I never saw it coming, becoming the old lady on the block. Circle of life and all, I get it, but some neighbors got it before I did, calling me ma’am. Asking if I was saving the treehouse for the grandkids. Wondering if I wanted to sell the mower. When I moved to number 5, first house up the knoll on the left of a dead-end drive filled with empty
Irene: not the slut I thought she was (a hurricane story)
Hurricane Irene was a one-night stand like no other. No flowers, no drinks, no nothing. We barely made eye contact. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. In the morning it was over, and we realized just how she trapped us in her wrath. Irene only screwed the beginning of our road, successfully trapping 18 families with no way out. And no way in, should an emergency arise. Which it didn’t, for
Host eats crow after neighborhood party
I was wrong. My loser teenage kids did totally ditch me for the Neighborhood Holiday Party they insisted we host. And the neighborhood did arrive with bells on. But nobody burned the house down. Or killed the cat. In fact, it was a great night. They came, they drank, they ate. We laughed and laughed and had a blast. We drank too much, ate too much, and laughed too much,
Neighborhood Party. Ho. Ho. Ho.
Worked picked up, thankfully. Crazy busy, with piddly little boring jobs that will most definitely help out Santa dude, but in the meantime, bore me to death. I must do something about that. Later. Because I’ve got a teeny tiny problem: the Annual Neighborhood Tree Lighting Party is tomorrow. At my house. Did I say tomorrow? I probably mean tonight by the time I post this rant. I tried to