On Chainsaws and Two Year Olds

The first three apartments I had when I moved to San Francisco all had some form or another of "city noise." This didn't really bother me, since the sounds served as a constant reminder that um, I had moved to a city.

(I'm not very profound on one cup of coffee.)

Now I live on one of the busiest streets in the entirety of SF, except my apartment is off-street. My windows overlook other complexes, and it's really mostly very quiet. The only "city noise" I pick up is the very loud stuff, like sirens and motorcycles. Mostly I just hear the ding of the cable car and, if I listen for it, the foghorn at Alcatraz.

I am now sitting in my apartment trying to work, except I can't. Because there is landscaping going on.

And by "landscaping" I mean that a shirtless, gray-haired man has taken to whacking at some poor, parking lot-adjacent shrubbery with a chainsaw. Or something that sounds like a chainsaw. I do not know if this is actually an effective method of scaping the land, but it is loud and horrible and makes me want to throw my cat out the window at him.

Instead, I will just stand at my window and take full advantage of my camera's fancy ZOOM feature, and photograph him and his tighy-whitey waistband through my blinds. And post it on the Internet! HA HA!

I discovered a few years ago that loud sounds make me instantly angry. The sudden roar of a motorcycle going by makes me want to scream obscenities at the driver, perhaps regarding his diminutive groinal area and his resultant need to over-compensate.

So this incessant chainsawing out my window is making me positively insane. It has stopped for a few moments, but it's going to start again because right now, right at this very second as I write this, I have just peered out my window to see him POUR MORE FUEL INTO THE MACHINE.

GAH! He has started again.

Here, I even recorded it with sound. To prove that I am insane, I guess.


It's kind of sad that I'm using this wretched, can't-concentrate-at-all time as an excuse to blog. I miss blogging regularly! I miss you all!

And, you know, certainly you must miss me. Aren't you dying to hear my captivating opinions on Paris Hilton? Cat pee? Boob mishaps? THE SOPRANOS ENDING? (I WON'T stop believing, Tony!)

I'll just assume that yes, yes you do.

Also, for those of you keeping track and wondering where the hell the time has gone, today is my nephew, Charlie's SECOND BIRTHDAY.

Happy Birthday, Charlie!

And finally, maybe you should go back and read about my HILARIOUS trip to the doctor-that-shall-not-be-named, aka OBGYN, aka The Voldemort on the day Charlie was born.


  1. Charlie is beautiful.

    And do you know as soon as I saw Journey in the jukebox on the last episode, I yelled at the TV (because I am awesome and fun to watch television with) "Play 'Don't Stop Believin'!" And he did. And all was right with that episode in my book. Even if I did think my cable had cut out.

  2. I am only glad that your OB/GYN does not use tools that a) require gasoline, b) make loud scary noises c) wear tighty whities with his pants falling off (I know the GYN in the visit is a woman but I need some latitude here), and d) that we can all assume your GYN does not perfume exams shirtless.



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