"Where'd you get them wood chips?" - Booby Brian
That's how another Saturday here in paradise started. Well, sort of. I had already run 8 miles, shopped at the urban market, walked the dog and made a grocery store run but it was 10:30 in the morning and the Hillbilly Neighbors were just stirring.
Big James, Little James, Booby Brian and the little toddler all had to come and see what I was doing as I was mulching my flower bed. After I told them where they too can find these magical "wood chips" (mulch) they stood and stared at me with their mouths agape. Perhaps it was because my answer was not "Wal-Mart." I have a feeling these people love them some Wal-Mart.
Anyway, our conversation ended when Big James announced, "Come on kids, let's go get ice cream." At 10:30 in the morning. 10:30. Now, I'm a huge fan of ice cream, but, 10:30 AM, really? No wonder you and your children are all obese.
I went on to mow the lawn. My lawn mower is one of those Brady Bunch no motor deals. It works for my small yard but the blade is very dull and needs to be sharpened (and yes, this is the mower the Hillbillies wanted to borrow.) so I have to cut the lawn twice a week to try to keep up with it. The Hillbillies recently went on a Craigslist shopping spree (They must have discovered you can buy more on Craigslist than dogs.) and came home with not one but two lawnmowers - one with a motor and one just like mine. Gee whiz. Big James spotted me and, just like he did two times earlier this week, whipped out his non power lawnmower and started cutting. Now, here's the issue. The lawn is not a lawn, it is a field of weeds. There's not much to cut. And why he had to cut the weeds for the third time this week was beyond me. But apparently three times wasn't enough because about two hours later as I was working in my yard I heard the roar of the power mower and - bam! - Big James was at it again, shirtless this time (My eyes! My eyes! His nickname should be Booby and Belly James. Or Jabba the Hut.) pushing around the power mower, folds of glistening blubber flapping in the breeze. Seriously?
Sure, I'd rather have neighbors who over cut than don't cut but, really? The issue is they are growing a freaking dandelion field so every time they "mow" the "lawn" dandelion seeds fly all over my currently dandelion free lawn.
They basically annoyed me all day by continually trying to talk to me and by yelling at one another (The low light was certainly when Booby Brian called Little James both a "pu**y" and a "fa**ot" because that's classy and appropriate.), but I persevered. After all, the weather is finally beautiful and these hicks are not going to keep me indoors. At one point I caught a break when, post fight with Little James, Booby Brian accosted the lawn care crew cleaning up at a house on the other side of the street. He even managed to acquire a leaf blower at one point. This was both funny and disturbing.
Today my parents came to visit and help me with some outdoor projects, so I braced for the onslaught of questions and pathetic attempts at conversation. I asked them to prepare and gave them simple but important instructions, "Don't engage."
However, there was never an "engagement" attempt. Why? I think my mom is a Hillbilly repellent. Seriously, they took one look at her and steered clear all day. My mom is incredibly sweet and looks like your average nice mom. She was also wearing Ralph Lauren and all her jewelery. Perhaps that was a tell-tale sign? Forget it, these people have never heard of Ralph Lauren. Maybe it was just a vibe. My mom is wonderful but she's not a fan of Hillbillies (Gee, wonder if she passed that along to any of her children?). For example, when I went to kindergarten, she informed me I should NOT befriend any kids who live in apartments (we lived in 'burb). I didn't really understand why, but in my short years in public school I steered clear of any kids of apartments...and, of course, when I went to Catholic school everyone lived in a proper neighborhood but I digress...
Sure enough, once mom and dad left the clan was back to their antics.
That's that. My mom is going to have to move in with me and permanently stay on guard on my front stoop. When I told her that she laughed and suggested a life size cut out. This could work too. In the interim, I'm stuck with these bozos.
And, by the way, about an hour ago Booby Brian busted out the power lawn mower. For real. Fifth time this week, third time this weekend. These people need some help.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Big James, Little James and Booby Brian (a letter to my Hillbilly Neighbors
Note: This is a letter to my Hillbilly Neighbors. Please refer to my January 1 post for a primer.
Dear Hillbilly Neighbors,
You and your "like six" (apparently you can't count because I've never seen more than five at your home at any given time) children are starting to wear on me. I'm thrilled for you that you saved your ducets from your third shift GED or high school diploma required job to move from Kentwood Estates (ever notice how most trailer parks are called something "estates?") to the west side of GR and next door to me. Thrilled. You moved your "like six" kids from one bad school district to an equally bad school district, but, whatevs.
When your kids told me you regularly eat "shit on a shingle" for dinner I tried to laugh, though the mental image had me gagging. When your son Maverick (yes, Maverick, as in, "Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a fly by.") shoveled snow from your sidewalk on to mine I was slightly irritated. But then you all just had to take it to the next level.
For example, that time you killed your puppy. Yes, that poor puppy you bought on Craigslist (don't get me started on people who BUY dogs.) who is now buried up against my fence. That one. Because "like six" kids isn't enough, you decided to buy a puppy. One that needs to be housebroken and trained in all things. You bitched about its constant crying (which I could hear inside my house - if I lived in your home I would cry constantly too.) and neediness, despite the fact that it was the sweetest little thing and would lay quietly in the arms of Little James. I went away for a few days on business, and came home to find Little James knocking at my door with a different dog in tow. Little James was anxious to tell me how the puppy apparently hanged himself off your raised deck. Frankly, I don't know if I believe the story but, regardless, the dog is dead. And your poor "parenting" skills are to blame. What a waste.
Then there's Booby Brian. I call him Booby Brian because he is about 13 and is so morbidly obese he has breasts. Yes, breasts. However, what really offends me about Booby Brian is his propensity to point his flip camera phone toward my house and, presumably, tape me. Yep, when I caught Booby Brian not once, but twice, with his camera phone pointed in my window I had HAD it. When I tried to talk to you about this, you told me he is "EI" (I think YOU are emotionally impaired.) and that none of your kids have the capability to record video on their phones because you removed that feature. Really, well you must think I'm an idiot, especially when Little James showed me video footage of the now dead puppy on his phone less than a week after you told me none of your kids could use their phones for photos or videos.
Speaking of Little James, I've asked him to stop coming over and ringing my doorbell when he gets home from school. He doesn't get it so please help me out here. As I've explained, I have a hectic work schedule. If I am in my home and it is before 5 p.m. on a weekday, guess what, I am working. I'm likely on the phone and don't need my doorbell ringing and dog barking.
Also, using your kids to ask me for favors is not appreciated. You know, when you made Little James ask to borrow my rake a month ago I obliged and simply asked him to return it. The next day I found it laying in the middle of your backyard. Four days later, when Little James came by for his regular visit, I had to ask him to return it. No "thank you for letting us borrow it" or anything, he just put it over the fence.
So, when you sent Little James over on Thursday at 2:58 pm, two minutes before my 3 p.m. conference call on my first day home from work travel in seven days, I will admit I was not friendly. When he asked if you could borrow my lawn mower I was taken aback, especially since Booby Brian worked the block this winter trying to drum up business for his summer lawn cutting service (with what lawn mower? Mine?). So yes, my answer was, "You know, I have to get on a conferene call in two minutes." and I closed the door. I then hid in my house the rest of the evening to avoid you. But you didn't stop there. On Saturday morning I pulled in my driveway after running 20 miles. I was sore, sweaty, exhausted and before I could get out of my car I was highly irritated when I heard Booby Brian say, "Kock knock." I stopped, one shoe on, one shoe off, water belt in hand, staring at him. When he asked, "Can we borrow your lawn mower?" I stood there and stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally saying, "I just ran 20 miles and need to get in my house." In other words, leave me the hell alone, kid.
Here's the thing, Hillbilly Neighbors, if I had never gotten my rake back it wouldn't have been the end of the world but I know you would have kept it since I had to ask for it back. The rake was a great test case for future requests (which I just KNEW you would have...). So, no, I'm not lending you my lawn mower. I don't want to have to ask for it back.
While we're on the topic of things I don't want, let me add some requests. First, for the love, please tell your kids to stop ringing my doorbell on weekday afternoons to talk to me about nothing. I don't have time and I don't care. Second, when I'm trying to sit peacefully on my front porch/in my back yard, don't try to strike up a conversation with me about your hillbilly hobbies. I don't watch NASCAR, I don't listen to country music and I don't eat "shit on a shingle." Finally, I really don't want your kids looking in my windows. Is this too much to ask? Perhaps this was a fun kid activity in Kentwood Estates, but it doesn't fly here on the west side.
This is likely the first of many (and I mean many) open letters I will send your way this summer.
Sincerely,
Your irritated neighbor
Dear Hillbilly Neighbors,
You and your "like six" (apparently you can't count because I've never seen more than five at your home at any given time) children are starting to wear on me. I'm thrilled for you that you saved your ducets from your third shift GED or high school diploma required job to move from Kentwood Estates (ever notice how most trailer parks are called something "estates?") to the west side of GR and next door to me. Thrilled. You moved your "like six" kids from one bad school district to an equally bad school district, but, whatevs.
When your kids told me you regularly eat "shit on a shingle" for dinner I tried to laugh, though the mental image had me gagging. When your son Maverick (yes, Maverick, as in, "Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a fly by.") shoveled snow from your sidewalk on to mine I was slightly irritated. But then you all just had to take it to the next level.
For example, that time you killed your puppy. Yes, that poor puppy you bought on Craigslist (don't get me started on people who BUY dogs.) who is now buried up against my fence. That one. Because "like six" kids isn't enough, you decided to buy a puppy. One that needs to be housebroken and trained in all things. You bitched about its constant crying (which I could hear inside my house - if I lived in your home I would cry constantly too.) and neediness, despite the fact that it was the sweetest little thing and would lay quietly in the arms of Little James. I went away for a few days on business, and came home to find Little James knocking at my door with a different dog in tow. Little James was anxious to tell me how the puppy apparently hanged himself off your raised deck. Frankly, I don't know if I believe the story but, regardless, the dog is dead. And your poor "parenting" skills are to blame. What a waste.
Then there's Booby Brian. I call him Booby Brian because he is about 13 and is so morbidly obese he has breasts. Yes, breasts. However, what really offends me about Booby Brian is his propensity to point his flip camera phone toward my house and, presumably, tape me. Yep, when I caught Booby Brian not once, but twice, with his camera phone pointed in my window I had HAD it. When I tried to talk to you about this, you told me he is "EI" (I think YOU are emotionally impaired.) and that none of your kids have the capability to record video on their phones because you removed that feature. Really, well you must think I'm an idiot, especially when Little James showed me video footage of the now dead puppy on his phone less than a week after you told me none of your kids could use their phones for photos or videos.
Speaking of Little James, I've asked him to stop coming over and ringing my doorbell when he gets home from school. He doesn't get it so please help me out here. As I've explained, I have a hectic work schedule. If I am in my home and it is before 5 p.m. on a weekday, guess what, I am working. I'm likely on the phone and don't need my doorbell ringing and dog barking.
Also, using your kids to ask me for favors is not appreciated. You know, when you made Little James ask to borrow my rake a month ago I obliged and simply asked him to return it. The next day I found it laying in the middle of your backyard. Four days later, when Little James came by for his regular visit, I had to ask him to return it. No "thank you for letting us borrow it" or anything, he just put it over the fence.
So, when you sent Little James over on Thursday at 2:58 pm, two minutes before my 3 p.m. conference call on my first day home from work travel in seven days, I will admit I was not friendly. When he asked if you could borrow my lawn mower I was taken aback, especially since Booby Brian worked the block this winter trying to drum up business for his summer lawn cutting service (with what lawn mower? Mine?). So yes, my answer was, "You know, I have to get on a conferene call in two minutes." and I closed the door. I then hid in my house the rest of the evening to avoid you. But you didn't stop there. On Saturday morning I pulled in my driveway after running 20 miles. I was sore, sweaty, exhausted and before I could get out of my car I was highly irritated when I heard Booby Brian say, "Kock knock." I stopped, one shoe on, one shoe off, water belt in hand, staring at him. When he asked, "Can we borrow your lawn mower?" I stood there and stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally saying, "I just ran 20 miles and need to get in my house." In other words, leave me the hell alone, kid.
Here's the thing, Hillbilly Neighbors, if I had never gotten my rake back it wouldn't have been the end of the world but I know you would have kept it since I had to ask for it back. The rake was a great test case for future requests (which I just KNEW you would have...). So, no, I'm not lending you my lawn mower. I don't want to have to ask for it back.
While we're on the topic of things I don't want, let me add some requests. First, for the love, please tell your kids to stop ringing my doorbell on weekday afternoons to talk to me about nothing. I don't have time and I don't care. Second, when I'm trying to sit peacefully on my front porch/in my back yard, don't try to strike up a conversation with me about your hillbilly hobbies. I don't watch NASCAR, I don't listen to country music and I don't eat "shit on a shingle." Finally, I really don't want your kids looking in my windows. Is this too much to ask? Perhaps this was a fun kid activity in Kentwood Estates, but it doesn't fly here on the west side.
This is likely the first of many (and I mean many) open letters I will send your way this summer.
Sincerely,
Your irritated neighbor
Saturday, March 2, 2013
YOLO (Also known as the day I channeled Suzanne Sugarbaker)
Just another ordinary day around here: ran 11 miles, went out for breakfast, went to the shooting range, grocery shopped.
Nope, Kate Spade has not started making holsters, thereby propelling me in to the world of gun ownership, yet somehow today I found myself at a shooting range.
Three years ago this month I had a fleeting notion that I needed to be a gun owner after some of my neighbors were robbed. You may recall I had this clear vision of me coming down the stairs of my house in a Suzanne Sugarbaker kind of way at the sound of a potential intruder...with disastrous consequences of course. I never got that security system many of you suggested I get (sorry!) but I never got a gun either (yay!). In fact, until today I remained a gun virgin.
Pop!
Long story short: A friend of mine is a Fox News Watching, Hannity listening, higher tax bracketing, gun owning Republican. It's no secret I am Hillary Clinton's number one fan so that pretty much sums up my political views ("Whatever Hilz Says" is my personal motto.). Anyway,this person cannot be in a room with me for three minutes without starting a political debate about everything from Michigan's bridge to Canada to taxes to the Affordable Care Act (what my friend calls "Obamacare") to, of course, gun control.
As a gun owner, he wants me and the other "Obama loving crazy liberals" who want to "take away his guns" to know that legal gun owners are "responsible" people, Americans have the right to bear arms and some other stuff that is processed in my brain as "blah blah blah." He insists I cannot be an informed anti-gun "hippie" since I've never actually been near a gun. I must begrudgingly admit he has a point.
Flash forward to today, when he invited me to accompany him to the shooting range so he can show how responsible legal gun owners behave. Because I was in need of blog material, and this did not involve shooting any actual living things, I agreed to go on one condition: no engaging me in political debate at the shooting range and no "outing" me as a "hippie liberal" either. I had this feeling the people there would figure me out pretty quickly, sort of like the time I attended a Sarah Palin book signing.
So, let's see, I went along, hopped up on endorphins from an 11 mile run and a ton of coffee from the post run breakfast. Upon arrival I was mocked for asking if the gun would have a "kick back" (I heard that on TV once) or if there would be any chance of me accidentally shooting myself.
This whole shooting thing is a lot of work. You have to carry your locked gun separately from your ammo. You have to take and pass a quiz (!!) after you fill out a questionnaire. You have to turn over your driver's license while you are in the range (I found great comfort in this for some odd reason - I guess it is my liberal love of "big government" playing "Big Brother."). You can only have one person in the shooting booth at a time. You must wear protective gear over your eyes and ears. Then you have to load the gun, make sure the safety is on, fire the gun, put the safety back on, put new targets on the target thingy, blah blah blah. Seriously, this is a lot of effort to do something I could basically do playing a video game. I could have been eating fro-yo at my favorite fro-yo joint or spending money at Nordstrom Rack. You know, productive things.
Finally after all the mocking, quizzing and rule following it was my turn in the booth. Thankfully, I did not shoot myself or anyone else and with a little guidance managed to actually hit the target. Frankly, I was over the whole thing pretty quickly. I could have borrowed an X-Box to do this without having to take a quiz or surrender my driver's license. Just saying.
There were some normal looking people there, but, I have to say....I think I spotted some of my "friends" from that book signing milling around the retail side with their children. Yes, children. And I mean TODDLERS. It looked like several families were making their Saturday outing to the gun store/shooting range. Of course, there were no children in the shooting area, but still, I found it a bit disconcerting. But then again, I'm a "crazy liberal" so that's probably normal.
So, yes, this crazy hippie lover of Big Brother shot a gun but I certainly have no intention of owning one. Those things are expensive. Do you know how many new Kate Spade purses I could buy with that money? Not to mention, she still doesn't make a holster and I doubt she ever will so I think I'm in the clear. I know Joe Biden recently told a woman to get a "double barrel shot gun" to protect her family or something to that effect but, let's face it, I don't really like that guy anyway. I won't be taking advice from the VP any time soon.
Because I'm neither hip nor cool anymore (seriously, what the hell is the "Harlem Shake?" Is it some sort of virus or dance?), I'll put it this way: I got invited to the shooting range and thought, "YOLO." Yes, I'm aware no one says that anymore. I'm aware that by the time I Googled (people still Google, right?) "YOLO" to learn what it means it had become passe. I also realize most people who used this expression were under the age of 18.
Anyway, after this adventure I must admit I feel like my moral compass is bit off (I also bought gas from BP today, something I said I would never do because, you know, us liberals love the environment.) but YOLO.
Gerri (my old lady gun toting neighborhood watch friend) would be so proud of me.
Nope, Kate Spade has not started making holsters, thereby propelling me in to the world of gun ownership, yet somehow today I found myself at a shooting range.
Three years ago this month I had a fleeting notion that I needed to be a gun owner after some of my neighbors were robbed. You may recall I had this clear vision of me coming down the stairs of my house in a Suzanne Sugarbaker kind of way at the sound of a potential intruder...with disastrous consequences of course. I never got that security system many of you suggested I get (sorry!) but I never got a gun either (yay!). In fact, until today I remained a gun virgin.
Pop!
Long story short: A friend of mine is a Fox News Watching, Hannity listening, higher tax bracketing, gun owning Republican. It's no secret I am Hillary Clinton's number one fan so that pretty much sums up my political views ("Whatever Hilz Says" is my personal motto.). Anyway,this person cannot be in a room with me for three minutes without starting a political debate about everything from Michigan's bridge to Canada to taxes to the Affordable Care Act (what my friend calls "Obamacare") to, of course, gun control.
As a gun owner, he wants me and the other "Obama loving crazy liberals" who want to "take away his guns" to know that legal gun owners are "responsible" people, Americans have the right to bear arms and some other stuff that is processed in my brain as "blah blah blah." He insists I cannot be an informed anti-gun "hippie" since I've never actually been near a gun. I must begrudgingly admit he has a point.
Flash forward to today, when he invited me to accompany him to the shooting range so he can show how responsible legal gun owners behave. Because I was in need of blog material, and this did not involve shooting any actual living things, I agreed to go on one condition: no engaging me in political debate at the shooting range and no "outing" me as a "hippie liberal" either. I had this feeling the people there would figure me out pretty quickly, sort of like the time I attended a Sarah Palin book signing.
So, let's see, I went along, hopped up on endorphins from an 11 mile run and a ton of coffee from the post run breakfast. Upon arrival I was mocked for asking if the gun would have a "kick back" (I heard that on TV once) or if there would be any chance of me accidentally shooting myself.
This whole shooting thing is a lot of work. You have to carry your locked gun separately from your ammo. You have to take and pass a quiz (!!) after you fill out a questionnaire. You have to turn over your driver's license while you are in the range (I found great comfort in this for some odd reason - I guess it is my liberal love of "big government" playing "Big Brother."). You can only have one person in the shooting booth at a time. You must wear protective gear over your eyes and ears. Then you have to load the gun, make sure the safety is on, fire the gun, put the safety back on, put new targets on the target thingy, blah blah blah. Seriously, this is a lot of effort to do something I could basically do playing a video game. I could have been eating fro-yo at my favorite fro-yo joint or spending money at Nordstrom Rack. You know, productive things.
Finally after all the mocking, quizzing and rule following it was my turn in the booth. Thankfully, I did not shoot myself or anyone else and with a little guidance managed to actually hit the target. Frankly, I was over the whole thing pretty quickly. I could have borrowed an X-Box to do this without having to take a quiz or surrender my driver's license. Just saying.
There were some normal looking people there, but, I have to say....I think I spotted some of my "friends" from that book signing milling around the retail side with their children. Yes, children. And I mean TODDLERS. It looked like several families were making their Saturday outing to the gun store/shooting range. Of course, there were no children in the shooting area, but still, I found it a bit disconcerting. But then again, I'm a "crazy liberal" so that's probably normal.
So, yes, this crazy hippie lover of Big Brother shot a gun but I certainly have no intention of owning one. Those things are expensive. Do you know how many new Kate Spade purses I could buy with that money? Not to mention, she still doesn't make a holster and I doubt she ever will so I think I'm in the clear. I know Joe Biden recently told a woman to get a "double barrel shot gun" to protect her family or something to that effect but, let's face it, I don't really like that guy anyway. I won't be taking advice from the VP any time soon.
Because I'm neither hip nor cool anymore (seriously, what the hell is the "Harlem Shake?" Is it some sort of virus or dance?), I'll put it this way: I got invited to the shooting range and thought, "YOLO." Yes, I'm aware no one says that anymore. I'm aware that by the time I Googled (people still Google, right?) "YOLO" to learn what it means it had become passe. I also realize most people who used this expression were under the age of 18.
Anyway, after this adventure I must admit I feel like my moral compass is bit off (I also bought gas from BP today, something I said I would never do because, you know, us liberals love the environment.) but YOLO.
Gerri (my old lady gun toting neighborhood watch friend) would be so proud of me.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year, new neighbors
Happy New Year!
New year, new beginnings, people are all abuzz about their ridiculous resolutions that they will not keep, the gym is already packed with people trying to be active...good times, good times.
Some people near me have a new beginning for the new year. A family moved in to the formerly foreclosed home next door to me (not the condemned one across the street - that is still empty but people have been there working so the good times are just beginning)!
I'll be honest, I have mixed feelings about this. Frankly, I sort of got used to the quiet of an empty house. Second, before the people moved in I learned they were coming in on a land contract (let's be real, there are definite stereotypes about land contract people) and let's just say these folks are not my type (Meaning I would bet they are really in to NASCAR, Toby Keith and Natty Light.).
As they were moving in I saw many people of various ages coming and going so it was difficult to tell those who belonged and those who did not.
Eventually, I was in the backyard with Gracie and four 'tweens were hanging in the backyard next door. She scared them because, like me, she had grown accustomed to not having neighbors, so I ran toward the fence to assure them she is friendly. Anyway, a 'tween boy said, "Hi, I'm James. I live here. My dad's name is James too." Then he points to a girl about his age and says, "This is my Aunt Paris. My 13 year old Aunt. She's my AUNT."
Not wanting to react, as clearly he wanted me to, I said, "Hi, nice to meet you." He repeated, "Yeah, she's my Aunt Paris. She's 13."
Personally, I was more concerned about the fact that her name is Paris and she's not a Hilton or a Jackson, not the fact that she's the aunt of someone her age.
A few days later, I took a plate of cookies next door to welcome the family to the neighborhood. James and James (dad and son) answered the door.
Dad James just laughed when I said welcome and here's some cookies (no thank you, no nice to meet you, etc.). He looked at me and asked, "Do yo have kids?" I replied "No..." and was really distracted by his teeth that face about 6 different directions and then he said, "Oh, well, we have like six of them." I just stared at him. I wanted t ask him to further define "like six." I mean, is this an estimation or is he truly unsure of the number of children in his household? I just smiled, said Merry Christmas and went on my way. '
Since that day, James (the kid) thinks we're BFFs. He asked to walk Gracie (no). He asked to dog sit Gracie (hell no). He asked to shovel my sidewalk while I was shoveling it (I'm on it but thanks.). Then, his nameless "brother" (I'm thinking step - they look nothing alike and appear to be the same age) asked if he could shovel my clear driveway. I do appreciate the efforts to work to earn money - but I don't know these people. These 'tweens will grow in to teens and I don't want them thinking I keep tons of cash around to pay them for odd jobs; however, in the spirit of the holidays I did say that on the next big snow if they want I will write them a check to shovel for me.
It doesn't end here. Last night James (son) rang my doorbell in the middle of the night. I didn't answer because it scared the crap out of me and I didn't know it was him and had no plan to go and look to see who was there. 20 minutes later the doorbell rang AGAIN and this time I looked and it was him so I asked how I could help him. He looked at me and said, "Is Jen here?" I just stared at him. Hello, pal, who do you think this is, Jen's twin? Sure, I had some New Year's cocktails in my system and wasn't in makeup but I don't look THAT different. Anyway, I responded by saying, "I don't like my doorbell getting rung in the middle of the night." He responded, "I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year."
So, I'm a jerk. But really, don't ring my doorbell in the middle of the night. Don't you know what sort of jacked up neighborhood we live in?!? The local crack dealer could be at the door!
Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled the likelihood of these people throwing wild parties or used condoms in my yard is minimal. Therefore, I'm thankful. Considering all of the nightmares that could have moved in there, I'll happily take Big James, Little James, Aunt Paris and the "like six" kids. However, I can't help but think one day I'm going to come home to find Little James peering in my window to see if I'm home. Or if I'm sleeping. I'm already a little creeped out.
P.S. Based upon my brief interaction with Big James and my distant sighting of "mom," I guesstimated these parents to be late (late late) 30s, early/mid 40s because they both look sort of, you know, weathered. Little James informed me mom and dad are 31 and 33, respectively. With six kids. Of course they are.
New year, new beginnings, people are all abuzz about their ridiculous resolutions that they will not keep, the gym is already packed with people trying to be active...good times, good times.
Some people near me have a new beginning for the new year. A family moved in to the formerly foreclosed home next door to me (not the condemned one across the street - that is still empty but people have been there working so the good times are just beginning)!
I'll be honest, I have mixed feelings about this. Frankly, I sort of got used to the quiet of an empty house. Second, before the people moved in I learned they were coming in on a land contract (let's be real, there are definite stereotypes about land contract people) and let's just say these folks are not my type (Meaning I would bet they are really in to NASCAR, Toby Keith and Natty Light.).
As they were moving in I saw many people of various ages coming and going so it was difficult to tell those who belonged and those who did not.
Eventually, I was in the backyard with Gracie and four 'tweens were hanging in the backyard next door. She scared them because, like me, she had grown accustomed to not having neighbors, so I ran toward the fence to assure them she is friendly. Anyway, a 'tween boy said, "Hi, I'm James. I live here. My dad's name is James too." Then he points to a girl about his age and says, "This is my Aunt Paris. My 13 year old Aunt. She's my AUNT."
Not wanting to react, as clearly he wanted me to, I said, "Hi, nice to meet you." He repeated, "Yeah, she's my Aunt Paris. She's 13."
Personally, I was more concerned about the fact that her name is Paris and she's not a Hilton or a Jackson, not the fact that she's the aunt of someone her age.
A few days later, I took a plate of cookies next door to welcome the family to the neighborhood. James and James (dad and son) answered the door.
Dad James just laughed when I said welcome and here's some cookies (no thank you, no nice to meet you, etc.). He looked at me and asked, "Do yo have kids?" I replied "No..." and was really distracted by his teeth that face about 6 different directions and then he said, "Oh, well, we have like six of them." I just stared at him. I wanted t ask him to further define "like six." I mean, is this an estimation or is he truly unsure of the number of children in his household? I just smiled, said Merry Christmas and went on my way. '
Since that day, James (the kid) thinks we're BFFs. He asked to walk Gracie (no). He asked to dog sit Gracie (hell no). He asked to shovel my sidewalk while I was shoveling it (I'm on it but thanks.). Then, his nameless "brother" (I'm thinking step - they look nothing alike and appear to be the same age) asked if he could shovel my clear driveway. I do appreciate the efforts to work to earn money - but I don't know these people. These 'tweens will grow in to teens and I don't want them thinking I keep tons of cash around to pay them for odd jobs; however, in the spirit of the holidays I did say that on the next big snow if they want I will write them a check to shovel for me.
It doesn't end here. Last night James (son) rang my doorbell in the middle of the night. I didn't answer because it scared the crap out of me and I didn't know it was him and had no plan to go and look to see who was there. 20 minutes later the doorbell rang AGAIN and this time I looked and it was him so I asked how I could help him. He looked at me and said, "Is Jen here?" I just stared at him. Hello, pal, who do you think this is, Jen's twin? Sure, I had some New Year's cocktails in my system and wasn't in makeup but I don't look THAT different. Anyway, I responded by saying, "I don't like my doorbell getting rung in the middle of the night." He responded, "I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year."
So, I'm a jerk. But really, don't ring my doorbell in the middle of the night. Don't you know what sort of jacked up neighborhood we live in?!? The local crack dealer could be at the door!
Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled the likelihood of these people throwing wild parties or used condoms in my yard is minimal. Therefore, I'm thankful. Considering all of the nightmares that could have moved in there, I'll happily take Big James, Little James, Aunt Paris and the "like six" kids. However, I can't help but think one day I'm going to come home to find Little James peering in my window to see if I'm home. Or if I'm sleeping. I'm already a little creeped out.
P.S. Based upon my brief interaction with Big James and my distant sighting of "mom," I guesstimated these parents to be late (late late) 30s, early/mid 40s because they both look sort of, you know, weathered. Little James informed me mom and dad are 31 and 33, respectively. With six kids. Of course they are.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
The infamous annual holiday letter
Since the world didn't end, it's time for the 2012 edition of Jen's Christmas letter:
Dear Friends and Family,
Merry Christmas! I'm saying that more since an outing with my college friend Liz. She sported a button while we were out with some other college friends that said, "It's ok to say Merry CHRISTmas," so, I guess it's ok to say. Because the button she got at church said so...yeah....anyway....
2012. Wow - where is the time going? This year flew by and really, I can sum up the events of the year with one word: Run. I didn't blog much about it because I didn't want to be one of "those" people (that's what I used Facebook for), but this year I trained for and completed my first full marathon. Marathon training was all consuming. Seriously, particularly in the last month, I was obsessed. Everything in my life - what I ate, what I drank, how much I slept, even (gasp) work - revolved around marathon training. This experience changed my life (in a good way). I cried like a baby when I crossed that finish line after 26.2 grueling miles. Afterward, I went to the home of my parents where I sat in an ice bath for 30 minutes, then moved to a recliner where my ice and icy hot slathered body experienced pain like I've never imagined. It hurt to breathe. I looked at my mom at one point and said, "I know I've never given birth, but I guarantee you, this is worse than giving birth" (really? Clearly I'm no expert on birthing anything.). Like childbirth, the pain is now a vague memory and I am already signed up for my next full marathon (Because, like people with multiple children, I'm insane.).
As usual, I traveled for work - Indianapolis (gag), DC (3 or 4 times?), Atlanta, Nashville, Portland, St. Louis, Denver, maybe a few more places but I can't really remember at this point. I even took a trip of pure leisure - visiting the Ritz Carleton Reynolds Plantation in Georgia. It was lovely but, Georgia, really, what was I thinking? I used to live there. I need take fun trips that are a little more "exotic" in the future. I'm a little bitter right now because we clamped down on work travel just as I was two trips away from keeping my silver status on Delta - I happened to have two trips on the calendar that were cancelled. Now I'm relinquished to peasant status once again....oh, how I loathe boarding planes with clueless tourists.
The travel highlight was a work trip to the Pacific Northwest. I added two personal days and took in as much as possible - Portland, Seattle, Mt St Helens (my friend Lori and I are forever bonded over our harrowing trip up and down the road near that mountain!) and Cannon Beach (aka Goonies beach). My new life dream is to live in Oregon. Seriously. It is beautiful, clean, progressive, they have beer (I attended the Oregon Brewer's Festival), and even the TSA agents at the airport are happy and friendly...I think it is the place for me...so now you will randomly hear me declare my love for Oregon in general conversation.
Even more friends got married (as if this was even possible), so I truly am the last single girl at this point. It's cool - I'm thrilled to not have to deal with the crazy family of someone else at holidays (mine is crazy enough, thanks) but, you know, from time to time (New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, etc.) is can be sort of a bummer being the only single girl. But then I think of my friends with kids, shudder, and realize I'm living the life I'm meant to live (childless).
And finally, I became a certified Citizen Police Academy graduate this year. That's right, while I didn't blog much about it (because of marathon training and a pesky confidentiality agreement) I earned not only a certificate but a teeny, tiny badge (pin). I had the best experience on my "ride along" where "we" solved a crime (a shooting!!), arrested a baby momma beater and saw a hooker (she totally looked like she should be on PeopleofWalMart.com and not working the street corner), all while I wore a bullet proof vest. It was pretty awesome.
Here I am, drinking a Shiner Holiday Cheer (LOVE this beer), Love Actually (LOVE Hugh Grant) is playing on the tube and my three furry children are sitting nearby while I'm watching college kids converge on the house across the street for what I presume is an end of the world party (milk it for all it's worth - just don't burn a couch like we did at Central Michigan University for such parties, kids, ok?). Reflecting on 2012 (yet another Year of Jen, just like 2009, 2010, 2011, you get the picture), I'm thinking this:
Sure, I have a crack in my kitchen ceiling (still) from the bathroom fiasco (the black sub floor the contractor removed from my bathroom nearly made me faint), I lost way too many hours watching a certain soap super couple from the 80s on You Tube (repeatedly), cupcakes and crap still appear in the breakroom at work on occasion to tempt me, I did two things I will never, ever do again (and no, I'm not going to elaborate) and this week I overdrew my checking account with last minute Christmas (not holiday) purchases. Woe is me and my 'first world' problems.
Time to go to sleep and count my blessings (instead of sheep - couldn't resist - love the movie White Christmas).
The single life is still all it's cracked up to be, and I look forward to yet another Year of Jen in 2013.
Dear Friends and Family,
Merry Christmas! I'm saying that more since an outing with my college friend Liz. She sported a button while we were out with some other college friends that said, "It's ok to say Merry CHRISTmas," so, I guess it's ok to say. Because the button she got at church said so...yeah....anyway....
2012. Wow - where is the time going? This year flew by and really, I can sum up the events of the year with one word: Run. I didn't blog much about it because I didn't want to be one of "those" people (that's what I used Facebook for), but this year I trained for and completed my first full marathon. Marathon training was all consuming. Seriously, particularly in the last month, I was obsessed. Everything in my life - what I ate, what I drank, how much I slept, even (gasp) work - revolved around marathon training. This experience changed my life (in a good way). I cried like a baby when I crossed that finish line after 26.2 grueling miles. Afterward, I went to the home of my parents where I sat in an ice bath for 30 minutes, then moved to a recliner where my ice and icy hot slathered body experienced pain like I've never imagined. It hurt to breathe. I looked at my mom at one point and said, "I know I've never given birth, but I guarantee you, this is worse than giving birth" (really? Clearly I'm no expert on birthing anything.). Like childbirth, the pain is now a vague memory and I am already signed up for my next full marathon (Because, like people with multiple children, I'm insane.).
As usual, I traveled for work - Indianapolis (gag), DC (3 or 4 times?), Atlanta, Nashville, Portland, St. Louis, Denver, maybe a few more places but I can't really remember at this point. I even took a trip of pure leisure - visiting the Ritz Carleton Reynolds Plantation in Georgia. It was lovely but, Georgia, really, what was I thinking? I used to live there. I need take fun trips that are a little more "exotic" in the future. I'm a little bitter right now because we clamped down on work travel just as I was two trips away from keeping my silver status on Delta - I happened to have two trips on the calendar that were cancelled. Now I'm relinquished to peasant status once again....oh, how I loathe boarding planes with clueless tourists.
The travel highlight was a work trip to the Pacific Northwest. I added two personal days and took in as much as possible - Portland, Seattle, Mt St Helens (my friend Lori and I are forever bonded over our harrowing trip up and down the road near that mountain!) and Cannon Beach (aka Goonies beach). My new life dream is to live in Oregon. Seriously. It is beautiful, clean, progressive, they have beer (I attended the Oregon Brewer's Festival), and even the TSA agents at the airport are happy and friendly...I think it is the place for me...so now you will randomly hear me declare my love for Oregon in general conversation.
Even more friends got married (as if this was even possible), so I truly am the last single girl at this point. It's cool - I'm thrilled to not have to deal with the crazy family of someone else at holidays (mine is crazy enough, thanks) but, you know, from time to time (New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, etc.) is can be sort of a bummer being the only single girl. But then I think of my friends with kids, shudder, and realize I'm living the life I'm meant to live (childless).
And finally, I became a certified Citizen Police Academy graduate this year. That's right, while I didn't blog much about it (because of marathon training and a pesky confidentiality agreement) I earned not only a certificate but a teeny, tiny badge (pin). I had the best experience on my "ride along" where "we" solved a crime (a shooting!!), arrested a baby momma beater and saw a hooker (she totally looked like she should be on PeopleofWalMart.com and not working the street corner), all while I wore a bullet proof vest. It was pretty awesome.
Here I am, drinking a Shiner Holiday Cheer (LOVE this beer), Love Actually (LOVE Hugh Grant) is playing on the tube and my three furry children are sitting nearby while I'm watching college kids converge on the house across the street for what I presume is an end of the world party (milk it for all it's worth - just don't burn a couch like we did at Central Michigan University for such parties, kids, ok?). Reflecting on 2012 (yet another Year of Jen, just like 2009, 2010, 2011, you get the picture), I'm thinking this:
Sure, I have a crack in my kitchen ceiling (still) from the bathroom fiasco (the black sub floor the contractor removed from my bathroom nearly made me faint), I lost way too many hours watching a certain soap super couple from the 80s on You Tube (repeatedly), cupcakes and crap still appear in the breakroom at work on occasion to tempt me, I did two things I will never, ever do again (and no, I'm not going to elaborate) and this week I overdrew my checking account with last minute Christmas (not holiday) purchases. Woe is me and my 'first world' problems.
Time to go to sleep and count my blessings (instead of sheep - couldn't resist - love the movie White Christmas).
The single life is still all it's cracked up to be, and I look forward to yet another Year of Jen in 2013.
Friday, December 21, 2012
It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine
Well, Michael Stipe was not talking about 12.21.12. As you are acutely aware, the Mayans were wrong and we're all still here.
Frankly, I'm a little surprised and here's why....
Last weekend while out with friends I met a nice, friendly, attractive, employed, childless, seemingly normal man. It's true. Oh, and I guess I should say the important part - he liked me. That never happens.
Now, he happened to be Canadian (the really far away part of Canada - Calgary) but you know, had we had more time to get to know one another I could have totally moved. Anyway, the fact that an attractive, friendly, educated, employed man actually had an interest in me made me believe in the impending apocalypse. Surely, this had to be a sign of Doomsday.
I spent apocalypse eve at a local brewery debating gun control with a gun-owning, NRA member friend. Yet another sign of end of days, that I would have a gun-owning, NRA member friend.
However, I woke up today, went to the Y and watched soap operas (Robert Scorpio is BACK on General Hospital. Anna's true love Duke is back from the dead - from 20 years ago - my mind has been blown!!!). A truly unremarkable day - good thing it was not my last one on earth.
Last night between debating guns in schools, right to work and the Affordable Care Act, we discussed the end of the world. If the world ended today, what would have been my biggest regret? Not being single, not being broke, not being sort of fabulous....it would be not traveling more. For real.
This is where the Canadian could have come in....he is an energy consultant...I think he could have funded some globetrotting. Oh well.
So, yay, the world has not ended! It's not the end of the world as we know it, and I still feel fine.
Frankly, I'm a little surprised and here's why....
Last weekend while out with friends I met a nice, friendly, attractive, employed, childless, seemingly normal man. It's true. Oh, and I guess I should say the important part - he liked me. That never happens.
Now, he happened to be Canadian (the really far away part of Canada - Calgary) but you know, had we had more time to get to know one another I could have totally moved. Anyway, the fact that an attractive, friendly, educated, employed man actually had an interest in me made me believe in the impending apocalypse. Surely, this had to be a sign of Doomsday.
I spent apocalypse eve at a local brewery debating gun control with a gun-owning, NRA member friend. Yet another sign of end of days, that I would have a gun-owning, NRA member friend.
However, I woke up today, went to the Y and watched soap operas (Robert Scorpio is BACK on General Hospital. Anna's true love Duke is back from the dead - from 20 years ago - my mind has been blown!!!). A truly unremarkable day - good thing it was not my last one on earth.
Last night between debating guns in schools, right to work and the Affordable Care Act, we discussed the end of the world. If the world ended today, what would have been my biggest regret? Not being single, not being broke, not being sort of fabulous....it would be not traveling more. For real.
This is where the Canadian could have come in....he is an energy consultant...I think he could have funded some globetrotting. Oh well.
So, yay, the world has not ended! It's not the end of the world as we know it, and I still feel fine.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
One is the loneliest number
Nope, I didn't keep up with Citizen Police Academy updates. I was training for a freaking marathon and was sort of busy. So sue me. Yep, I'm really feisty tonight.
I had a lovely evening out with my runner friends. We were celebrating the fact that we are all about to start training for another marathon (because we are crazy, apparently) and enjoying a fun night out on the town. I've known for ages that one of my runner friends grew up in the same small town as a college roommate of mine, and always assumed they know one another but never asked if they are, indeed, acquainted. Tonight the subject of their town came up so I asked and yes, my pal knows Cow Katie - the roommate. I feel I need to take a moment here to say I did not seek out Cow Katie as my roommate - it was one of those freshman dorm things that happened. Anyway....
My pal says, "Ew, yes, I know her. She's s weird. She's that little nerdy girl who looks like an albino."
Bingo!
I also need to interject that I deemed her Cow Katie not because of her size or anything but because she grew up on a dairy farm and loved to talk about the cows.
In my usual fashion I did a voice impression of Cow Katie, saying in a whiny, nasal voice, "Yeah....I'm from Free-mont and my daaad is a dairy farmer. I love cows."
My pal says, "Yes, that's her. She is so weird. Seriously weird."
I go on to tell the story about how Katie would turn red at the mention of any male name. For real. My other roommates and I loved this game. We would sit there, look at Katie and just start saying names: "Dave." Suddenly Katie turns Pink. "Steve." Katie is now a bright shade of red. "Ted." Katie is now purple.
Did she know any guys named Dave, Steve or Ted? Nope. But, she was so socially inept when it came to the opposite sex that just the mention of a male name sent her into a tizzy.
Then my pal drops the bomb.
"Yes, she's married now." (Sound of disbelief in voice).
Katie-I-turn-red-at-the-mention-of-a-male-name-Nerdy Cow Girl is MARRIED?!
That's it.
It is bad enough Liz Lemon got married on "30 Rock" this week (seriously, Liz, how could you?) and now this.
Not to mention, I have to go to the family Christmas party in a couple of weeks where I will be the cousin still single except for the 19 year old who is heading off to be a nun soon.
No joke.
Maybe I should just join her.
I had a lovely evening out with my runner friends. We were celebrating the fact that we are all about to start training for another marathon (because we are crazy, apparently) and enjoying a fun night out on the town. I've known for ages that one of my runner friends grew up in the same small town as a college roommate of mine, and always assumed they know one another but never asked if they are, indeed, acquainted. Tonight the subject of their town came up so I asked and yes, my pal knows Cow Katie - the roommate. I feel I need to take a moment here to say I did not seek out Cow Katie as my roommate - it was one of those freshman dorm things that happened. Anyway....
My pal says, "Ew, yes, I know her. She's s weird. She's that little nerdy girl who looks like an albino."
Bingo!
I also need to interject that I deemed her Cow Katie not because of her size or anything but because she grew up on a dairy farm and loved to talk about the cows.
In my usual fashion I did a voice impression of Cow Katie, saying in a whiny, nasal voice, "Yeah....I'm from Free-mont and my daaad is a dairy farmer. I love cows."
My pal says, "Yes, that's her. She is so weird. Seriously weird."
I go on to tell the story about how Katie would turn red at the mention of any male name. For real. My other roommates and I loved this game. We would sit there, look at Katie and just start saying names: "Dave." Suddenly Katie turns Pink. "Steve." Katie is now a bright shade of red. "Ted." Katie is now purple.
Did she know any guys named Dave, Steve or Ted? Nope. But, she was so socially inept when it came to the opposite sex that just the mention of a male name sent her into a tizzy.
Then my pal drops the bomb.
"Yes, she's married now." (Sound of disbelief in voice).
Katie-I-turn-red-at-the-mention-of-a-male-name-Nerdy Cow Girl is MARRIED?!
That's it.
It is bad enough Liz Lemon got married on "30 Rock" this week (seriously, Liz, how could you?) and now this.
Not to mention, I have to go to the family Christmas party in a couple of weeks where I will be the cousin still single except for the 19 year old who is heading off to be a nun soon.
No joke.
Maybe I should just join her.
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