wedding garbage

Here it is July and I haven’t posted a damn thing yet. So, here we go!

Time is playing with me all sorts of funny. (You read that right. All sorts of funny.) I feel like the last few months have flown by, like I’ve not been able to keep up. It’s all going so fast. And then, this week, it feels like time. Is. Dragging. I can’t stand it. I have only one reasonable explanation for time’s sudden shift into neutral: the wedding is but a short sixteen days away. Since July 1st hit, the wedding has seemed nothing but Imminent (I’m getting married — this month!) and I’m excited as hell. And when you’re waiting for something, and excited as hell, time stops.

I remember when I was kid growing up in L.A. once every couple of years the family would make a big trek to Disneyland. When you’re a kid, Disneyland is like crack. No. Wait. It’s like something far less horrible than crack. Or is it? Anyway, I digress. Going to Disneyland was the Best Thing Ever and I remember not being able to sleep the night before. And how slowly time seemed to crawl.

And that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now.

In other, far less related news, the garbage company locked all it’s drivers out of work a couple days before the 4th of July. Garbage, as a result, has been piling up all over the neighborhood. It’s pretty gross. This morning I read that there’s speculation that the scabs who were brought in are getting trash from more affluent neighborhoods and neglecting poor neighborhoods like the Oakland flats. I thought our proximity to Piedmont would put us in the affluent category, but it hasn’t.

What drives me crazy about it is this: the lock out was started because management thought the Teamsters might go on strike over a contract that just expired. Mind you, they’re weren’t going to go on strike. They just hadn’t agreed to the contract yet. It seems unconscionable that management would just up and lock them out on the assumption that they might strike.

I mean, what is this, Iraq?

Cheap shot, I know. But I had to take it.

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