Life in the City

I love living in the city. I really do. I wouldn’t change it for the world. However, there are byproducts of city life that I could do without.

There’s a little bit too much activity in my alley these days. My neighbors are selling their house and have been purging all of their worldly belongings. Most (normal) people take a few loads to the Salvation Army or White Elephant, or any other resale shop. Not my neighbors. They’d prefer to simply hurl all of their shit into the alley. And because they park their cars in front of their house, rather than in their garage, they don’t realize the ramifications of their carelessness.

Once, they put a shitload of discarded clothes out near the garbage. I’m sure they thought it was a good idea for those in need to be able to sift through the trash and find something to wear. Instead, however, their bit of altruism transformed the alley into a homeless fitting room.

Here’s what this means to me:
1) There’s a bunch of crap across the alley from my garage that prevents me from backing in properly.
2) There are always a scary bunch of of folks behind my house, in various stages of undress, whenever I decide to return home.

The piece de resistance was when I turned down my alley the other night and saw a ho. Really. She was a bona fide, spangly-daisy-duke-shorts-with-clear-heels-wearin’ ho. And she was getting in car with a man who gave me a sheepish look as I passed by, verrrrrrry slowly. I kept my eye on them in my rear view mirror as I approached my garage, and took my sweet time backing in.

I guess I scared them, because they got in the car to switch locations. I refrained from closing my garage door until I could stare them down as they drove by.

My father’s convinced that my city girl ways have made me too cocky and that one day, one of those hoes is going to attack me.

Neighbors and the animals that they don’t take car…

Neighbors and the animals that they don’t take care of

I was inspired by Jen to write this post.

My next door neighbors have two behemoth dogs. Now, granted I love these dogs, and it is my belief that Roscoe and Foxy love me right back. Their owners . . . well that’s a different story.

A few months ago, I blogged about the steaming heap of shit that I stepped in while walking across MY lawn. I ended up confronting my neighbor, and they were a little more conscientious about picking up the shit — which was probably exacerbated by the fact that I took to standing in my window — in plain sight — and watched them as they walked the dogs to make sure that they were armed with little baggies.

As I’ve slacked off with my Mrs.-Kravitz-like behavior (simply having more to do with my time than to facilitate the proper handling of animal waste), they’ve slacked off, and I’ve noticed a few misplaced heaps.

But yesterday, while walking past their house, I noticed not one, not two, not even three, but no fewer than SEVEN heaps of dog shit in their front lawn, inside their gate. That tells me that these lazy bastards have just been letting the dogs out in the front, without a thought in the world of picking it up.

Now I can’t help but think that several piles of dung, if left alone for a while, would be a haven for vermin. I’ve been wondering who I can report this to, before rats begin frolicking in the yard.