“So what? You think you’re like Carrie Bradshaw now?”
Okay. This isn’t actually what my brother asked me yesterday when discussing my blog; he didn’t know the character’s name and I say kudos for him. So, he really said, “You think you’re like that chick from Sex and the City now?” C’mon, she was a writer, yes; beyond that, our characters share very little in common. When Bradshaw was obsessing over Manolo Blahniks (I absolutely had to Google that spelling), I was still holding onto my Converse one stars from 1998.
Bradshaw also wrote about sex. I have two children under the age of two. My daughter doesn’t fall asleep well unless she is able to snuggle her dad, and my son is less than six weeks old, sleeping in the bassinet next to the bed and waking us up every two hours. There is no sex happening in my home. Right now, having to sleep in the wet spot means you’re stuck where my daughter spilled her milk.
Bradshaw lived in the city; I live in Northern Wisconsin. While she was hoping for a proposal from Mr. Big, I was just seeking a man who did have all of his own teeth and who did not have a serious alcohol problem.
I live in a township where apparently people purchase property just to house an abundance of cats. I also live next to a home that none of the owners can afford to actually maintain. In the three years we have lived at our current residence, we have had five different direct neighbors just in one house. I swear to God that they’re not moving all the time either because of me!
The house has always been sold on land contract. Part of me believes the man who actually owns it wants to find people that can’t really afford the property, so they pay the mortgage for a couple of months before leaving and he still gets to keep a down payment. It’s quite the racket, and it’s led to an interesting assortment of characters. So, on that “send me money bitches” request, fences are damn expensive – and I could really use a fence.
The first neighbor was on disability after a series of strokes and other serious health problems, so he spent a lot of time in his garage wrenching on things. He tried to sell us several old lawnmowers he had worked on. His son –in-law was only eighteen, and lived with them after knocking up the daughter, forcing a shot-gun wedding. He didn’t have a job as no one wanted to employ him while he was on probation for drug related and other criminal charges. So, the son-in-law’s hobby was fireworks. He sat on the porch on a regular basis and shot off bottle rockets. This was usually around one to three in the afternoon. Lots and lots of bottle rockets all afternoon every day.
When they couldn’t afford a new roof, they just walked away from the property. Then came the hoarders. Seriously, like they could have been on an episode on TLC. By the way, doesn’t TLC stand for The Learning Channel? Can anyone tell me what educational value there is in “Toddlers and Tiaras,” and its even greater spin-off “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo”? Anyway, their shit was everywhere. Dressers, tables, chairs, and doors lined the back yard. After an unsuccessful auction attempting to sell some of these treasures and make a little money, they could no longer afford the property either.
Then came a single mother and her son. There was nothing unusual that appeared to be happening. They were pretty quiet, so we were happy. Then the actual property owner knocked on our door one afternoon. He gave us his phone number and asked us to call if there was any odd activity next door. He said the police had tried serving his newest leaser an eviction notice for failing to ever make a payment, although she was there less than four months. The police had been there for several hours and were yet unsuccessful in their attempt. He hoped we would see a U-HAUL before seeing the officers over there again, but also thought that was an unlikelihood. He then warned us, “Don't go over there. She keeps an automatic rifle right by the door. I just thought you should know.”
I’ll refrain from making any comments on the new residents just in case I should decide to be friendly someday. If you really know me, however, that’s highly unlikely to happen. So, while Bradshaw lives her fabulous fictional life, I will stay holed up at home because the neighbors usually scare the shit out of me, but I will never be moving to the city either as I like trees more than I like most people. I just thought you should know.