our laundry with? And why are the colors so fucked up. Shouldn't Tide be blue and Clorox bleach be red? I mean, it can't be because of the colors of the chemicals inside because although Downy is sky blue, Tide is crystal blue, and bleach is clear. Maybe bleach should be in a clear bottle?



Just a thought from my sick assed mind, doing the laundry with different chemicals. Whatever. This is the diseased brain that I have to deal with every day when I pick shit up or put shit down or watch shit go by. Questions seem to pop up and I want answers that I can't figure out for myself. Like I said, I can just about write about anything.



Take my hallway for instance. Some days, it really doesn't matter which ones, but some days there is this fucking rumbling of something heavy rolling down my hallway past my door. It sounds like someone rolling a refrigerator down the hall on a dolly. But this is a little too constant to be someone moving furniture. Unless people are moving nearly every day for almost three years. Then I thought that someone had a wide TV on a stand moving it up and down the hallway to each others house to watch their weekly soap together, but I doubt it. These chumps like to socialize in the hallway, not in their homes.



Then I thought it was one of the old women in a walker that comes down the hall with wheels. She moves slow enough for it too. However, I was trying to get into my apartment one day and she came around the corner in her 'walking bumper car' and she didn't sound so earth moving when she approached. I scratch my chin. What the fuck can it be?



Could it be the Puerto Rican chick with the baby, baby carriage and daughter? This crazy bitch almost ran me over the other day with her fucking stroller. What did I tell you about the mommies and their strollers in this city. They think they have the fucking right of way all the time, and that you are simple road kill. I'm in the hall, trying to unlock my door and she turns the corner and rushes down the corridor, ready to plow me down if I don't open my door and jump from her fucking path. I move slower instead, taking my time instead of trying to hit my door lock with my key in trembling hands. I make her wait a heart beat until I can get in my door like a normal person. But no, even with her steels wheels bearing down on me, it didn't sound like moving furniture.



Maybe I should open the door or look through the peephole the next time I hear the noise. Two strikes on that call. Whatever it is, its lower than my peephole and moves too fast to be seen because of the narrow field of vision of the peephole itself. It can be seen for a second or two before it's rolled past. And I spend 95% of my time in my room ass naked so I don't usually jump and open the door. And by the time it takes me to put clothes on and open the door, the noise has already past.



I just don't know what the fuck that shit is, but it drives me crazy and soon I'll concoct a plan to figure out exactly what the fuck it is. Maybe one of those trip snares that uses a bent tree and a rope. Whenever that thing comes by my door again, a rope will snap tightly around the leg of the thing and yank it up into the air upside down, leaving it dangling until I get there.



Then again....that snare might capture Paula and have her dangling in the air before my door. Then I'd have to cut her down... errrgh! I'd rather not even think about that.

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