Fuck You, Leave it to Beaver.

Dear Howard Neighborhood,

First of all, don’t you EVER yell at my dog when you’re pilfering around at 6 am in the backyard and he is alerting me. Who do you think you are exactly? He’s a DOG, he wants to alert me. You don’t see me hanging my head out the patio door screeching at your minion children while they shriek around the back yard and fling their paraphernalia into my yard.
Second, thank you so much neighbors-on-the-other-side-of-the-duplex for leaving a foot of uncut grass between our yards. Apparently, you have an exact map of our property line and couldn’t bear the torture of an extra swipe with the mower and left it for me. I hope you put this much effort into banging your wife at night, oh wait, you just sit in your backyard preening your flower pots. Maybe this is some symbolism, dude.
Third, dear garbage man. Please don’t leave me blaze orange reprimands on my garbage for leaving my garbage and recycling cans too close together. As you can tell by my previous post, my neighbors are a little testy with property lines and I would like to be able to back out of my driveway, but, thanks for the embarrassing signage.
Fourth, to our mail-lady. Is it really that hard for you to get around my car on the street that you have to leave me menacing notes in my mailbox? Does that extra second of backing up your glorified mini-bus really cramp your style?
And fifth, to my favorite neighbors mentioned in my first topic, thank you for making me shovel my driveway all winter while you took two swipes with your snowplow and went on your merry way. I, in turn, sat for two hours in the blizzard about ready to collapse while you probably sat inside drinking coffee and brushing up on Hitlerisms. Don’t worry about me, don’t want you to waste five minutes of your pathetic life helping me get to work on time.
What happened to neighborly charm? Definitely skipped town on Rockwell Road. I’m super impressed that twenty-something men can watch me struggle with a dilapidated lawnmower and using a Tupperware lid to shovel two feet of snow and never bat an eyelash. Maybe the fact that I grew up in a small town with a dad that had an ounce of chivalry makes me expect a little help during my first years on my own. Yet, day after day, week after week, I am bombarded with reasons I loathe urban living and crave heading back to the farm.


1377 Rockwell Road.

Babies, Boys and Big Girl Jobs

I can still remember being 13 years old, sitting on the floor of my best friend’s bedroom, listening to Papa Roach and Counting Crows and just wishing we were 16. We thought that was when it would all happen for us. Sixteen years old meant: cars, proms, later curfews, high school, football games, parties…it was all we could have ever hoped for.

Then I remember being sixteen years old sitting on the floor of my best friend’s bedroom wishing we were out of high school. Graduation meant: money for gas, cooler cars, no curfews, college and boys. We just knew that once we had our diplomas in hand, those were going to be the best days of our lives.

Then I remember being 18 years old and crying my eyes out because I was an adult. It was like I was mourning the death of my adolescence. Granted, my youth still hasn’t quite died, but I am definitely feeling more mature. That best friend that I gushed to about first kisses and first loves is having a baby. A baby. Like, a little boy who will be crying to her about curfews, cars, proms and she will be chasing around lecturing about condoms and Bud Light. Where did life go? When did we go from being babies to having them? I mean, granted any post-pubescent female can have a baby, but this is an adult having a baby. An exciting pregnancy with baby shower thrills and Lamaze classes. 

I feel like God flipped a switch on life and all of a sudden I went from waking up on a porch swing at a college house party with a red cup in my hand, to 401ks, bridesmaid dresses and baby shopping. I kind of wish I could go back to my high school graduation and dry my hysterical tears and tell myself it really isn’t a bad thing. Life just gets more interesting. You’re going to get sick of keggers and immature guys. You’re going to actually want to talk about recipes and car seats. It’s something new in life. As the saying goes, don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

This is the time in my life when I can say Wow, I’m so happy to be 24. I just feel like the world is smiling on me at this point in my life. I am living life drama free. My family is healthy and happy. My heart is content. My friends have flourished into beautiful moms, wives and just amazing women. I can honestly say the grass isn’t any greener on 25 and life didn’t end at 23. This year is my year and I’m going to relish every tear, laugh, hangover, kiss, love and smile it has in store.