And I Don't Know What to Do with My Anger

I'm very angry. And by that I mean I've made snarky comments to my husband and he's now sick of them so I'm going to blog about my anger. It takes a lot to get my blood boiling. And it takes a special kind of asshole for me to publicly acknowledge that assholishness. I'll take a lot of shit from someone. But I can't stand a person who lowers my property values.

If you've read any of my blogs, you're familiar with the woman who took up residence in the beautiful, well-maintained home next door. You're also familiar with the 4-6 grandchildren living with her at any given moment, the revolving door of pets, and the daughter(s) in and out of rehab/prison. You know that she converted the two-car garage into bedrooms and allowed the above-ground pool to congeal into a cesspool that eventually broke free of its walls and killed the grass and beautiful ornamental bushes in the backyard. You know there's the constant smell of dog shit wafting from the yard. For reasons unknown, she's never bothered to use the sprinkler system on the grass and has let the crape myrtle trees and hedges grow willy-nilly. The doorbell is missing. Only two wires remain, poking through a dark hole near the front door. The front bedroom window has been boarded up for two years, ever since one of the ragged teens broke the glass with a baseball bat.

Earlier this summer, the teens were all been shipped off to their respective fathers. Then, my neighbor's brother suddenly died, and she has been left to care for her elderly mother. She stays with her mother for days at a time and the house has been empty, quiet.

But last month, she took in a woman with three children. The youngest child, and only girl, is a year ahead of our daughter in school. They have been attached to each other all summer, often playing until it's dark outside. She is a sweet little girl, well mannered. I like her. And that's saying something. Because I hate kids.

So I allowed myself to think that perhaps I was being too hard on my neighbor. If my daughter enjoyed playing at the house, and I enjoyed having one of its residents as a guest, I really shouldn't get upset when the sturdy wooden mailbox post suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a rickety bent pole held up by three landscape pavers. It was a price I was willing to pay for my daughter's happiness.

I was even a bit awed--and jealous--this weekend when a whirlwind of activity began outside of the house. A parade of lawn care dudes and pressure washing dudes and shirtless dudes, marched around repairing, cleaning, pruning, and sprucing. I thought perhaps the young woman and her three children were making some sort of positive influence on my neighbor. Perhaps with the other teens gone to their daddies, my neighbor could finally make the house a home. She was even out in the yard cutting away dead limbs on the once-lush knockout roses.

Then, the unthinkable happened. They put down pine straw.

Mulching is a commitment. It says, "See, I care if my trees and shrubs and flowers live through the harsh weather."

I thought, Holy shit, they've actually started to take pride in the place now that they've completely fucked it up. Even with the enclosed garage and still-boarded window, the yard maintenance was enough to make me think that the property value had risen a bit.

I bragged to my neighbor on the fantastic job.

I should have known.

I came home from work today and a "For Sale" sign was in the yard. And not the half-assed yeah-we-may-sell sort of "By Owner" shit. This is the real deal. A Coldwell Banker sign.

Great. I think we all know the kind of people who buy homes with converted garages. I hate those people. They have a slew of lonely pets. Their garbage cans are constantly over-filled. There are strange smells seeping through the cracked windows. That's right. I'm talking about large families. Families with hoards of kids. Knock-on-your-door-all-the-time kids. Kids with snotty noses and scraped knees and sticky hands. Kids like mine.

Now that my neighbor has done so much ugly damage that a pressure wash and a layer of pine straw won't cover it, she's abandoning ship. She's going to allow a huge family to move in and terrorize me. I can see it now: the mother who will home-school the entire brood. And the husband who will shake his head because I work. They'll take "stay-cations."

And they'll lower my property value with the 10,000 plastic sand buckets and ride-on toys strewn about the front lawn.

I just can't wait. Can't. Wait.

Open Letter #6

dear Redneck Neighbor

...it's that time of year again--fall...a time when i winterize my yard, cover all those bulbs and roots with pine straw, put out the pumpkins, and watch the leaves turn yellow and red...it's also a presidential election year...time to vote for the lesser of two evils...i can't wait to flex my political muscles at the polls, and even though we seem to differ on all matters lawn-related, it's refreshing to see that you too are gearing up for the election:

...i had to stomp down some grass and push aside the dying branches
of the  knockout roses to get a good picture...the fact that this sign
 is in this yard is enough to keep me voting the other way for years...

...i can't help but notice your choice of candidate...

...correct me if i'm wrong, but there are three government-funded programs your ticket is vowing to abolish in which you've participated:

1. rehabilitation--after your stint in jail, you spent some time in a rehab...on my tax dime...and yet i, unlike your candidate, have chosen not to kick these sorts of programs to the curb...

2. welfare--you work part-time, your sister doesn't work, your mother hasn't left for work in weeks...you're managing to feed three adults and five or six kids how? i did notice the small ponies missing from the back yard...if you slaughtered them last tuesday they may be starting to turn...

3. child heath care--that Peach Care program that covers all five or six of your kids? yeah, hug a democrat

...maybe my list reveals more about my prejudice towards your party than it does about your actual ticket...mostly, when i hear the term "republican" i think of rich men and women--him, with a bad fake tan, her with bleached-blonde hair--who pay illegal immigrants to do what working-class americans once did--gardening, domestic help--who "play" the stock market as if they're sitting at a poker table, send their kids to private school where learning is a side-effect of networking, and are generally people who lack integrity and humility...

...sure these are extremes...i hate extremes...especially when extremists are manipulated to represent an entire group...you know, the way your vp candidate associated gun violence with inner cities...so...republicans are probably, for the most part, just ordinary folks who happen to vote for rich-white-old-men over and over...who see something they like and go for it...like that candy bar in the check-out line...but if you eat too many candy bars at once, you'll hurl...that's the candy bar's job--to be a tempting indulgence that will eventually make you fat and sick...just like republicans...

...there's a chance you are the new face of the republican party...have you written to them? maybe they'd race right over to interview an ex-con whose done a stint in rehab, is raising five or six kids on her own, and, instead of defaulting on a mortgage on a larger home, has converted the garage into more rooms to suit such a large occupancy...seriously, you could be mentioned in the next debate...the only caveat i'd add: take a cue from your ticket and hire that illegal gardener...really...

..i see a choice between two rich candidates as no choice at all...and if we're talking about degrees of evil in democracy then there's a problem much larger than this election...it'll take more than a sign plopped into six months of front yard growth to solve it...

...but before you start to adorn your vehicles with romney/ryan stickers, i'd ask you to do some poking around and read up on your ticket's real agenda...surely you don't fit into that 47% of americans romney was talking about a month ago--you pay your taxes, are doing everything you can to advance yourself and your children--but that doesn't mean you're among the 53% he actually thinks he represents...

sincerely,
your neighbor who really, honestly, hopes you'll do the math...

Open Letter #4

Dear White Trash Neighbor,

My husband mentioned to me the other day that I should not be referring to you as "white trash." Though the name might be fitting, there are just some things we should only say to our spouses, who have to love us no matter what because we know each other's nasty secrets.  When I pointed out that all of my secrets are splattered all over my blog, he shrugged.  Because it seemed I'd finally won an argument between us, I instantly became suspicious that he may be plotting a secret secret reveal that includes you in some way, as you started the whole thing. But then, someone sent me a link to a television show called "Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo" and I realized that he was right all along, it's not very kind to call you "white trash."  So, as homage to your apparent idol, Miss Boo-Boo, I will from here on out call you Redneck Neighbor.

So, Redneck Neighbor, a little congratulations is in order.  You've been living with your sister and mother now for two months and I haven't once seen a police car, ambulance, or fire truck.  My sisters are co-habitating for a while--the small abode now housing 5 children and 3 adults, nearly alike to your own situation. And the nicest thing I can say about that is they are all still alive. 

Another congratulations is due you--even in this struggling economy you managed to pull off a successful yard sale.  I have to admit, it was the first time I've ever seen anyone use their actual yard for a yard sale.  It really bothers me when people put everything in the garage and call it a yard sale.  Or they pile things into the driveway and call it a garage sale.  Um, no.  That's a driveway sale.  I didn't mind at all that shoppers used our driveway to park--I didn't have anywhere to go for six hours last Saturday.  

Though, I'm still perplexed as to why all of the unsold teddy bears, bright plastic toys, and piles of clothes are still occupying your yard.  Are you planning on having another sale soon? Should I go ahead and park my car on the street in case I need to leave?  If another sale is in the works, I wonder if you've noticed the weather? There's a hurricane brewing just south of us, and the rain that's been coming down since Monday is a result.  I don't know how successful you'll be at selling soggy goods, though someone may buy the tires you left in the flower bed, after all they're meant to get wet. But who am I to tell you how to run a yard sale, as I've never before seen one and last Saturday was such a huge success.  I hope you generated enough money to buy all of those school uniforms--sorry, I couldn't help overhear, your voice does love to travel.

I do have one suggestion, though, for the impending second sale.  That huge hole on the far side of your driveway, you know the one? It's just before you get to what used to be a bed of knockout roses but is now an overgrown tangle of dead vines.  I'd fill that in.  Sure no one stepped in it last time, but why tempt fate twice? I'd hate for your good fortune to be ruined by a lawsuit of some kind. I'd also hate to see little Johnny, or one of the "K" girls, suddenly disappear.

Of course, if you've left everything out in order to create yard art, I commend you even more.  Our prissy neighborhood could use some sprucing up.  A plastic toddler bed, strewn in among struggling day lilies, is the exact sort of avant-garde display these tired, manicured yards need.

Always,
Your Neighbor Who (Really) Doesn't Mind People Parking in Her Driveway for the Sake of Your Good Fortune

Open Letter #3

dear White Trash Neighbor,

i'm really sorry to hear about your mother's recent stint in the hospital...it seemed pretty serious...especially since there were two ambulances in your driveway for two hours before they rolled her out on the gurney...she's been up and about since then though, right? i could've sworn i saw her driving herself to work yesterday...or was that your sister, the one you told me was moving in to help care for your mom? is that her black buick on the front lawn? did she bring the small grey cat with her? and do the two ponies belong to her or is this a new way of clearing the weeds out of the flower beds? in either case, would you mind keeping them out of my yard? i've scooped up three steaming piles of poo in two days...if i see any more, i'm liable to just chuck it over the fence where it might, possibly, land in your pool...

what, exactly, did you do to your back? when kali came over yesterday she asked if we had any medicine you could have...she said you'd had surgery and were hurting from it...while i do keep a small supply of vicodin in my medicine cabinet--you never know when you'll need a few extra bucks, right?--i was disinclined to share them...if you'd had surgery, wouldn't the doctor have prescribed something for you? or would that violate your parole? i've never been in a rehab or prison, but it seems to me that a doctor might be hesitant to prescribe something to a convicted drug addict, no? i'm no doctor, but if i let you in on my supply of prescription pills i might be accused of conspiring with a criminal...i'm just not willing to take our relationship to that level...sorry

i'm glad to see that your daughters enjoy coming over and playing with my daughter...i've gotten used to their misshapen heads, though i admit they startle me when i first answer the door...i appreciate the fact they bring their 32 ounce kool-aid containers with them...and that they don't spill it on my carpet...i have no problem welcoming them inside where it's cool and no bugs can eat us alive...i had no idea that this would bother you so much, since the kids came knocking...from now on i will keep them outside where the mosquitoes can inoculate them against bird flu and malaria--isn't that what you said about those bites on their legs?

one more thing before i close...while i don't mind the kids playing together outside, and i try to stay out of their play as much as i can, i must point out something disturbing in little jimmy's behavior...clearly feeling left out while the girls decorated my driveway with sidewalk chalk, he came on over, grabbed up all of the yellow, and began to draw...i thought nothing of this until an hour later when your kids were long-gone and i stepped out to water my plants...glaring at me from the foot of my drive was a gigantic, chalk-yellow swastika...now, where i'm from that's a sign of aggression...especially since my initials make me, nearly, a card-carrying member of the chosen people...i've been told that around here the swastika is a symbol of white pride or white power...the equivalent of those morons who wear white caps and gowns and clean up freeways...whatever the "message" little jimmy was trying to send, let me tell you, if i ever see anything like that near my home again little jimmy will get a lesson in the torah, nazis, and the general idiocy of disliking people because of their race...and you'll find more than pony dung in your pool...you've seen the godfather, right?

sincerely,

your Neighbor Who Will Be Gifting You With a Menorah This Winter

Open Letter #2

dear White Trash Neighbor,

bravo!...since my last epistolary narration, the lawn has been mowed...i must admit, i had my doubts about the power of the pen when it came to our relationship...but now that i know you're listening, i'll go on...

i'm pleased that you finally entrusted little "jimmy" with the task of mowing the yard...

one hiccup, though, remains...and maybe this is me erroneously believing the rest of the world should think and act as i do...but you had him out there working on easter sunday...at 9:30pm...and that struck me as rather odd...in the south, most people consider easter a holy day...a reason for schools and government offices to close for days on end...since i often see you piling all five--or is it six?--kids into the dented van--the girls in ankle length cotton, little "jimmy" in his pleated slacks--and heading out every sunday, i made the assumption that you, too, found this day special...perhaps the "specialness" ends at sundown?...whatever the case, i couldn't help but notice little "jimmy" mowing in darkness, the only light cast on him from my own front porch...he seemed to be falling over the mower...a side-effect of sunrise worship?

as i turned out the lights inside my house and headed to bed, i listened for a moment to the drone and gurgle of the blade...it was already an hour past my own child's bedtime...she had to wake early the next morning for daycare...my husband and i had work...would little "jimmy" be getting any rest?

then i wondered at the value of cutting the yard in the dark...what life lesson was he was learning--aside from listening to your bossy neighbor?...that home maintenance should only be undertaken as a covert operation?

now that the grass has been hewn, i can clearly see the blocks holding up the truck in the yard...and perhaps you can finally get those tires you've been "waiting on" for over a year?...i can also clearly see the mattresses strewn about the grass...are you planning a night out? is this some sort of camping trip? i've not known many people to bring an entire chest of drawers on such an excursion, so i'd like to know--logistically speaking--what you have planned...since my home is only a few yards from where you've constructed a makeshift campfire, should i have the fire department on speed dial?

really, truthfully,

Neighbor Who Runs Inside When She Sees You Coming

Open Letter #1

dear White Trash Neighbor:

let me begin by saying i don't use that title lightly...in fact, because i lived with that stigma for much of my childhood, i hate it...but, honey, you have earned it...take a bow...

i'm not from the south...there's a learning curve that comes with living next door to me...for instance, i'll never understand the concept of putting a truck on blocks...in the front yard...and using it as a fort/dog house...and in the process, ruining a beautiful lawn and sprinkler system installed by the previous homeowners...i will probably never understand why most southern homes smell of pork...or cured meats in general...and why your home, specifically, seems to attract all manner of overweight, unattractive little children who seem as drawn to the smell as i am repelled by it...i know i've completely missed the point of your above ground pool...and your unwillingness to clean it of algae...and mosquito larvae...and overweight, unattractive children...but i'm trying, so cut me some slack...

but i cannot abide by the three-foot tall grass in your front yard...sure, let your three dogs dig holes and urinate all over your back yard...it's fenced...no one can see into the flat mud hole that--before you bought the place--was the lush envy of the neighborhood...let the overweight, unattractive children dance and sing in a black mixture of dog shit and georgia clay...let them fling their retched little bodies around on the trampoline you insisted the previous owner include in the sale...but please, for the love of neighborhood property values, mow your goddamn front lawn...

i've overlooked the fact that you've let it go to seed...that you couldn't use the sprinklers once your dented truck had decapitated several of them...that you cut the shrubs down to twigs, let the magnolia and knockout roses die, and allowed weeds to overtake the day lily patches...who needs all that work? but the grass...the three-foot-high grass...there's just no excuse...

here's an idea...and may i add that it's killing two birds with one stone? i might have mentioned already that your home seems to be the pied piper of overweight, unattractive children...one of whom seems to be a young man of about twelve, whom i've heard you calling "jimmy"...perhaps instead of spending his afternoons peeing in the front bushes or riding his motorized scooter up and down the block, "jimmy" could get out the old push mower and have at it with those weeds?

or, if this is too sexist for you, perhaps one of the four girl children might be free? i was mowing my grandmother's lawn when i was eight, so i know it's not that hard...the oldest girl--you know the one, right? with the sour orange hair?---looks fit enough to run the mower around your fifteen yards of lawn...that might ,then, be an excuse for wearing her tube top and jean skirt out of the house, as she's so prone to do when she goes for the mail each day...

or maybe you're not into the whole "child labor" thing (i doubt it...what other reason is there for having five kids and converting your garage into more bedrooms?)...here's another idea: get your fat ass out there and mow the yard yourself...i'm a big-assed girl myself...trust me, an afternoon in the georgia sun will melt some of that off...then maybe you can expand your wardrobe to include something other than the navy mu-mus you seem to hoard by the dozen...that might help with the "dating problem" i've heard you mention as you scream into your cell phone while pacing around your three-foot-high lawn...

and while i'm writing, i haven't asked in a while...how's your parole officer? now that the kids are back with you--and you've provided them with bedrooms in the garage--i haven't seen her around much...is she keeping your three exes off your back? i hope so...i know you don't really need all that stress...

really, truthfully, 

Neighbor Who Runs Inside When She Sees You Coming