OKLAHOMA! — HERCULANEUM

I’m so damn tired of our neighbor, I could scream. I've decided to put her up for sale, bidding starts at 30 cents. Well, here...let me tell you about what you'll be bidding on; She’s finally stopped pulling up her terry cloth robe (which she wears ALL the time) to show me where her boyfriend had his abdominal surgery. She points to just above her…you know…and then draws a line up to her belly button. I could barf. Why she keeps doing this is just madness. First time, shame on her. Second time, shame on me. Third time, shame on her again.

Her name is Oklahoma. I know…that’s what I thought too. And she’s the type of person that has no personal boundaries. When we’re finished talking, which I always hope is 3 seconds into the conversation, we always end up about 8 to 10 feet away from where we started. She’ll get real close to me while she’s talking, like she’s going to tongue me, and I take a couple steps back. I say something and she takes another step…and I take a step back. Actually, I shouldn’t say that she steps – she shuffles. She walks puss-forward, like E.T. As though she’s going to give birth at any moment, maybe that’s why she’s wearing that damn robe. Well, she’s not pregnant, although she looks about 7 months. So, she shuffles forward, and I step back. And she shuffles and I step. And then she inhales really, really deeply through her nose like she’s trying to snort something off of the sidewalk below. Like a real big snort that is so loud it’s peculiar. And then she’ll laugh at her own jokes, a laugh that truly sounds like ‘ha ha ha ha ha ha’, just like that. I know that we write that all the time to denote laughter and it hardly ever really sounds like that, but hers’ does. I laugh at my own jokes as well, at least mine are remotely funny – at least I’m hoping they are… And if you don’t laugh at her stupid lame joke? She tells it again as though you must not have heard it (at least I don’t do that, I’ll move on). Because if you had heard it, you definitely would have laughed. Then she’ll snort, then she’ll laugh ‘ha ha ha ha ha ha’, snort again and shuffle towards me. I swear if I didn’t take a step back, she’d end up putting her fur-burgh right on my hip. It's like we have a dance, Will and I don't even have a 'song', but Oklahoma and I have a 'dance' - yeah, it's the 'Snort-a-boogie-Ha-Ha-Shuffle-shuffle'. Unfortunately, you can only perform the dance if you're retarded. Doesn't say much for me, does it?

We live in a condo complex, so we’re in relatively tight quarters with the neighbors around us. It’s a nice complex, but there are a few that remind us how close we all really live to each other. If Oklahoma notices that I’m pulling into the compound, if she’s out at the pool, or hot-tub (where she’s always rubbing on her 98 year old boyfriend with Parkinson’s – I’m totally serious too), or maybe getting the mail, she makes a bee-line back for the garages to meet me as I’m getting out of my car. It never dawns on her that she may not be the first thing that I want to see as I’m either getting home from work, or from wherever. I’ll get out of the car, groceries in the trunk, or the dogs in tow, and she’ll be standing there in her goddamn robe, “Kevin! I have something funny to tell you!” She says this all the time. She’ll literally leave her boyfriend, who’s stumbling with Parkinson’s, to get to me. Running, or rather, shuffling quickly, yelling, “Kevin! I have something funny to tell you!” I’d love it if she told me that they were moving. That’d be funny…that maybe the association got together and made them move because she’s always trying to show people her…you know what. She’ll come over snorting, trying to mount me, in that damn robe, and tell me something so fucking stupid that I could just punch her. It’s not funny in the least. The 6 o’clock news is funnier than what she’s got to say. I used to laugh out of obligation, and then I thought, no, I’m not laughing at her stupid jokes. But, then she just tells them again, because apparently I didn’t hear the punch line correctly.

Another thing she used to do is stand in front of me staring at my boobs as I would jump rope. I would be working out and she’d be staring at me…so I’d just stop and go inside until she’d leave.

One time she was standing behind my car as I had just pulled into the garage. I could see her in the rearview mirror. I had the dogs, my satchel (ok, it’s a man purse), laptop and groceries. So, I let the dogs out of the car, knowing that they would be startled and run at her barking. I’m not very proud of it, but…well, what can I say. Wednesday went charging at her, cause she hates her jokes too and how she’s always trying to put her pelvic bone against me, and lunged for her robe. Oklahoma just looked completely indignant. And all I could say was, “Well…you startled her. What did you expect?” She hasn’t met me at the garage since.

A few months ago she told me that she was finally going to seek some psychiatric help. I didn’t want to know this, but I listened. When I told Will, he just said, “Why is she bothering? She’s almost dead.” After almost pissing myself from laughter, I thought that honestly, I do hope that it helps her. For Christ's sake, I hope it helps her... For about 6 weeks we saw her shuffling around like Anna Nicole Smith. She was so drugged; I don’t even think that she realized she wasn’t wearing her terry cloth robe. She’d shuffle by me, head slightly tilted back, one eye pointing north, the other pointing east or west and instead of slurring, “Hi Kethin” she’d say, “Hi Will”. The psychiatrist was probably like, “Okay…let’s see. You’re totally screwed up, so let’s just put you on massive amounts of something, doesn’t really matter what – that way the rest of us really don’t have to deal with you until you’re in rehab.”

Why do the crazies always get to be the ones that make us feel uncomfortable? Why do they get to have all of the fun? Why can’t we say something, or do something to make them feel awkward? When I see her again and she takes too many shuffles towards me, what if I take a step towards her, will she really let our bellies touch? I’m afraid that she probably will and she’ll not even notice. What if next time she gets too close to me, I pull out a can of spray-paint, start screaming and spray her blue? She’ll probably not even notice that either. I’m tired of people being able to make me feel uncomfortable and saying nothing about it. That’s why I let Wednesday run at her. I let the dog do my dirty work.

Will is much better at being straightforward with people. Recently we met a friend’s friend, and as the evening came to a close and we were bidding our farewells, when she went to hug Will, she tried to kiss him on the mouth. Well, he turned one way and she tried to follow, so he turned the other way and she tried to follow with her lips puckered, until he took a step back and said, “Okay, THAT was awkward. Bye.” And he just walked away, dropped and rolled like it was a fire. Meanwhile, I would’ve probably ended up making out with her so as not to hurt her feelings.

I don’t know what it is; I let people get away with this kind of crap all the time. I’m too nice, my face is too honest. They tell me things that I don’t want to know and they get too physically close and then usually do something inappropriate catching me off guard and not knowing what to say. I’ve literally had someone reach over after we talked and rubbed my bare chest. WHY in the hell did they think that was appropriate? I stood there shocked that they just touched me, barely knowing me, and I let them!

The older I get, the less I care. I’m getting bolder, but I’m also getting bitter and I don’t want to. I don’t want these sick bastards to win. To ruin things, to ruin my hope that people aren’t as messed up as they seem. So, do I hear 30 cents? 30 cents? Yes, you in the terry cloth robe back there? 30 cents? Going once, going twice, sold to the crazy in the back!