I grew up in the country.

We didn’t really have neighbors in the sense that people could see into our windows or hear us dicking around outside.

The neighbors I had where an acre away and we were related to them.

Think…Kennedy Compound, only less Kennedy and more Clampett.

So when I came home after college and bought our first house, it never occurred to me that my neighbors could be assholes.

And, they were.

The neighbors at our first house were super crazy.

The kids never wore shoes, they had a scary pit bull they kept in the garage, and the dad only had, like, two fingers.


Two fingers.

What the fuck can you accomplish with only two fingers?

If I only had two fingers, I would be like, fuck it, get me a mother fucking hook, because I have shit to get done.

At our second house, the neighbors weren’t so much scary, as they were old.

So, while they were nice, they didn’t have much tolerance for screaming kids or people who wore Juicy sweatpants and tank tops with colorful bras underneath because they are just running to the store super quick for chicken, JESUS CHRIST I’M NOT A WHORE.

So, when it came time to find our forever house, neighbors were a big deal to us.

We wanted nice ones.

Normal ones.

Neighbors with kids.

And fingers.

That we could talk to, and hang out with and not have to use a defibrillator on.

And, OMG, we found them.

Our street is amazing.

Young families, kids running around, and no pedophiles (thanks Ohio Sex Offender Registry!).

So, I had the kids out yesterday, and they were playing near the woods, and these two pre-teen boys, who apparently live in the house on another street that butts up to our property, saw us, and thought it would be a brilliant idea to hide in trees and scream scary things at the kids.

Awesome.  I love when the younger generation forces me to act all mean and adulty.

So, I was like, really, you are screaming things at a baby and a 2 and 3 year old?  Isn’t there anything else you could be doing?

And then they ran away.

For like, 10 minutes.

And, then they came back.


They were yelling about midgets, and Oompa Loompas and jacking off.

All things I would normally be like, fuck yes, this is awesome.

But, these are not conversations I want to have with my kids yet.

So, I got my camera, took their pictures, and now have to go to their houses and talk to there parents, because, oh yeah, I’m a grown up now.

Thanks, assholes.

Now, not only do my kids not want to go outside in the very expensive yard and play with the toys I used to buy their silence in Target so I could try on bras, but you are making me act like my mother.

Which makes sense, because I was just complaining the rise on my jeans was too low and that I’m still pissed MTV canceled Singled Out.

The one with Jenny McCarthy.  Carmen Electra just ruins things.

Other things I am too old to understand?

Amy Winehouse.  She had one song, right?  How does she have so much money that she doesn’t have to work or shower anymore?  I just want to bath her, comb her hair and make her eat something that isn’t meth.

And, Jeff Dunham.  The teens in front of me at the library were asking about his DVDs and I am like, really?  This guy is killing comedy, and he’s super offensive.  And, that says a lot, because almost nothing offends me.  One time, at my Great Aunt Ida’s funeral, my cousin made it look like my Ida was talking to people from her casket and also farting, like, obnoxiously loud, and granted, I was 8, but it was hilarious.

Now that is how you do puppetry, Jeff Dunham.

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