Vintage: the crack house next door
Because I’m too lazy to update this site every day but would like to post more frequently, I’m going to, on occasion, recycle posts from my old blog on LiveJournal (I actually miss LiveJournal, because we had a nice little community over there, but most of us have all moved on and shit). I’ll put “vintage” in the title of these, so you’ll know you can just skip them.
2/12/08
[Update: This house was purchased and lovingly restored to its former glory and is now on the market for like $1 million (slight exaggeration, but you know). This "transitional" neighborhood is transitioning, I guess.]
I have only circumstantial evidence, but I suspect that our new neighbors are engaged in some type of criminal enterprise. This isn’t proof of anything, but they moved from one house on the block to the house next to us — four houses over. WTF is that? The first day we saw one of the guys and said hi to him, he was all “Oh hey we aren’t loud or anything!” Um? Like we said you were? Or were worried? Isn’t that kind of like saying “Officer I do not have a big ol’ crack rock in my right front pants pocket” or something? He’s an older dude, too.
I don’t know who all lives there, but it’s a five bedroom house that was renting for $900 or $950 a month (classy!). Based on what the house sold for, I suspect the landlord is smoking crack because I don’t see how they’re not losing money. I think one of the tenants has one of those stupid haircuts that gangstas used to have back in the day, where it’s mostly shaved but then not on top, but not in a way that makes any kind of sense.
There’s been shit accumulating in the yard. The front yard features a carseat, a shovel or some such implement, and a barbell, which I guess makes sense for all those times you want to go out in the yard and lift weights in the snow. I haven’t seen the back yard, but Ben has seen dude throwing trash off the balcony, into the yard. I’ve found nasty-ass tortillas in our yard, although that could be from all the gangsta squirrels. What’s awesome is having to go outside to pick up some mystery food covered in green stuff before letting the dog out so he doesn’t, you know, eat that shit. Sometimes I find him chewing on unidentified food-like items, which is great.
They have a car parked on the street in front of the house and it appears to have tires but also might be on some kind of blocks. As best I can tell, it doesn’t run. They had some kind of makeshift trailer/cart thing out there for a while, too, but I think that’s in back now.
The best was a few nights ago when someone starts knocking on our door at midnight. This creeps me out, without fail. Ben peers out the window to see WTF and I guess this crazy bitch saw him, so he opened the door. It was some skinny-ass woman (there were two, but I only saw one) asking for some dude who doesn’t live here. Does this look like where you’re going? Really? Does your local drug house have windchimes, a yard flamingo, and some artsy wreath on the door, along with a sign that says “Save Our 900 Cats Pls.” — really?! So after finding out that dude isn’t here, they went — guess! — next door.
All I can tell you is that if I find out they’re making meth over there, I’m going to beat their asses. I’m totally serious. I wasn’t all that worried until the skinny-ass midnight women but now am, because don’t tell me they weren’t looking for meth, sex, and money or crack, sex, and money. WTF is up with the world where having next door neighbors (and their house is like three feet from ours, max) attracting the local crack whores at midnight is the best case scenario?
