The New War at Home

So all that crap I wrote not too long ago about not having any waged wars with the neighbors? Yeah, apparently all that was needed to resolve that was some new blood in the neighborhood.

I briefly introduced you to Jabba the Slut, my new neighbor, last week. Since I stay at home all day, I've been able to learn a little bit more about her by observing her habits: her apparent favorite habits are smoking on the front porch, yelling at her 2-year-old son Nehemiah (whom I am convinced does not own any clothes since any time I see him, he is running around in a diaper, regardless of weather conditions), eating, and loudly partying with gentleman callers on her porch. All of the above are done loudly. She is nothing but an absolute joy to live beside in my previously-quiet and serene neighborhood, even if it is overrun by the Feline Minions.

At this point, I'd like to pause to mention that despite ongoing wars with Creepy Cat Guy and Kidney Boy, I actually do get along with the majority of my neighbors. My favorite neighbor is Fred. Fred is my guardian angel, in the form of a tattoo'd, gruff, Harley-riding ex-trucker. Whenever I'm in distress, he magically appears -- whether it's being locked out of my car (arrives with slim jim in hand), fighting with the lawn mower (spark plug and a little luck and he had it running again), or help pushing a comatose car out of the street (that was a fun winter). Fred's a good guy. He's abrasive, but I'm not exactly smooth as silk myself. It's hard not to like Fred within five minutes of talking to him.

It's at this point that we teleport to yesterday afternoon. A warm June afternoon, I had my windows open when I hear men yelling at each other in angry voices, accompanied with a slew of curse words. I look out the window, and there's Jabba the Slut's current booty call/baby daddy/pimp/provider of McDonald's, this tiny skinny white guy, all thugged out, screaming at Fred to get off his (mind you, SHE rents the house, I have never seen Skinny in my life) lawn.

Fred is yelling back, obscenities are exchanged, I got called a skinny bitch in the whole mix. (Again. Confidence levels = all time high.) Fred goes back down to his house and I go inside. I come back out a little later and Fred's talking to Sharon, my other next-door neighbor (Kidney Boy's mom... she and I are cool).

BASICALLY. The story is, Fred was walking past Jabba's house, stopped to introduce himself and chat, and she referred to me in conversation as "the skinny bitch next door." Fred interjected that I and my husband are good people, and not to talk about me like that. Somewhere in this the fight escalated and Skinny pushed Fred, conflict ensued, police were called. Drama, drama, drama.

So basically, the neighborhood is quietly rallying to evict Jabba as efficiently and swiftly as possible.

Wars are fun when you have an army that doesn't consist solely of your blog and message board friends. Don't get me wrong, guys, you all rock, but this is going to be an amazing summer, full of calls to the police, filing complaints, calling her landlord, and who knows, maybe I'll get drunk and egg her house. Because THAT will solve the problem.

Hold onto your panties. This summer's gonna get interesting.