Blogger. Is that what this makes me? So now I'm a blogger? I've been a lot of things in my lifetime, but I can honestly say I never thought I'd hold the title of "blogger". It's an ugly word, really - BLOG. But nonetheless, here I am blogging. Here, let me blog a little more and see how I feel......where to begin....?? So, I live in Atlanta now. I moved to Atlanta from Apple Valley, MN about 15 months ago to escape the same things I'd known my entire life, but mostly[and most importantly]to be with my fiance' Melissa. I could never, ever have imagined the drastic personal changes that would take place as a result of that decision, but I'm not going to blog about that now[although I may in the future, this blogging thing is starting to feel pretty good.....the keys are kinda gettin' warm under my fingers, maybe this is why Minnesotans looooove their bloggin']. No, I'm go
nna spare you the heavy duty deep stuff[this is only my first blog after all, I don't wanna scare you off right away...]and tell you about a little thing called "Post Riverside". The "Riverside" is where I live. This place is amazing, like, truly amazing. It's a great big gated-community w/it's own town square where we have things like a bank, a steakhouse w/bar, a dentist, a hair salon, a deli, a gym and a tailor. You don't really ever have to leave if you don't want to. The whole thing is set-up to look like a sort of European village, and there are white Christmas lights strung up around the long winding drive in, as well as the town square so that at night it kinda resembles a Disney World version of an apartment 
complex. It's really, really beautiful and is kinda really expensive, which is why you'd think you'd get your own parking space in front of your apartment. But you don't. Let me tell you about some of the neighbors who love to park in the parking space that should be mine, oftentimes leaving me to park half a lot away from where I actually live and almost exclusively on days where I decide it's time to bring home pallets of bottled water and industrial sized cans of green beans for the dog to inhale w/out even tasting[yes, we give our dog green beans w/her meals]. First is our next door neighbor[who actually lives above us, the apartments in our area are actually more like two-story townhomes]and whom we refer to as "Zombie". We've lived under Zombie for 15 months, and I've seen him about 3 times. We call him Zombie because of the lifeless gaze of his black-ringed eyes, and his preference of only being seen at night - no matter to me, Zombie is a good neighbor who keeps to himself and barely makes a peep. On the other side is Ms. Brenda. Brenda[whom we call either "Cougar" or Brenda Lee]is a latina middle-aged divorcee' who drives a silver Jaguar presumedly paid for by the settlement her ex-husband gave her. I don't really think she does anything other than sunbathe and hook up w/Sconie at night for drinks on the town. "Sconie" is the neighbor on the other side of Ms. Brenda Lee, and she moved down about 9-10months ago from Wisconsin!! Even in Atlanta, I can't seem to get away from Wisconsin. I'll never understand that state. Cheese??? I mean, cheese is good but they have such amazing pride in that coagulated milk and mold........anyway, Sconie is your typical mid-western girl who traded in her sedan for a fire-engine red convertible within the first five minutes of arrival and drove around with her top down even though it was still winter here and only in the 50's. Sconie and Brenda Lee love to pair up and cruise for men in that convertible, and I think they feel like pretty hot stuff in their matching head bandanas. Yep, they wear matching head bandana's when they go trolling. HOLY CRAP!!!! I've just realized I'm "blogging" away like crazy and I'm not even close to done.......this honestly might've opened up a whhhoooole new can of worms for me!!! Anyway, back to the 'hood - next to Sconie lives "that couple". We've never really called them anything other than "that couple" for some reason. "That couple" has one kid, and two dogs. One of their dogs[the mid-sized, long-haired dirty white one]only has one eye and barks alot. Outside. When I'm trying to record in my spare bedroom/studio/workout room/dog kennel room/office. He always seems to know when an important "take" is happening, and just when to blow it with his incessant barking. It almost makes you wonder if the neighbor that lived next to them wherever they came from wasn't quite as patient as me and that's how he lost the eye....? Anyway, the female half of "That Couple" is the Mother of a two year old and she goes on 16 or 17 walks a day. I mean, I've honestly never seen ANYBODY walk as much as she does. She also seems to come bolting out of her front door every single time I leave or come home, leaving Melissa and I to wonder if she sits on the other side of her door staring though the peephole for us - wait for it......wait for it........there they are - wait for it.......NOW!!!!!!!! Still, they are harmless too and her Australian husband is never around, which almost makes me feel bad for her. Ah well, walk it off. On the other side of "That Couple" is my favorite and yours, "Sandwich Johnson"!!! Sandwich is a single, late twenties/early thirties dude who has received his name for no other reason than he's a good 40lbs overweight[not obese, just a man who doesn't deny himself the pleasure of fattening foods]and who I like to imagine has a red hot lusty passion for a really, really good sandwich. I don't know the guy, have never exchanged words with him at all, I just know he drives a dark grey Isuzu Rodeo and that I like to call him Sandwich Johnson. Directly across the lot from us, is our favorite neighbors - "Hello Friend" and his wife!! "Hello Friend" and his wife are Italian or something and speak broken english w/heavy accents. "Hello Friend" got his name one bright, warm, beautiful spring day when I stepped outside my front door and almost fell over him. He was sitting on my front step in a pastel striped lawn chair reading the newspaper. I was immediately put-off by this stranger sitting ON my front step mere inches from my front door, when he looked me square in the eyes and said loudly and condfidently "Hello, friend!!!". My irritation was immediately diffused and replaced by amusement by this man who seemingly meant me no harm, he just didn't understand personal space or why it would be weird to be sunbathing on my front step instead of his own. I mean, it WAS a beautiful day, and he called me "friend" so what's the big deal ,right?? Well, the big deal ended up being that this would become a nearly daily occurrence, and in time, he would become comfortable with leaving his easter-egg striped chair in front of our apartment for hours at a time while the whole neighbor hood drives by thinking we are the trash in 262 who have the worst taste imaginable in lawn furniture. One day, I finally said to him - "boy, it is so gorgeous out that if I were able,I'd be at the pool". Meaning, why are you sunning your sweaty Italian middle-aged man body on my front step instead of at the pool[of which there are two on our property!!]? His wife overheard and said "oh you like the pool? We've never seen you up there.....", well - that's because you are always busy hanging out at my front door!!!!! They're really nice folks, though. That leaves only the "Grumpy McGee's". Every story has a villain, this story's villain is "The Grumpy McGee's". This old, sour couple who have two wire-terriers that they just love to let poop aaaaaaallllllllll over the property and not pick up. These people will never, ever, ever look you in the face - and if they do by accident, they will scowl quickly and look away. They are the crabbiest people I have ever seen and we are completely clueless as to why! We have gone out of our way to be friendly and smile, and wave - nothing. They simply are not having it from us or anyone else. I've never seen anything quite like it. One day, I actually ran into Mr. McGee in the mailroom - he didn't see me in there and he came in whistling and chatting up the mail-lady who was dropping off the day's deliveries. As he made his way back towards the teeny-tiny metal box I can barely get my hand in and out of without a wound, he saw me. Everything kind of went into slow motion and I remember thinking "here it is, this is the day Grumpy McGee and I will actually talk, there's nowhere to hide"as he realized who I was. By then, he knew there was no way out and he couldn't just turn around and leave w/out that mail[how else would he be able to collect his coupon for 99cents off of his next box of Dentuclean??]and so he looked at me. He looked at me, and he grunted. It wasn't a word, and it wasn't a greeting, it was a grunt. And that's all I got. I'm gonna tell you right now, those McGee's are NOT messing around. I don't know what their deal is, but they mean business with their grumpiness. He also means business when he pulls on his shorts so he can show off his old-man chicken legs, and he ONLY chooses to do that if its below 35degrees. I have seen the man wear Khaki pants and loafers even if it's 103 outside, but if it's below 35degrees I guarantee you Grumpy McGee's wife is grumpily pulling out his washed, ironed, and spray-starched shorts for him to proudly display his goosebumped las piernas, and it's time to let the dogs poop all over "Post Riverside". So, basically, those are the main characters in the story of my and Melissa's life in Post Riverside, Atlanta, GA. All of this beauty is backed right up to the Chattahoochie River[yep, the one Alan Jackson wrote about]which is another story for another day. And believe me, there will be other stories - Jean, Melissa, - I hope you girls are happy and I hope you realize you deserve this monster you've created. For I am proud, and I am aware of who I am. I am Tony Sims - Blogger Extraordianaire.
nna spare you the heavy duty deep stuff[this is only my first blog after all, I don't wanna scare you off right away...]and tell you about a little thing called "Post Riverside". The "Riverside" is where I live. This place is amazing, like, truly amazing. It's a great big gated-community w/it's own town square where we have things like a bank, a steakhouse w/bar, a dentist, a hair salon, a deli, a gym and a tailor. You don't really ever have to leave if you don't want to. The whole thing is set-up to look like a sort of European village, and there are white Christmas lights strung up around the long winding drive in, as well as the town square so that at night it kinda resembles a Disney World version of an apartment 
complex. It's really, really beautiful and is kinda really expensive, which is why you'd think you'd get your own parking space in front of your apartment. But you don't. Let me tell you about some of the neighbors who love to park in the parking space that should be mine, oftentimes leaving me to park half a lot away from where I actually live and almost exclusively on days where I decide it's time to bring home pallets of bottled water and industrial sized cans of green beans for the dog to inhale w/out even tasting[yes, we give our dog green beans w/her meals]. First is our next door neighbor[who actually lives above us, the apartments in our area are actually more like two-story townhomes]and whom we refer to as "Zombie". We've lived under Zombie for 15 months, and I've seen him about 3 times. We call him Zombie because of the lifeless gaze of his black-ringed eyes, and his preference of only being seen at night - no matter to me, Zombie is a good neighbor who keeps to himself and barely makes a peep. On the other side is Ms. Brenda. Brenda[whom we call either "Cougar" or Brenda Lee]is a latina middle-aged divorcee' who drives a silver Jaguar presumedly paid for by the settlement her ex-husband gave her. I don't really think she does anything other than sunbathe and hook up w/Sconie at night for drinks on the town. "Sconie" is the neighbor on the other side of Ms. Brenda Lee, and she moved down about 9-10months ago from Wisconsin!! Even in Atlanta, I can't seem to get away from Wisconsin. I'll never understand that state. Cheese??? I mean, cheese is good but they have such amazing pride in that coagulated milk and mold........anyway, Sconie is your typical mid-western girl who traded in her sedan for a fire-engine red convertible within the first five minutes of arrival and drove around with her top down even though it was still winter here and only in the 50's. Sconie and Brenda Lee love to pair up and cruise for men in that convertible, and I think they feel like pretty hot stuff in their matching head bandanas. Yep, they wear matching head bandana's when they go trolling. HOLY CRAP!!!! I've just realized I'm "blogging" away like crazy and I'm not even close to done.......this honestly might've opened up a whhhoooole new can of worms for me!!! Anyway, back to the 'hood - next to Sconie lives "that couple". We've never really called them anything other than "that couple" for some reason. "That couple" has one kid, and two dogs. One of their dogs[the mid-sized, long-haired dirty white one]only has one eye and barks alot. Outside. When I'm trying to record in my spare bedroom/studio/workout room/dog kennel room/office. He always seems to know when an important "take" is happening, and just when to blow it with his incessant barking. It almost makes you wonder if the neighbor that lived next to them wherever they came from wasn't quite as patient as me and that's how he lost the eye....? Anyway, the female half of "That Couple" is the Mother of a two year old and she goes on 16 or 17 walks a day. I mean, I've honestly never seen ANYBODY walk as much as she does. She also seems to come bolting out of her front door every single time I leave or come home, leaving Melissa and I to wonder if she sits on the other side of her door staring though the peephole for us - wait for it......wait for it........there they are - wait for it.......NOW!!!!!!!! Still, they are harmless too and her Australian husband is never around, which almost makes me feel bad for her. Ah well, walk it off. On the other side of "That Couple" is my favorite and yours, "Sandwich Johnson"!!! Sandwich is a single, late twenties/early thirties dude who has received his name for no other reason than he's a good 40lbs overweight[not obese, just a man who doesn't deny himself the pleasure of fattening foods]and who I like to imagine has a red hot lusty passion for a really, really good sandwich. I don't know the guy, have never exchanged words with him at all, I just know he drives a dark grey Isuzu Rodeo and that I like to call him Sandwich Johnson. Directly across the lot from us, is our favorite neighbors - "Hello Friend" and his wife!! "Hello Friend" and his wife are Italian or something and speak broken english w/heavy accents. "Hello Friend" got his name one bright, warm, beautiful spring day when I stepped outside my front door and almost fell over him. He was sitting on my front step in a pastel striped lawn chair reading the newspaper. I was immediately put-off by this stranger sitting ON my front step mere inches from my front door, when he looked me square in the eyes and said loudly and condfidently "Hello, friend!!!". My irritation was immediately diffused and replaced by amusement by this man who seemingly meant me no harm, he just didn't understand personal space or why it would be weird to be sunbathing on my front step instead of his own. I mean, it WAS a beautiful day, and he called me "friend" so what's the big deal ,right?? Well, the big deal ended up being that this would become a nearly daily occurrence, and in time, he would become comfortable with leaving his easter-egg striped chair in front of our apartment for hours at a time while the whole neighbor hood drives by thinking we are the trash in 262 who have the worst taste imaginable in lawn furniture. One day, I finally said to him - "boy, it is so gorgeous out that if I were able,I'd be at the pool". Meaning, why are you sunning your sweaty Italian middle-aged man body on my front step instead of at the pool[of which there are two on our property!!]? His wife overheard and said "oh you like the pool? We've never seen you up there.....", well - that's because you are always busy hanging out at my front door!!!!! They're really nice folks, though. That leaves only the "Grumpy McGee's". Every story has a villain, this story's villain is "The Grumpy McGee's". This old, sour couple who have two wire-terriers that they just love to let poop aaaaaaallllllllll over the property and not pick up. These people will never, ever, ever look you in the face - and if they do by accident, they will scowl quickly and look away. They are the crabbiest people I have ever seen and we are completely clueless as to why! We have gone out of our way to be friendly and smile, and wave - nothing. They simply are not having it from us or anyone else. I've never seen anything quite like it. One day, I actually ran into Mr. McGee in the mailroom - he didn't see me in there and he came in whistling and chatting up the mail-lady who was dropping off the day's deliveries. As he made his way back towards the teeny-tiny metal box I can barely get my hand in and out of without a wound, he saw me. Everything kind of went into slow motion and I remember thinking "here it is, this is the day Grumpy McGee and I will actually talk, there's nowhere to hide"as he realized who I was. By then, he knew there was no way out and he couldn't just turn around and leave w/out that mail[how else would he be able to collect his coupon for 99cents off of his next box of Dentuclean??]and so he looked at me. He looked at me, and he grunted. It wasn't a word, and it wasn't a greeting, it was a grunt. And that's all I got. I'm gonna tell you right now, those McGee's are NOT messing around. I don't know what their deal is, but they mean business with their grumpiness. He also means business when he pulls on his shorts so he can show off his old-man chicken legs, and he ONLY chooses to do that if its below 35degrees. I have seen the man wear Khaki pants and loafers even if it's 103 outside, but if it's below 35degrees I guarantee you Grumpy McGee's wife is grumpily pulling out his washed, ironed, and spray-starched shorts for him to proudly display his goosebumped las piernas, and it's time to let the dogs poop all over "Post Riverside". So, basically, those are the main characters in the story of my and Melissa's life in Post Riverside, Atlanta, GA. All of this beauty is backed right up to the Chattahoochie River[yep, the one Alan Jackson wrote about]which is another story for another day. And believe me, there will be other stories - Jean, Melissa, - I hope you girls are happy and I hope you realize you deserve this monster you've created. For I am proud, and I am aware of who I am. I am Tony Sims - Blogger Extraordianaire.
