Sunday, October 14, 2007

Bomboclaat is a Hero!!

Well those are four words I never in a million years ever thought I would write, but I'm afraid it's true. Bomboclaat is a hero. I am pleased to announce that his new middle name is Bomboclaat Crimefighter.

As you know my parents are here until next Monday packing up their house so they can up and run off to Los Angeles to do things like lunch, make movies, wear big sunglasses and argue with movie producers over where the best sushi in LA is. In the meantime I am back at Millipede Manor, which is fine because I really like my apartment and I went through a massive millipede eradication this weekend so all of them are gone. Things are good in my world. But back to the story, because I am reigning empress of the tangent and digression over here.

So the other day I had some free time and I can't believe I am actually admitting this, but I made a special trip over to my parents' house for no other purpose than to walk Bomboclaat, because I felt like taking a walk. My husband works 473 hours a week and we live in a neighborhood where if I were to go on a walk alone at least five old Buicks would pull up to ask me if I was workin'. Several people would then ask me for money, I would encounter a heated argument between a drag queen and the daytime bartender at the S&M club down the street, the weird guy across the street who honestly believes that he is from outerspace would attempt to engage me in conversation and sell me something he made from a palm frond, and a group of teenaged boys would inevitably attack and try to steal something from me. My parent's neighborhood, though equally strange, is a whole lot safer than where I live so I felt like I'd be ok walking alone with a useless small dog. It was evening so I wouldn't encounter Arthur Leigh Allen and his muzzled pitbull. They only go outside at midnight.

My dad was standing around in the yard looking at the landscaping and talking on the phone. He always does this. He spends a good 79% of his life on the phone with someone and he seems to have something against actually using the phone inside. He prefers to pace around outside and survey the yard while he converses. When I pulled up he got off the phone and I told him I was there to walk Bomboclaat.

"You are not going to believe what happened last night," my dad said rubbing his new buzzcut, which is another whole story in and of itself.

This was a very true statement. I still don't hardly believe it.

At five in the morning the dogs woke my parents up because they were raising holy hell. The dogs never do this because they are lazy and like to sleep and can't usually be bothered by anything that doesn't involve food and boxes of meat from Costco.

And yes, I said dogS. There are two. The second dog is a puppy and the reason I didn't have to contend with him while my parents were away a few weeks ago is because he was at the vet getting trained and socialized. He is a Doberman so he has to be thoroughly trained and sent to obedience school so he doesn't destroy the house and its occupants.

So both dogs were pitching a gigantic fit, jumping and barking and howling to beat the band and they would not shut the hell up, so my parents got out of bed to see what the problem was. The puppy barked and barked and barked, but Bomboclaat led my father to the window.

Across the street a robbery was in progress!!

For the entire time that my parents have lived in Casa dei Sogni someone has been building a truly ridiculous house across the street from them. Someone could have built an undersea tunnel from here to Jamaica in the time it has taken these people to get 3/4s of the way done with this ridiculous house. I say ridiculous because it is. It's one of those tacky mega-mansions with a rotunda, balconies, seventeen bedrooms, and a massive front entry that looks like the entrance to the Florida Museum of Gaudiness and Displays of Garish Excess. There's something very weird about this house that makes it look like it has a face and is wearing a hat. I'll take a picture of it for you this week so you can see it too. The house looks like a cartoon character.

No one knows who the house belongs to or why it's being built. For a while the rumor was that it belonged to a big NFL star, but that seems to have died down and now no one knows anything except that this house will probably never ever be finished ever. They had the roof tiles stacked up for six months. Only recently someone saw fit to finally install some windows.

I know why they'll never get it done. The workers don't do anything. I observed this all while I was staying at my parents' house. The workers would all get there around 9 in the morning and stand around for a while discussing their lives with one another. At exactly ten the Roach Coach, possibly known to you as the lunch truck, would arrive playing La Cucharacha for the whole neighborhood to hear.

The Roach Coach serves tortas which are these big, disgusting sandwiches the size of a professional wrestler's head. Inside the tortas are all the parts of animals that the people who make hot dogs thought were way too gross to use. These disgusting animal parts are then pressed into terrifying deli meats that do not have English names and then layered a foot high with some mayonaise and Latin American cheeses on bread that looks like a football. Tortas are really nasty and the people who are supposed to be working on the house across the street love them. All the construction workers buy tortas from the Roach Coach and then sit around and eat them in the dirt yard of the house that will never be finished being built ever. Then they buy pastelitos from the Roach Coach and eat them. In all the Roach Coach is around playing La Cucharacha until after noon, and no work has been done at all. When the Roach Coach leaves playing La Cucharacha, all the workers who have eaten 30 pounds of disgusting animal parts on bread, washed down with Jupina and Materva, and followed by a pastry that is essentially sugar flavored lard, are too full to do any work on the house, so they sit around in the shade and talk about their lives again and show one another their tatoos. By the time they get done it's four, and that's close to five, so they go home. This repeats every single day. Also at some point during the day, possibly between torta and pastelito, someone decides to randomly throw nails all over the street. We've all been through several tires on account of this. The people at the Costco tire department know me by name, and they always ask if that house across the street is done yet.

Well, the other night the ridiculous house that will never be done ever, was in the process of being robbed. How, you may ask, can a house be robbed that isn't even done? It's big business around here, and other places too, to visit houses that aren't finished yet, under the cover of night to steal building materials and appliances.

Remember my Evil Ex fiance, the one who got the other girl pregnant? His mother used to do this. I'm not kidding you. On numerous occasions the woman, who was tiny and in her 50s, would suit herself up all in black, ski mask and all, and drive her gigantic black Chevy truck up into unfinished housing developments and proceed to plunder everything from these half built homes, that she could get her little hands on. Then she would either use it to fix up her own house or she would stack up all the stuff in her garage with the intent of I don't even know what, because I don't remember her selling any of it. She also used to steal patio furniture that wasn't bolted down. Clearly the woman who was, thank the Good Lord, not meant to be my mother-in-law, had some issues. Big issues. And in Evil Ex's defense, this behavior of his mother's used to upset him terribly and there was nothing he could do to make her stop. I can only hope that she no longer does this, otherwise if you're in her area you may want to tie up, bolt down or lock up your patio furniture at night.

It was not Evil Ex's mother stealing out of the house across the street. At least I hope not. It was some people with a big truck though. Bomboclaat led my dad to the window so that he would see the robbery in progress. The thieves had all the lights in their truck turned off and had the truck backed up to the front door of the house. Someone stepped on the brakes, causing the brake lights to glow red and reflect into my parents' house. When my dad saw the brake light he realized what was happening and switched on all the lights to the house, so the robbers would know he saw them. They took off and he called the police.

Thus Bomboclaat, with help from the puppy, became Bomboclaat Crimefighter.

I kind of wish they were leaving him now.


MP said...

OK..there is so much great about that story...the evil ex's mom seems like a piece of work.
You can drop your dog off and pick him up trained??? WTF???
Did your dad become a monk or something? Please tell the story of why he buzzed his hair!

Anonymous said...

I love your stories BUT I am dying for the continuation of the one where they have a bar mitzvah in Israel and then the family comes to the USA, I love hearing stories of your parents when they where young, and their families.

Anonymous said...

Hooray for Bomboclaat Crimefighter Doggy!

May I have that vet's number? My retriever refuses to stop barking and he's become a pain in my ear.

Tortas from a Roach Coach = Gross. BUT, if you're ever in Baja, California, hit up Taco Surf. You'll have the best carne asada torta you've ever had in your entire life.

Architect Critic said...

Yeah, the biggest thing they are stealing right now is anything with copper. I talked to a guy a while back who had to completely rewire a house being built because thieves took all the wiring off the walls. Apparently there is good money in "recycling" copper right now.

Anonymous said...

Did you know that you are precious?

I love, love, LOVE the way you throw away the brush and paint those images
with whatever is handy.

And I could see the damn gaudy house "smiling" and it had clown eyes too, ha! Please give us a picture of that place if you can.

Also, Yea! for Bomboclaat. Oh, I really liked the mention of the music from the Roach Coach. I too am haunted by that sound as the local "upscale" lunch truck serenades our office building. Of course all the women scuttle out faithfully at 8:30a.m. and 12:30.

Ya know what? That entire posting was amazing. Good lord girl, we're pretty lucky to get you for free. It's funny, but I'll never forget you and these stories. It's a delight and many times a moral lesson about humanity.

~just another anonymous reader

Dyanne said...

I am totally hooked on The Dog Whisperer ever since that post where you were trying to "tchh" the pit bull! lol

Pumpkin said...

Yaaaay for Bomboclaat!

Excellent story, and I second MP, please tell us why your dad 'buzzed' his head...pretty please.

A Margarita said...

Bomboclaat is my hero! Lol, he seems like such a cutie . . . or not. But he has character :)

Anonymous said...

Goooo Bomboclaat. You're my new hero, plus, I like saying your name.

Miss Kitty said...

You know, there's a house kind of like that near my mom's in Booger County, Georgia. Same with the house across from your mom's, it was *supposedly* being built by some former NFL footballer, but then was abandoned for mysterious reasons. WAAAAY too big to be practical, and expensive construction, too (concrete blocks). Mom and I call the one up here Maison de Whatthefuck.

Hooray for Bomboclaat! I'm naming my next cat after him. Awesome name, SNM.

First Nations said...

well there you go! little bombo just paid his way into doggy paradise! where my dogs will redeem their useless lives by waiting on him and lighting his cigars and stuff.

poor little taco! do you think if you asked your parents might let you keep him? tell them that taking him out of his cultural matrix will be too much of a shock at his age.

Subservient No More said...

I asked my mom and she said no, but the only reason was that Husband and I aren't home enough during the day to let him outside so he would get lonely and pee on the floor. Canela will be lonely.

Anonymous said...

Tortas are great You are fucking stupid! Stop watching people work and mind your own business cunt.

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