Oh, hello. It's me again, living the high life in re-hab, six days after surgery.
Lalalalalalalalalala. . .
Lessee, which story do I want to tell? How about my latest plans to entertain the local constabulary? Yes, it's all I think about. Since this third wellness check, when the officers went in, didn't find me dead, and then locked my house up tight with the keys inside [always an inconvenience for anyone going to the hospital for surgery], I've spent [almost] every waking moment -- from my first glimmer of consciousness in the recovery room, to my reflective moments of evacuation on the commode, to my respite on the patio of this human depot for new hips and knees -- thinking of legal things I can do to make a FU statement to any squad car that cruises by my house.
My street is off the beaten path, so there's no reason for cops to drive by unless they're on a call. But lately, since the last wellness check, they've been driving by more often than a Paula Abdul stalker. So why disappoint them? Also, a woman who is employed as a clerk at our police station lives just across the street and a couple of doors down from me. She will no doubt keep them apprised of any artwork I come up with. I'm counting on you, Patti.
FYI: Patti is not the woman who called in the "wellness check." That woman -- a woman I never speak to -- lives two doors down on my side of the street.
Speaking of which -- the woman, not the street -- I had a conversation with one of the neighbors I actually like talking to, offering them the use of my driveway while I was in for my second surgery. They have to park one of their extra cars on the street, in front of annoying-neighbor-Victor's driveway, which, duh, annoys him. He, in turn, parks his enormous black hemi Dodge pick up in front of my driveway, which annoys ME. [For those keeping score here in the neighborhood from HELL. . .oh, nevermind.]
They accepted my driveway offer, but I also warned them that I couldn't be responsible for the safety of their cars during another attack on my place. We laughed. But, she knew I wasn't kidding.
As for the "wellness check" beyotch -- according to the neighbor who will be parking in my driveway -- Mrs. Busybody has been telling everyone on the block that she tried to call me several times to talk to me. [About what? The time a guy from Playboy asked her if she would pose nude for them because she has ginormous breasts? Which only made me wonder how they were going to bag her face.] Meanwhile, after supposedly making those alleged calls to me regarding my safety, she contends that she had no choice but to call 911 because she couldn't get in touch with me. Liar liar pants on fire.
Okay, the whining portion of this entry is ended. Here's my art concept. I have a new asphalt driveway, very black and fairly wide. Plus a new cement sidewalk, very white, and each square is about 30" x 36" wide.
I think I'll have the outline of a dead female body whitewashed on the driveway a la Keith Haring, with some artistic accoutrements, such as curly hair and boobs. PLUS a matching female body painted in black on the white sidewalk. I also want to wrap my home in attractive, yellow CAUTION tape as an homage to Cristo, but I haven't figured out the most artistic way to pull that off yet. [Suggestions welcome.]
For anyone I've offended with this idea -- bite me.
Gotta go. The dope just kicked in.