Trading carrots for chocolate pudding since 2012.
Everybody knows one.
He’s the “crazy old man” on your block. You know, that guy who angrily shoos the neighborhood kids off his lawn, scowls at passersby while he’s doing yard work and lives in the house you just don’t go up to on Halloween.
It’s taken me a little more than a year to find him on our block, but I can now say he’s been located. He lives in the yellow house on the corner.
“Wait!” said one of my friends. “Don’t you live in a yellow house on the corner?”
Yeah, I do. The crazy old man on the block is me.
I don’t know if 34 qualifies as “old,” but I think I’ve officially become “that guy” in several respects. Let’s delve further.
* I pretty much can’t stand the majority of “today’s” music. Well, OK, I’ll admit it: I kinda like some of Drake’s stuff, but I’m still tired of seeing his high-yellow ass all the damn time.
* Last week, I yelled at some teens driving down my street to “turn that noise down.” This coming from the guy who plays his music as loud as possible when in the car.
* After a few incidents with the neighborhood kids kicking the rocks in my yard, I often peep out the blinds waiting for the little whipper snappers to try something again.
* Take note that I actually just called them whipper snappers.
* I’ve been known to leave the front door open and scream like crazy whenever the Braves do something as minor as getting a lousy single. One time the yelling and hooting prompted a woman to come to my door and ask if I was OK.
* I will stare down anyone who walks a dog past my place to make sure that if Fido drops a deuce, the owner immediately picks that shit up. Hell, one night a few months ago, I stood on the porch with a golf club in hand. Needless to say, it was cleaned with no hassle.
* It used to be all about Newcastle, Corona, Heineken or other beers that go for damn near $10 a sixer. These days, a Coors Light or Pabst Blue Ribbon work just fine.
* I love Wednesday’s mail. That’s when the grocery store ads come in. Oooooooh!!! There’s a sale on PBR …
Last but not least:
* When I’m off work Saturday night (anywhere between 7 and 9, usually closer to 9), all I can think about is how great it will be to go home and just get in bed. That is, after I inspect the grass for dog crap — all while carrying a golf club, a stick or sometimes a chainsaw.
Let’s face it. I’m definitely old and maybe just a bit looney tunes.
Maybe it’s just me, but I think my neighbors misunderstand me. For all the screams, scowls and the like, I’m actually a very cordial person. Ask TheWayIsHere or CaffieneFiend, they can vouch. For those who come to my area, I greet them all the same. I flash my winning smile and offer some friendly advice:
STAY THE HELL OFF MY LAWN!!!