The sex offender and his wife finally moved out. They didn’t have room in the truck for their patio set, so they gave it to us. (We have one, but it’s flimsier. For now, it’s down in the yard for when we’re hanging out there.) Sitting here is kinda weird.
As I write this, my husband is next door having a drink with him. I would be too, if I were in the right state of mind. Like, “SO! Really?! You’re moving?! Now, this is a sure thing, right? Also [this part would be mumbled], don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!”
And then I’d get the deets on where they’re headed, and check later to make sure the mofo re-registers.
I realize it’s petty, but I find myself resenting that.
I mean, that’s quite the glass house for him to be living in. (Which we also lived in, for 10 years). (I mean we literally lived there.) (The ‘glass’ bit is metaphorical, however.) (That was clear, right?)
Would that be because he has an extra-special agenda that transcends regular political processes, or because as a felon he’s not likely to have full voting rights? (Ass.)
A… um… thing just happened next door that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around in order to write about it. Nothing illegal as best one can discern, but still, insane, ridiculous, uncomfortable, and GROSS. I feel like I’m in an incredibly bad movie and waiting with increasingly abject horror to see how it all ends. (There exists a very real possibility things could get much weirder and much more dangerous. What the fucking fuck.)
I don’t even know anymore. Holy. Shit.
![[with sincere apologies to Brad Pitt.]
Y’all remember this recent cover of Wired that had Brad Pitt on the cover? It was an ‘etiquette’ issue, and on the cover Pitt is shown wearing a bluetooth headset, with accompanying text:
DITCH THE HEADSET. He can barely pull it off. And you are not him.
That’s what came to mind for me the other day, as I was on my back porch, attempting to enjoy some coffee and time with my dogs. My neighbor, at this time, decided to come out on his back porch, and proceeded to have a long, animated telephone conversation with someone or another, his headset (not specifically bluetooth, but whatever) plugged into the phone (the better to allow him to pace around excitedly, I guess).
Here’s the thing: I don’t have the best sense of hearing. But he was so loud, I could not help but make out the following three conversation fragments:
“There is nothing wrong with working with your hands…”
“A lot of black folks…”
“I’m not racist!”
My preference here (after, of course, that he did not fucking live next fucking door to us) would be either to be able to not hear anything at all, OR to be able to hear much more. Context for any of the above snippets might have been worthwhile.
Whatever the first anecdote was, I thought to myself - “Are we talking about employment options? Yes, I suppose manual labor jobs might be what you’re limited to, considering your record.”
As for the second two bits, I just shook my head and resisted the urge to puke up my coffee. Because, really, what’s more charming besides living next door to someone with a conviction for a sexual assault against a child, besides gathering the (utterly unsurprising) information that that same piece of shit is also racist?](http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_krbqg01gYa1qa3scoo1_400.jpg)
[with sincere apologies to Brad Pitt.]
Y’all remember this recent cover of Wired that had Brad Pitt on the cover? It was an ‘etiquette’ issue, and on the cover Pitt is shown wearing a bluetooth headset, with accompanying text:
DITCH THE HEADSET. He can barely pull it off. And you are not him.
That’s what came to mind for me the other day, as I was on my back porch, attempting to enjoy some coffee and time with my dogs. My neighbor, at this time, decided to come out on his back porch, and proceeded to have a long, animated telephone conversation with someone or another, his headset (not specifically bluetooth, but whatever) plugged into the phone (the better to allow him to pace around excitedly, I guess).
Here’s the thing: I don’t have the best sense of hearing. But he was so loud, I could not help but make out the following three conversation fragments:
My preference here (after, of course, that he did not fucking live next fucking door to us) would be either to be able to not hear anything at all, OR to be able to hear much more. Context for any of the above snippets might have been worthwhile.
Whatever the first anecdote was, I thought to myself - “Are we talking about employment options? Yes, I suppose manual labor jobs might be what you’re limited to, considering your record.”
As for the second two bits, I just shook my head and resisted the urge to puke up my coffee. Because, really, what’s more charming besides living next door to someone with a conviction for a sexual assault against a child, besides gathering the (utterly unsurprising) information that that same piece of shit is also racist?
Census worker? Political campaigner? Parole Officer? Wish to God I knew.
As had been her habit. And we’re saying no without giving any clear reason, since I can’t quite see telling her, “Sorry kid, but the guy next door has been drinking all day on his back porch, and also he has a conviction for aggravated sodomy of a child under the age of 10.” I hate him.
