It’s officially Christmas time! How can I tell you ask? Well, I can tell by the 50 zip ties peeking through the Christmas tree in my living room. We always think that getting a real tree will work better than a fakie in what can best be described as a human inhabited zoo or the Akerman house. Inevitably though, the branches on the spruce can only tolerate a few days of ornaments, cat perching, dog chewing, children roughing up and little to no daily water before I have to pull out zip ties. Gotta say though, it looks pretty good! Soon I fear it will only be black zip ties, cat vomit and 5 strings of light, of which 2 will work, at random times of course!
The twin’s preschool teacher is adorable! She’s probably only 10 years or so older than me, but I feel like I’ve got her by 50 every time I drop the girls off and run as fast as I can back to the SUV to listen to KMOX. (When did I turn into my father in law? I used to listen to Van Halen, ZZ Top, hell even…The Bieber!)
Where was I? Ah yes, the adorable older preschool teacher. So when I picked the girls up today at noon – noon oh fiveish, she begins to tell me about an amazing sale on Burberry scarves at the mall. (I use the term mall loosely, as I’m sure you remember.) She’s going on and on about what a great “little” gift they would be for, like a neighbor or the postal worker. Yeah, right. I stopped buying gifts for people once my household doubled.
Also, here’s the run down of my neighbors as I know them, and remember, I’ve lived in this house for 1 year, 5 months and 5 days (but who’s counting, am’I right?).
Gale (an older DUDE, so I assume this is how his name is spelled, my step mom is named Gail, so you see my point) and Patty or Pattie (I don’t know, I’ve never checked out their mail for the correct spelling(s).). Gale and Patty or Gail and Pattie or numerous variations you can do on your free time, are probably in their early 50’s. They drive nice rides, keep a tip top house, that looks like my house, but they care about landscaping and whatnot. They are nice enough and do the obligatory wave in passing and have joked about taking a dip in our pool every time they catch us in it. Yeah right wrinkly balls, build your own pool. You can afford it, I assume, by your polo shirts, riding lawnmower and seasonally appropriate decorations. So that’s the most I know about them. Not much, just enough to be creepy on a blog.
Okay, across the street there is fancy African American couple. They also own a riding lawnmower and take great care of their yard and house. They take turns cutting it (the yard not they house, that would be great in the spring, terrible in the winter), I think mister is allergic to grass, he wears a facemask turning his week. That or he still thinks SARS is too close for comfort. They are also nice and smile and wave in passing. Never talked to them, but that seems to be working for all parties involved.
Then there’s family with 3 or 4 boys that leave bikes and scooters all over the yard. They have a dog that barks when you make any sort of noise outside. Or maybe it’s a tape of a dog barking to keep weirdos at bay. I think I’ve seen a dog over there, but I don’t know. Oh, I also smashed their mailbox after a seizure in the van awhile back. They don’t ever look at me funny, but I always wonder if they think I’m a drunk. Of course getting the mail in my Wonder Woman costume and shouting at the big tree in my yard from time to time probably doesn’t help matters. (Just kidding, Dad if you read this, and I pray you don’t. Think of your church!)
Then there’s the house with younger adults that live there. Sometimes some of the youngerish girls do cheerleading routines in their side yard. I’ve always secretly wanted to be a cheerleader, my cousin Sonya, can back me up on this, but I was always too fat. I think I’m small enough to be one of the lower branches on the cheerleader pyramid or whatever it’s called. I swear, one day I’m going over there like I’ve been doing it all my life. So watch out for a creepy update on that front.
Then there are random houses that may or may not have inhabitants. I can’t see their front doors, so I don’t bother with them. I see trashcans out on Thursday and Friday and then poof, gone by Saturday, so I assume that means something.
And finally we have crazy lady with insane son and an “alleged” father down the street. I say “alleged” because she’s said, “his dad” or “my husband” when I've been cornered in Wal-Mart and forced to smile, nod and slowly back away. To be fair, the mother looks like she could have formed the son through black magic or “kidnappy magic”. They are real pieces of work, but I’ve done enough damage for the night. I’ll save them for their own personal post.
Good night,
Love,
Stephanie
P.S. I literally just broke up a fistfight between a 7 year old and a 4 year old over a…brownie. And I wonder how I fight the daily urge to take drugs. Signing off again...
P.S.S. Ty just showed me his new dance to celebrate his win in the Great Brownie War of 2010. He totally raised the roof. Raised it to a new chewy, chocolaty level.
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