ninme

Everyone’s gone. RC2’s gone, Tim Blair’s gone, the parents of the teenager across the street are gone… The news has ground to a halt and all I have to distract myself from my duties is listening to the kid play Fergie’s Big Girls Don’t Cry at the top of her car stereo/sound system, then call a friend alternately crying or laughing but lots of shrieking, then blast the song again twice, another phone call, another two blasts of the song, phone call, etc. At night she has friends over, friends who can’t drive the SUVs their parents bought them, and require lots of shrieking laughing instructions on how to back out of her driveway at 11.30 at night. Or else they park in front of her house, in a no parking zone, which makes the fire trucks coming back up the hill hoooonk and hoooooonnnnk and hoooooooooooonnnnnnnnnkkkkkkk trying to get someone’s attention so they can get by. It’s a narrow street.

The moral of this tale is: Don’t leave your kid home alone if she’s got sh*tty taste in music.

Actually no, I take that back. She could be blasting Puccini and me and the guy downstairs who tried yelling at her and her friends two nights ago (during a Fergie/blasting/shrieking/laughter-filled backing-up of an SUV session) would still find her irritating as hell.