“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.
Just in case they change in the meantime, right now I need to share by how amused I am with the ads that showed up here: "Sex and the City Locations," "Free Diaper Samples," "Child Support Laws," and "Fantastic Fireworks." Too funny!
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