Something about my child is…. different. Different, I don’t know how to describe, but not in a creepy or scary way. Unless my suspicions of her being Mother Theresa Reincarnated are indeed accurate and in that case, that’s a little creepy, I’m not gonna lie. Being the Mother of Mother Theresa Reincarnated puts a lot of pressure on me as well, pressure I don’t necessarily feel like dealing with, you know? It’s all a bit much to handle, the creepiness and pressure of having a Saint for a child.
Sigh.
Let me demonstrate, a verbally illustrated picture perhaps.
The other day I took Delaney shopping downtown. In Boise, it’s tricky doing anything outdoors this time of year because often it LOOKS chirpy and cheery and sunny out but then when you step outside, it’s like stepping out into the arctic tundra and then your stuck wearing flip flops and a tank top in sub-zero degrees. People look at you like you’re an idiot when this happens and you often have to yell back at them that WHAT?! you HAPPENED TO FORGET WE LIVED IN IDAHO FOR A MINUTE OKAY?! GET OFF ME! This is especially embarrassing when not only are YOU dressed like you’re in denial but you also dress your CHILD like you’re in denial, like you made your whole family try to WILL it into spring that morning. And this being National Child Abuse Prevention Month, something Boise is taking very seriously right now, you just don’t want to find yourself in this predicament.
So being the thoughtful and ever-evolving Mother that I am, I asked Delaney before we left to put on a jacket, that I thought it might be a little cold out. Being the mature 4 year old that she is, she politely declined saying she had been in the backyard already and it wasn’t cold and she had also thought ahead and put on a long sleeved shirt. So, I was all “Really? Okay, if you say so, four year old Daughter, you would know what’s best for yourself” and we left the house without her jacket. Legendary Mom skills already playing into effect. Because the earlier described rendition of public humiliation? EVEN BETTER when the child is going without the comfort of warmth but YOU THE PARENT are nice and snug in your parka. Classic. Way to be, Mom.
Of course, as you would guess, once we get ALL the way downtown and out of the parking garage, I realize that it’s actually cold outside and my kid doesn’t have a jacket.
I mention this to myself, out loud, saying “Shoot, it’s pretty cold out, gosh dang it.” Then I continue talking mostly to myself but now also towards Delaney and say “I’m sorry Honey, I’ll buy you a little jacket at one of the stores, okay?” And we head out to brave it on our supposed-to-be-fun-and-cheap-but-now-not-so-fun-and-not-so-cheap shopping trip.
Ten minutes goes by, we are briskly walking down the sidewalks trying to find the closest children’s clothing store when Delaney looks up at me while we are stopped at a crosswalk and says “Mom, I’m so sorry, I should have brought my jacket, I should have listened to you, it’s MY fault Mom and I’m really sorry.” Then bats her eyes a few times.
(pause)
(pause)
(pausing while you realize that FOUR YEAR OLDS DON’T TALK LIKE THIS.)
What the? Whose child is this? She doesn’t get this kind of reflectiveness from me, that’s for sure. She IS Mother Theresa! This kind of stuff happens ALL THE TIME! All the time she think, ponder and reflect on situations, EMPATHIZE and convey feelings like this. It’s just beyond me. I’ll find myself, all the time, saying “Well Honey, everything’s okay, you’re a kid you know.”
She’s just so….
It’s like she carries this burden. This burden of making sure everything is right in the world.
Again, just the other day, I was making German Pancakes for breakfast and they takes 30 minutes to bake. During the span of the 30 minutes, Delaney must have asked me 5 times if she could have some fruit snacks, a fruit roll up, a bagel, some candy etc… to which I kept saying that No, the food would be done soon, I was making special pancakes and they would be delicious. Well, not 3 minutes before the timer goes off, Delaney runs in to tell me that she ate a WHOLE SLICE OF PIZZA ALL GONE MOM! I was bugged because 1. the scrumptious breakfast I was making was SO close to being done and 2. I never cook fancy breakfasts and I envisioned a round of applause once the timer went off, NOT a full-tummied kid who wasn’t interested. So I said “Oh DeeDee! I was making special pancakes, remember?”
I’m not kidding, for the next 2 hours, she must have told me 37 different times that “Next time, Mom, I won’t eat Pizza when you’re making special pancakes, Mom, I’m sorry about that Mom, I’ll wait next time for the special pancakes to be done and I won’t eat Pizza, okay Mom?” I finally had to say “Delaney. I am NOT mad. Nobody is upset here. Everything is okay. I don’t want you worrying about the pancakes anymore okay?”
I mean, what child cares this much? She’s an over-carer. It makes me look like a freak-out Mom, like she’s one of those kids that has to soothe her parents because her parents can’t soothe themselves. But it’s not just us. She does it with everyone. She’s a people soother.
She tells her cousin “It’s okay Cousin, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it was an accident, I love you.” She tells her Grammy “Grammy, I love your face and the way you sing.” She tells her Teachers “You look cute today, good job teaching.” She tells me out of nowhere ALL THE TIME “Mom, I think you’re the best Mom ever.”
Huh? Shouldn’t you be peeing on toys or something?
This clip captures a tiny bit her ways, her careful, quirky, patient ways. Is it just me, or would she not make excellent room mates with an 89 year old forensic pathologist named Beatrice?
I cannot tell you how SICK! I am of the snow this winter. It’s not magical anymore, it’s not special. It’s crap. And it will NOT stop. It’s been a full on blizzard for days on end and I’m feeling as though my life is starting to mimic “The Shining”.
I know I run the risk of sabotaging my own efforts of getting you all to move here to start our blogging commune when I mention something like this. I try not to ever say anything negative about Boise so as to give the illusion of rainbows and butterflies all the live long days because even though I know none of you will ever move here, I still believe that ALL of you COULD move here, if it not for your complete selfishness. And so the fault lies with you, I wash my hands of this.
Things wouldn’t be SO bad today except that Mike took my van to work. Something that I know to be of a revengeful nature on his part. He probably figured that if he took MY car and left me with his “tobaggon on ice” which he knows I deem a death trap on wheels and therefore refuse to drive, he must have figured that I couldn’t go anywhere and spend money and shop for cute things or make impulsive decisions in a shopping mall pet store. Which, I see his logic, somewhat. He DID, I guess, leave for work 2 days ago and upon return, discovered a new puppy in our house. But GEEZ, what’s the big deal?! You know? Take my car away? A bit harsh, I’d say. All in agreement, say aye. I know, right?
It’s just that Delaney and I needed to do some birthday present shopping and we ended up at the mall. EVERYONE knows that when at the mall with a kid, it’s pretty much required of you that you take the kid to the pet store. It’s an unwritten law, you MUST DO IT. So, fearing the consequences of disrupting the alter-sphere-of-parenting-law-bondage (just go with it), we indeed went to the pet store. Upon which, we bought a dog. But the decision was made entirely by Delaney, I told Mike this, it had nothing to do with me! I turned my back for ONE second and when I turned back around, Delaney was just finishing up the paperwork. It was done. I had no choice but to bring the dog home after that.
Meet Annie.
She’s a Lhasa Apso, 4 months old and was discounted at the pet store because she had been there too long. Which made us want her even more.
So far, she’s been scared of every single thing, tip-toes around our house and shakes. But this morning, a sign of life! She wagged her tail! And all day today, she’s been following Delaney around and dare I say it, pouncing? She almost comfortable enough to behave like a real puppy but not quite yet. The absence of barking is awesome though, which I guess is the perk of having a scaredy-dog.
Delaney is smitten. Her life from now on will be marked from THIS POINT. Just as we have B.C. and A.D., Delaney now has “before Annie” and “after Annie”.
And I now have a full day of a wild child and a peeing dog. Oh and the blizzard.
I sometimes lay awake at night fantasizing about having this as my kitchen. With these appliances.
Isn’t it just DREAMY?! I salivate over retro kitchens. And they don’t even have to be authentic retro, just anything resembling anything retro in a kitchen is the bees knees in my opinion. I think it’s the bright colors that do it for me since the rest of my taste in regards to all other rooms in my house is a darker and more muted taste, black actually, and so having a room with a full-on COLOR EXPLOSION is an attempt at balanced home decor I guess.
All of these fantasies and daydreams are a result of the fact that we are moving. Painfully, dreadfully, disgustingly moving. I am overcome with grief at the mere mention of this reality. I. DESPISE. Moving.
Some may caution against buying a home in this crappy market. But, we have been renting over the last 9 months and can’t stand the thought of throwing away another penny on rent. Especially when house prices are this good. I know that the other rationale is that prices may continue to go down but we are throwing caution to the wind and buying anyway. On a happier note, the market in Boise isn’t as bad as the national housing market is. But still, it does make us nervous. I just cannot believe how many foreclosures and repossessions are taking place around the country. And how many people are losing hundreds of THOUSANDS of dollars. It’s a sad sad deal.
Around here, right now, you can get a great family, well built home for under $250,000 EASY. Homes like these:
All of which are brand new construction and within 20 minutes of downtown Boise. So, it’s dumb to be renting, as you can see.
You realize this is all a desperate attempt to get my bloggy friends to move to Boise, this posting of dreamy houses with great prices. I am CONTINUALLY campaigning to bring everyone here and start our own community, like in The Village where we can talk and behave as thought it’s the 15th century still. Except for the blogging obviously, there would still have to be blogging. But our kids wouldn’t know any better because we could send the blind girl to the city for Windows updates. I’m telling you, it could WORK!
But no, really, I am curious as to how this compares to wherever you live and what your market is doing in that place. I used to have a fairly good grasp on market values around the country but things have changed quite a bit over the last 2 years. Do tell, do tell.
Back to my initial thought, which was to complain and cry about moving, I was going to tell you how boring our new kitchen is and how I want to remodel it. Someday. This makes my husband want to beat me because there is absolutely nothing wrong with the kitchen, it’s not even dated or worn. It’s practically brand new actually. It’s just really really boring and bland with every kind of cheap and conformist material known to man. It’s just very mass-produced kitchen, if that makes sense. No color, no umph, no love, nothing.
I just realized how incredibly whiney and spoiled I sound. Excuse me while I go throw up. On our new kitchen. Oops I did it again. GAH!
My LAND! I do NOT know how you people do it, you post-a-dayers. The intensity of it all! It’s just so intense! Don’t you think it’s intense? It’s all just so….. vehement and concentrated! (Right there what I gone and done was look up synonyms for ‘intense’ in my Thesaurus, that’s what I did done right there)
I have been rather busy lately and all day yesterday I worked two jobs. I am sort of working two different jobs right now. Let’s see, there’s the one where I work within my work environment and then there’s the one where I work performing work duties. So, as you can see, I am quite booked with vague job responsibility. (Right here what I done gone and done was mystify you as to what I do for my work(s). This is to avoid an unwanted and rather awkward situation in which some random internet stalker figured out where I worked my work(s) and then showed up all scary like upon the place of said work(s). Which in that case, I’m not sure what internet stalker guy (or gal I suppose, JENNIFER) would do to torture me after my capture, but I’m thinking it would probably have something to do with coercing me into reading complete sentences and forcing me to understand the meaning of punctuation marks and where they go. And I just can’t take that kind of risk.) The point here being that I was busy yesterday working two jobs back to back and then when I finally came home late last night I ad the choice of either trying to whip out a post within the 30 minutes I had at the end of the day or to watch the Desperate Housewives episode that was lovingly and patiently waiting on my DVR. And I chose the ladies of Wisteria Lane over you all. And I apologize for this my friends.
So, on to my blog post. Somehow I have neglected to mention this thus far. I have no idea how. It might have something to do with the two jobs and then the mothering of wee child and the wife-ing of manly husband. But it’s very significant. It’s a very significant occurance in my life. In OUR lives, my internets, in OUR lives.
So, depending on your opinion and location within the world, you may or may not agree with me that we live in the Country. It’s a subdivision, but it’s a subdivision in Idaho so we see Deer, Bald Eagles, Hawks, Raccoons and very rarely Bears and Mountain Lions. Now for someone like Pioneer Woman, that is a walk in Central Park and the thought that we would consider our subdivision “country” would make her fling a cow pie at me. But then for someone from the city this would seem as foreign and “country” as the actual act of birthing a colt. So, you might be laughing at me right now or you might be reading in awe, but the next sentence will likely seal the deal on whether or not you consider me “country” or not.
Ya’ll, there was a snake in our house. A snake. In our house. Alive. Slithering. Moving with life and being a snake.
Am I COUNTRY or what!?!?!
Well, before you answer that, consider the behavior I displayed upon discovering the snake. This is how it went down.
I had just picked my sleeping daughter up from the couch and completed a successful couch-to-bed transfer, a couch-to-bed transfer that INCLUDED STAIRS (this is huge, a huge feat). I come back down the stairs, round the corner and see a snake on the hardwood floor. I think to myself “Hm. Where did Delaney get a toy snake, I wonder? Grandpa must have given her that, that’s funny” and then it took it’s body and moved itself all snake and slithery like. At this time, all the breath in my body exited through my throat passageway in a hurl-form type action and my fight or flight mechanism kicked in. I flighted to the bedroom where my husband was sleeping. I woke him like this:
(Really exaggerated screaming whisper so as not to wake up wee child): OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH
Mike: WHAT is up with you?
Me: THIS ISN’T HAPPENING THIS ISN’T HAPPENING THIS ISN’T HAPPENING THIS ISN’T HAPPENING THIS ISN’T HAPPENING THIS ISN’T HAPPENING
Mike: HellOOOOO? What is going on?!
Me: SNAKE SNAKE SNAKE SNAKE SNAKE in. our. HOUSE!
Mike: (JUMPS UP!) OKAY! EVERYTHING IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE.
We go out to the Living Room where Mike takes one look at the snake and then turns around and walks back down the hall. I’m in the Smeagle/Gollum position on the kitchen counter, “WHERE ARE YOU GOING! YOU CAN’T JUST FORFEIT LIKE THAT! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME HERE TO DEFEAT THE SNAKE USING MY OWN DEVICES! WHAT KIND OF MAN ARE YOU!?!”
Mike comes back with two laundry baskets and acts as if he’s just brought in with him two snake euthenizers.
Me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THOSE!?!
Mike starts flapping the laundry baskets as though he was flagging wild horses into a holding arena.
Me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT?!
The snake quickly slithers into the office and stops under a pillow that was on the ground.
Me: WHERE IS HE GOING?! WHY HAVEN’T YOU STOPPED HIM YET?! KILL IT!
Mike disappears into the office. Just him, the snake and two laundry baskets.
Me, staying on the kitchen counter: DO YOU THINK THERE’S MORE? DO SNAKES TRAVEL IN HERDS? ARE THERE PACKS OF SNAKES?
All silence coming from the office.
Me: WHAT’S HAPPENING? I CAN’T WATCH BUT I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT”S HAPPENING. CAN YOU ANNOUNCE WHAT YOU’RE DOING PLAY BY PLAY MIKE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Silence still from the office.
Me: I CAN’T BELIEVE THERE IS A SNAKE IN OUR HOUSE! HOW DID HE GET IN! DID YOU LET HIM IN!? HE WAS ALL SLITHERING UP TO SUCK THE BLOOD OF OUR CHILD SLEEPING ON THE COUCH! HE WAS TRYING TO INJECT HIS POISONOUS VENOM INTO DELANEY BABE! KILL HIM!
Silence.
Me: BABE! YOU’RE PISSING ME OFF! WHAT IS GOING ON! YOU ARE BEING SO RUDE IN THERE!
Mike comes out of the office and walks to the garage.
Me: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! DID YOU KILL IT? WHERE IS IT!
Mike walks back holding a camera. He walks back into the office.
Me: IS IT SAFE TO COME DOWN OFF THE COUNTER NOW?!
I wait a few seconds and then carefully, watching exactly where I step, walk towards the door of the office.
My dashing young snake charmer had captured the creature. I shouldn’t be surprised, this wasn’t the first time he had protected our family and home from evil home intruders. I looked inside.
The snake curled up and tried to strike at us. It rattled it’s tail and gave us the the shivers. It was MEAN. Mean mean mean.
Mike was convinced that it was a baby rattle snake and so he killed it. But then after doing research online discovered that it was not a rattle snake and that it pretends to be one in order to confuse it’s attackers. So then we felt bad and gave it a proper burial. Poor snake. It was just putting on a big mean show but inside was nothing more than a sad and scared little snake. I’m like that all the time! I put on big mean shows and strike out too. But really I just need a hug. That’s all the snake needed was a hug. But we killed it.
I’m sorry snake.
I’m sorry we killed you but you and your kind need to learn that when big new subdivisions plant themselves in the middle of nowhere on your land, you can’t just go in the houses like that.
That picture is pretty gnarley isn’t it?
********************************
Don’t forget to enter into the Giveaway! You know you want that Oprah Magazine subscription. And if this post made your insides squeeze with guilt and love for the snake, I also saw Reptile Lovers Magazine and I could throw that in the Giveaway too.
Alright. The gloves come off. This is it, the creepiest of the creepies. The weirdest of the weirdies.
After dealing with Pup-Killer and Drug Dealer, we were DETERMINED to not move next to a lunatic again. Is it so much to ask? Really?
We went house hunting and even if we LOVED the house, we’d skip over it if the neighbors looked even REMOTELY un-normal IE: no over grown weeds, no sketchy cars, no “keep out” signs, no bumper stickers besides Jesus ones, if you had your CHRISTMAS LIGHTS up too long, we probably would have refused to live next to you during this juncture in our lives.
But then, we found it. The most adorable, perfect, ideal, charming old remodeled farmhouse minutes from downtown Boise. EVERYTHING was beautiful about this place even down to the shower heads. It was amazing, something Martha Stewart would have been able to walk through without hyperventilating. We were in love. We took a magnifying glass to the neighbors. Three or Four houses down to the right, a guy had fake grass in his front lawn and 3 or 4 houses down to the left, a house was a bit run down. But the IMMEDIATE neighbors looked awesome. We were ESPECIALLY impressed with the house directly across the street. Gary’s house.
We hardly felt it was necessary to ask given that the yard was IMMACULATE and the house itself was PERFECT in every way but we still decided to casually ask the Seller what the little red house across the street was about. The Seller briskly mentioned that he was an “older man who gives vegetables away, he’s harmless.”
RED FLAG #1. Her mentioning that he was “harmless” indicates that there would be reason to suspect harm. Who describes someone as “harmless” unless that someone has a history of acting all creepy-like?
Red flag ignored.
We buy the house.
We love love love it. We can’t believe how perfect it is. Yada yada yada.
Enter Gary.
If this is the “old man” that the Seller mentioned, she had got to be nuts because this guy was ANYTHING but “old man”. He was as agile and fast-paced as Superman on steroids. The guy was everywhere. Raking, watering, painting, washing his car, washing his dog, picking weeds, setting out bird food, fixing the irrigation ditch, this this this, that that that, I was tired just WATCHING him. It was like this daily. It was fascinating.
He was INTENSE. We liked that about him though. I remember thinking after our first conversation in which he fixed his long hair into a bun about 5 times and changed his stance about 50 while his bug eyes were popping out that THIS GUY was INTENSE. You could feel your eyebrows raising without you telling them to during every encounter you had with Gary. But we liked him. A lot, actually.
He was INSANELY talented. I mean, WOW, talented. His gardens were phenomenal, he sold his vegetables to all the top 5-star restaurants in Boise. His shop was filled with dozens and dozens of old vintage bicycles that he restored to absolute perfection and then sold to these obscure vintage bike collectors from all over the world, he even sold one to Bruce Willis. And Bruce wasn’t the only famous person that Gary had shot the shiz with. Take your pick of any 1970’s folk band legends and Gary probably did drugs with them, The Greatful Dead being his favorite story to tell.
But maybe, just MAYBE, doing hard drugs continually for a decade has some sort of physiological affect on you. JUST hear me out. We think it’s possible that continual dropping of acid has it’s side effects. Just hear me out.
After only 5 or 6 weeks of beautiful neighborly bliss, things started to go askew. We couldn’t help but notice that Gary HATED our next door neighbors Dan and Mandy. We noticed this after Gary pulled us aside one night to tell us, all bug-eyed and jittery-like that Dan and Mandy were METH DEALERS and that he KNEW it without a SHADOW of a doubt! They were KINGPINS, TROUBLE! He’d say, and they were RUINING his street.
RED FLAG #2. HIS street? Everyone says “my street” “our street” and takes verbal possession of their street like this, but GARY, he meant it like he was the GODFATHER of his street. Like he was the GANGSTA of his street, the DADDY. And he meant it.
Red flag ignored. Again.
He HATED Dan and Mandy SO MUCH that if they came out into their front yard even for ONE MINUTE, Gary would scream at them like a wild screaming Banshee and then run inside his house.
Well, we didn’t get it. Dan and Mandy did not seem like drug dealers and we should know, we’d lived next to one before. They were sweet and friendly, soft spoken and smiley. They named their dog Aja after a sci-fi fairy book they were reading. They watered their yard, they took care of their dog, they barbecued tofu or whatever it is that hippies eat. And they LOOKED normal too. I don’t know if any of you have had the pleasure of looking upon the face of a Meth Addict, but let me tell you, it is QUITE EVIDENT that they are a Meth Addict. One of the ingredients in Meth is Industrial CONCRETE CLEANER, undiluted and packed into a tiny pill along with loads of other junk that rots your mind and eats your guts apart from the inside out. They go delusional thinking that bugs are crawling under their skin and so those open ghastly sores you see all over their arms and face? That’s them digging at their own skin in an attempt to free the bugs and then their immune system is shot so the self-inflicted wounds never heal. They walk around like zombies with open wounds all over their faces. And Dan and Mandy were not zombies with open wounds all over their faces. Something was up.
One night, I heard them on their back patio and so I snuck into the back yard and pretended to water the plants. I finally worked up the courage to flat out ask them over the fence: Hey, uh, what’s the deal with you guys and Gary?
Silence. Crap, I took it a step too far.
Mandy: We don’t talk about it outside.
Now it was my turn to be silent.
Me: What?
Mandy: We don’t talk about him outside. He hears.
Me: (Big eyes, darting off to each side) Really? That’s somewhat creepy, I’m not gonna lie.
Mandy: If you want we can talk with you inside your house?
Me: Meet you at the front door in five minutes.
Come to find out, Dan and Mandy are INDEED…… totally frickin normal. They had been living next door for two years and know Gary like the back of their hand. We got the low down and listened with jaws dropped as the truth about our wack-job of a neighbor was unfolded before our eyes.
He was your best friend at first. Free prize-winning vegetables, free bouquets of beautiful flowers, friendly conversations and even offers to make you dinner. But then one day, he’ll change and it will never be the same. He’ll become mean, spiteful, loud, intrusive Gary and it will catch you so off guard you’ll swear it was a prank. His reasons will seem validated in his mind, something will tweak and he’ll turn on you. He always turns on the people he becomes too close to. And since we had broken bread with him, toured his home, sampled his vegetables, we suspected this meant US.
Great. Right? Perma-Fried Anger Issues over here is now our new neighbor. LOVELY.
Dan and Mandy left that night and as they walked down our front walk-way and through our cute white picket gate we looked up and saw the tiniest but undeniable crack in Gary’s blinds. He was watching us. We nearly started to cry. This GIANT red flag was not being ignored.
Things changed after that. Gary did NOT like us conversing with his enemy like we did. We were black-listed. His mood changed. He yelled at a little girl for picking his flowers, full on YELLED at her at the top of his lungs with her Daddy standing right there! Her Daddy almost busted the Godfather’s arse there before the Godfather ran back inside his house. Then he yelled at Arlis, the sweet gray-haired Grandma who walks her power walks every morning. Something about his water shares not being up to par and he brought out his angry pointing finger and went to town on that poor old woman. Before I could throw on a coat and head out there, she was gone. And so was our feeling of our home being a refuge.
I went out of town one weekend on a girls trip and I remember getting a call from Mike. He did it babe, he says, he freaked out on me. It had happened.
Apparently, Mike was in the street when Gary came at him in full force, physically pushing him and yelling at him to get off his property, get off his street. Mike was floored. And even more so when the cops showed up a few minutes later. Gary was reporting us for trespassing on his property and dealing Meth.
Hello. Have we met? I’m Jamie, your friendly blogger here at the Battle Station and on the side, I like to dabble in a little Meth dealing. Who doesn’t these days, you know?
Well, NEEDLESS to say, we were not found guilty of ANYTHING including harboring terrorists or developing a vile of mad cow disease or whatever else Gary wanted to accuse us of. And the GOOD news was that all our other neighbors rallied around us in support of the newest family attacked by Gary, the neighborhood freak show.
The madness continued with more 911 calls on Gary’s part, more yelling, more swearing, more spying, he even started taking pictures of Dan and Mandy when they were outside which led us to believe that he was ALSO taking pictures of US when we were outside. Mike took it upon himself to make a GIANT white banner with the words “WE ARE NOT DRUG DEALERS” written in large letters and placed it on the front porch. We were sinking to his level. He was getting to us.
After months and months of never opening the blinds, never going in the front yard, never letting our child see the angry displays of madness erupting out of Gary on a daily basis, we forfeited. We gave up and we left.
We had MASSIVE guilt about selling that CURSED place to another unsuspecting couple. In fact, we sabotaged a few deals until we felt the perfect family had found it. They were country. No-nonsense, no small talk, hardly any talk at all in fact, mid-fifties retired military couple. We knew they’d think Gary was weird from the get-go and would therefore NOT initiate friendship. They’d steer clear of him and then in turn, Gary would steer clear of them. That’s how it worked. You had to be the un-threatening, completely distant from his life type people in order to live next to Gary and we felt we had found that.
We swung by a couple months later after a package was inadvertently delivered to the old house. We asked if they had any troubles with Gary and they looked at us like “Why would we have troubles with Gary?” which we took as a VERY good sign. Or at least I tell myself this to make me feel better. It’s this or booze people, this or booze.
And there you have it. We now reside in Stepford where Perma-fried Wack-jobs don’t live, where Dog-killers don’t get away with being dog-killers and where drug dealers are forced to operate at a much higher and more dignified level at least.
Thanks for listening guys. This was very theraputic for me to verbally vomit all over you in these last three posts. Now as your reward, tomorrow I will be posting the details of my FIRST EVER GIVEAWAY! It’s an awesome prize too, if I say so myself. Something I, MYSELF, would want to receive as a gift. And we all know the best way to give gifts is by thinking of yourself.
Go ahead, give it a guess. What do you think the prize will be? What do you WANT the prize to be? See you tomorrow!
I lie. I tease. We’re actually going to go backward before we go forward.
So BEFORE bright eyed and bushy tailed wipper snapper couple bought their first home they rented a charming little bungalow in what’s known as “The North End” (otherwise known as “Hippity Stuffity Over-pricity Snootville”). The North End is desirable because of it’s historic and charming houses, it’s incense and it’s close proximity to downtown Boise but it’s also playing russian roulette in the neighbor department. You’ll get a weirdo neighbor, that’s for sure, but what KIND OF weird they are is never FULLY known until you have already signed on the dotted line. The Weird-Interesting-Sometimes-Naked-But-Nice Combination is much preferred but never guaranteed.
In our case, we got Lyle.
This particular nightmare is really going to affect you dog-lovers out there. Or you any-kind-of-animal lovers out there. Or you humans with human hearts out there.
Our backyard and Lyle’s backyard ran parallel and although there was a row of medium-sized shrubs (or shrubery, whathaveyou) planted along the fence line, it was only a chain link fence and you could still very clearly see into each other’s backyards.
Things started out fine. We noticed that Lyle would let his grass grow to a thigh-high length and then trudge out and attempt to mow it like that leaving us all with the visual affect of the Lord of the Flies kids trying to chop down the thicket looking for Piggy. Lyle also, apparently, had a wife and baby? He talked about them incessantly (usually in a shamelessly mean way) but we were beginning to think they were a figment of his imagination, sort of like imaginary friends until we finally caught a glimpse of them one day. It would be the ONLY time we saw his wife in the entire 2 years that we lived there. It was so abrupt and quick and somewhat surreal that it left us wondering if we had ever actually seen her at all, like she was an illusion. But we DID see his child quite a few times the following summer again, clearing up the doubts that the wife in fact DID exist, we DID see her that day last year. We would watch the little toddler boy waddle around the yard and then fall into one of the many massive trenches that his Dad had dug the previous spring in an attempt to install sprinklers by himself.
So Lyle obviously wasn’t going to school for a Landscape Design Degree but he was friendly, typically kept to himself and seemed lonely so we tried to look past all the quirkiness.
Well, it turns out Lyle WAS lonely, because the second summer we lived there, Lyle bought a dog. And not just any dog, a really expensive LARGE dog. One that looked like this. And up went a chain link kennel-thing in the backyard, right along our fence line.
We were pretty stoked about Big White Dog at first, even though we, as a rule, don’t dig dogs. The whole smelly, chew up your stuff and find feces on your carpet thing doesn’t generally work for us. Plus their EYES, their SAD SAD PLAY WITH ME EYES, we can’t TAKE THE GUILT! But that’s not to say that we don’t like dogs, we like YOUR dog but we no likey a dog of our own. Kind of like how Paris Hilton should never do kids, we should never do dogs. So back to Lyle and Big White Dog, we were stoked at first because we could see Big White Dog and have the benefit of looking at a cute dog without the responsibility of caring for one. Or so we thought.
We were wrong about that last point and soon realized it when after a few weeks, Big White Dog was never let out of his kennel. And Big White Dog looked hungry. And Big White Dog looked sad. It was also turning into Fall really quickly and since Boise only has about 3 hours of Fall before it’s Winter again, we knew this was bad news for our over-the-fence puppy.
We took it upon ourselves to feed Big White Dog. We’d toss over hot dogs and leftovers, treats and bones, anything we thought a dog would be able to eat without shatting it out in liquid form which we knew would never get cleaned up. We continued to feed him but couldn’t get water to him without actually trespassing onto Lyle’s property. We tried a hose and that worked for awhile before it got too cold. And we get to feeling bad about continually spraying him in the face. But the food tossing and water spraying couldn’t help the fact that the animal was caged and going mad. Really and truly, going insane, spinning in circles and pacing back and forth like a leopard about to pounce on it’s prey. I don’t do dogs but I can tell you that EVEN I was affected by watching this. It was terrible.
We couldn’t take it anymore. We called the Humane Society even though we knew Lyle would know it was us who called. The folks at the Humane Society took one look at the dog’s living conditions, the mud, the feces, the inches of freezing cold water he was standing in and stuck a note on the door that said, in effect, “You Rotten Scumbag, Clean up the mess or were taking your beloved pet that you CLEARLY care so much about. You have 24 hours and we’ll be back. DO NOT mess with hard core animal lovers. Loser.”
Immediately, Lyle was out there shoveling up the filth, put out new water, put out new food and let Big White Dog run around the yard for awhile. Big White Dog was elated. He was overcome with joy. His OWNER! His family! He forgives them! He loves them!
Phew! Right? Close call! Even though Big White Dog was skinnier than ever, things were looking up! Thank the stars, this man is now going to show his dog the decency that at least a sewer rat gets. Right?
Wrong. Not only did the brief stint in human decency only last about a week, but Lyle was now trying to win us back over by continually knocking on our front door and asking me to pick out outfits for his wife. He would bring her clothes over and ask me to choose which ones I liked. Mike told him to stop. Things were getting creepier by the minute.
Me: I thought the threat from the Humane Society solved the problem but it’s right back to where it was before they came.
Angry Lesbian Favorite Co-Worker Friend of Mine, Holly: He’s a DESPICABLE human being! I hope he burns in HELL!
Me: I know. I guess we should call the Humane Society again.
Holly: F THAT! I’m going to kidnap the dog.
Me: What?
Holly: I don’t give a rat’s! I’ll bust on into that F-er’s yard and KIDNAP the dog! Rachel and I will do it tonight!
Me: Uh….
Holly: Jamie, we are ANIMAL RESCUERS. Anytime the Pound is about to put an animal down, they call us and we take it. At our house right now, we have 8 dogs and 12 cats that we rescued from death. We are RESCUING Big White Dog tonight.
Me: Well, let me call the Humane Society again first. I don’t want you and Rachel to get charged with Felony of Dog Snatching.
That was the plan. I would call the Humane Society again and if that didn’t work after the second attempt, I would call in Angry Lesbian Dog Rescuers.
But, the next day, Big White Dog was gone! GONE! I thought for sure that Holly and Rachel ignored my intentions and kidnapped him anyway but then Mike and I saw them. Big White hair tufts stuck in the trees, floating on branches and resting on shrubs. Big White hair tufts EVERYWHERE.
Mike was livid. He immediately approached Lyle and asked where the dog was. Lyle’s reply? It was such a shame but the dog died. Ya, guess it had some sort of stomach bug.
THAT or you starved it and drove it insane you evil putrid crap bag.
I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Angry Lesbians about what happened, that they could have saved Big White Dog but that I wouldn’t let them and now it was too late. That this poor animal lived like that for MONTHS and then died just days before it’s salvation would have come in the form of cynical scowling Lesbians was unnerving. I was mad. Mad at myself but more mad at Lyle. Creepy neighbor #1. The first of the triad of creepy neighbors.
First, dog-killer. Second, drug dealer. Third, you’ll have to tune in tomorrow. Plus, get your nightmare neighbor stories ready, we’re about to have a give-away. I feel one of you other ruined stand-offish neighbors deserves a little treat for your suffering. I know I do.
You know what I have recently acknowledged about myself? That I’m the stand-offish neighbor lady. I’m her.
I’m her and I love it. I will now always and forever be stand-offish neighbor lady, I am accepting the title, I am NOT interested in my neighbor’s lives, they are NOT interested in mine, this is WHO I AM, I’m not ever turning back, I AM stand-offish neighbor lady, I’m her.
Perhaps you have a stand-offish neighbor on YOUR street. Perhaps you think they are rude or arrogant or weird or shy but THINK ABOUT THIS, Ms. Popular Street, Ms. Casual Barbeque’s, Ms. WELCOME BASKET. Stand-offish Neighbor Lady? NORMAL. That’s right. NORMAL. And super duper friendly. mmmkay. Normal and super duper friendly but RUINED. Alright? You think of that? Normal Stand-offish Lady is RUINED, battle-ridden, scarred, closed off from the neighbor-inflicted scars of streets past. Stand-offish Neighbor Lady is UNABLE to open up, to let you in (literally and figuratively) because she’s damaged.
It’s not funny.
You probably don’t understand. How could you? All you’ve ever known your whole street life is gardens and water fights and cheerful dog-walkers. Homeowner Associations and neighborhood bulletins, happiness and eternal prosperity.
I laugh in the FACE of your delusional street life.
Take a moment to consider this:
A bright-eyed and bushy tailed young wipper-snapper couple decide to buy their first house. Their first HOME together. They are pregnant with their first child (even though they still haven’t come to terms with the fact that they ACTUALLY had sex) and are excited to buy a house like REAL grownups. Even though there is a LUMBER YARD directly across the street from their charming abode, they take comfort in the fact that the surrounding homes are well kept and sweetly “old town”. Even though the neighbors house has a trailer parked in the back yard, they take comfort in knowing that the Owner says it’s temporary, that his 45 year old son just needed a quick crash pad. And EVEN THOUGH across the back alleyway is a breeding ground for pit bulls, they take comfort in the fact that they are caged (Pit bulls like being caged, right?).
All systems are a go, the couple has the house painted, dead trees removed, a new fence installed, new grass put down and continues buying adorable items for the nursery.
2-3 months into their picturesque family sitcom, the young bride hears that the pit bulls? Not liking the caged thing so much. One got out and killed the other one. But more disturbing was the fact that the temporary trailer was becoming more and more homey to it’s occupants. Homey as in black trash bags taped up all over the windows, strange flags being raised and “Keep Out” signs that are reminiscent of a 5-year-old’s bedroom door. The bride stays up one night to take note of all the nightly happenings and it’s the FUNNIEST THING but once you ACTUALLY paid attention, you realized that there were dingy and rotted-out cars pulling up to the back alley way EVERY 30 minutes on the dot throughout the night. They would stay for roughly 5 minutes and leave again. SO. BIZARRE. Right? I thought, now what COULD they be doing? Were they picking up canned food for a hunger drive? Were they collecting night crawlers for fishing? I was so confused, by golly! I was confused because I was a nice Mormon girl who wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. The reality, though, was that our dirt bag neighbor was a drug dealer.
Now, this proved especially inconvenient for ME given that at the time, my dashing young Groom was working the pre-load shift at UPS and would often leave me ALONE in the home starting at 2:30 in the morning. Pregnant and scared and alone. No amount of reading scripture verses would make me feel safe in those early morning hours. Looking back at my life and trying to pinpoint when it was I decided I wasn’t Mormon anymore, I can say it was AFTER this period because, Honey, I was a BELIEVER in those wee hours of the morn. But I was going insane with fear.
We called the police, they staked out the place but the dirt bags caught on and by the time the police raided the trailer, they had gutted it. And THEN we were living next to a dirt bag that knew we called the cops on him. Not exactly neighborly are we? Not exactly over-the fence chit-chat material. We packed up and left. We left our cute house that we labored on together and left the creepies behind. This wouldn’t be the last time that we let creepies drive us from our home.
I lightly mention future creepy neighbor in this post and this one but you’ll have to check back again tomorrow to get the full story. It’s psychotically disturbing and it will make you SO GLAD that you live on happy street. But I’m hoping it will also give you some insight into why Stand-Offish Neighbor Lady is so stand-offish. She has her reasons and they’re ugly.
Yesterday I took Delaney on a walk down one of the most popular Boise streets for trick-or-treating. I took her during the day so she could see for herself that the decorations are pretend and NOT SCARY. I had this brilliant idea after recalling the HORROR that was last year when we went trick-or-treating. It went like this:
All the adults: YAY! Look at THIS silly Halloween house! HA HA HA! OKAY! Let’s walk up to the door and we’ll say TRICK OR TREAT! Ready?! TRICK OR TREAT!
And it wasn’t just that she was cold or tired (which she was probably both), she LITERALLY would SHAKE with fear at seeing people dressed up, seeing any Halloween decoration that wasn’t a pumpkin, seeing ANYTHING at all. All these nice homeowners would take off their masks and show her that SEE! It’s just a human under here! But she still wouldn’t have it. My child is truly my child, she’s scared of everything.
My Mom loves to tell the story of taking me to the park when I was 2 or 3 years old and finally forcing me to go down the death contraption commonly known as the slide. She really truly FORCED me down the slide, WAILING and KICKING and FIGHTING for my LIFE much to the dismay of all the other parents in the surrounding area. All those parents watched in horror as my Mom dragged my toddler body up those stairs and PUSHED me down the big metal slide, probably laughing while she did it (remind me to tell you about another rather painful and ghastly memory of my Mother YANKING my loose teeth out of my mouth with a dishtowel while sitting on top of me SNICKERING with delight). THIS, my friends, is what it looks like to be raised by a Psychologist. REMEMBER THIS, all you Psychologists out there who are about to unknowingly subject your children to this kind of childhood. But back to the slide, she forces me down and the scene is reminiscent of the scene in Charlotte’s Web when Wilbur is about to die but then halfway down the slide I start laughing! I say WEE! And at the end of the slide, I say “AGAIN!” and my Mom likes to imagine that all the other Mothers in the park start nodding, smiling and advancing towards the slow clap. (slow clap: clap….clap…..clap…..clap..clap..CLAP..CLAP..CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!!! BRAVO!)
Well, I tried a DIFFERENT approach this year rather than throwing her to the wolves again, which proved UNAFFECTIVE last year. And she did really well on our little walk. I think she gets it. We’ll see though.
Here are a few pictures from some of my favorite Boise houses decorated for Halloween.
The scary front door entrance
The scary gate entrance
The front yard graveyard
The spider web entrance
The flying ghosts
the Reaper
The uh, ritualistic burial ground entrance?
Close up of bloody head
Pumpkins that will be smashed to smithereens in a few hours
The real fun begins tonight, though, when all the owners of these beautiful old houses bring out the smoke and mirrors and put on a fabulous show for the kids. And the parents. They hide and jump out at you, they pretend they are dead on their rocking chairs and then BOOM! come alive, they play scary music and hand out MASSIVE candy bars. It’s pretty fun. Boise’s fun like that. We also have cornfield mazes and haunted forests, pumpkin patches and Halloween street fairs. We really love Boise. What do ya’ll do in your respective parts of the country? Is Halloween as fun there as it is here?
And just for fun:
Delaney’s first Halloween at 9 months
Delaney’s embarrassing parents as a Saloon girl and a Gambler last Saturday night.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! Be safe and have fun tonight! And remember that Michael Moore says that there never was a razor blade in a candy.
See you tomorrow!
