Townhome Twits: Episode Brothel. Yes, I saved this for last.

So I believe I told the Baba Yaga story about the old woman who sold her house for pennies a few years ago, yes?

This ties to the brothel thing, I swear.

Directly across from Baba Yaga's unit is a home that's flipped five or six times since we moved in. The last actual owner who lived there was a badass lady from Oklahoma, who told me once that her neighbor (Peeping Peeper) once tried to talk his way into her house to "check" something. She, being a take-no-shit-from-anyone woman, looked him in the eye and advise she's perfectly safe with her carry permit and .45. Then she shut the door in his face. I wish she still lived there. Unfortunately, she lost her job when the market tanked and had to leave her house to move back to Oklahoma. Various groups of renters have been in her place since then.

In the meantime, Baba Yaga's house was purchased by a very nice young family with three little girls. In five years I've seen the wife once: she advised (very nicely) that her kids couldn't play with our dogs because they couldn't let dogs lick the kid's faces (their religion says dogs are dirty). To each their own, I say, and we've been pretty decent neighbors overall (there's one house between us: the lovely and VERY forgiving Mexican family whose bird was murdered by my overzealous dog).

The same summer the no-dog family moved in, a group of college girls rented out Oklahoma's house. As typical college girls, they had parties. They had friends coming and going. The whirlwind bitch shared walls with them, and never complained at all so everyone assumed they weren't bothering anyone, and all was well.

Until I came home from work one day to be stopped by the Baba Yaga's new owner. He asked if I'm on the board (I was at the time) and "reported" that "those women" are running a brothel in that house, and something needs to be done. His exact words, which I will likely never forget: "I have small girls: I don't want them exposed to that filth."

What. The. Fuck.

Nope, I didn't laugh in his face. I asked what prompted this suspicion. He said "men come and go, stay overnight, and cars are always changing." Sigh.

I told him it's extremely unlikely the independent women in that house are running a whorehouse: if they were, likely their wall-sharing neighbors would say something. I reiterated that adult women are allowed to have whomever they like over to their home as long as they don't impede traffic or cause disturbances: they'd done neither. Then I asked how on earth a baby and two toddlers would have any idea they'd been "exposed" to "those women" unless HE said something to them. He couldn't really answer that.

To be fair, I was as professional as I could be in my response, no matter what I WANTED to say. I said if he saw actual laws being broken he'd need to call the police, but a house of female roommates with boyfriends is a LONG way from a brothel.

Since then the ladies have moved out (and we've had a few different groups living in that house...I suspect because they discover they're living next to a peeper and run like hell) and the family's girls are old enough to ride their bikes unsupervised around our driveway. Along with all the other lovely unsupervised spawn who taunt my dogs through my back windows, ride their bikes around blind corners with traffic and apparently create campfires on the hill in the backyard.

I love kids. I wish these had parents who paid some attention, because there's way worse things than being exposed to independent women in our neighborhood.

I don't have a problem...

In follow up to my post extolling the remarkable awesomeness of Cait's present, I need to point out the awesomeness of Zack. Who gave me a Witchking helmet ring, a knitted "zombie" coffee cozy, and this:


To be hung in my library/office. As a warning? Or an explanation...



Indeed, it IS perfect for me.

In other news, I managed to drop my toothbrush in the toilet Saturday morning. Ever have those moments where time slows down but you can't move any fucking faster? Yeah. I set it down on the sink. I promptly (in my normal clumsy manner) knocked it off said sink, and watched it flip in slow motion into the toilet bowl.

Stop judging me. I hadn't had coffee.
Of course I forgot to buy a new toothbrush when we were out causing trouble running errands this weekend.

Oh, I also tortured my dogs. I took them to the groomer (THE HORROR!). Because I'm fucking tired of the hairsplosion (the shepherd has been in mid-winter shed for 2 months, and he's already killed one vacuum). Thor thought the experience, complete with Furminator (which I envision as a giant robotic hair sucker that says "I'll be back" at the end of the appointment) was FABULOUS. He was all perky and excited when I picked them up, proud of his shiny coat and blue Petsmart kerchief.

Chewy was...less than thrilled. Great Pyrenees require daily grooming, and with the accident and everything else last fall going on I'll admit I'd gotten lax. He had some mats, and I opted to let the groomer just shave him instead of tormenting the poor dude with hours upon hours of de-knot-brushing.

Chewy is now naked.



I hate you Mom. I'm so embarrassed.





STILL NOT LOOKING AT YOU.



This coat doesn't even fit. My butt's cold! What's WRONG with you?

That was Saturday. He spent most of the day lying on the floor next to Husband, staring woefully at me with accusatory attitude and large, forlorn sighs. Luckily, biscuts have made things better. 

Things I Never Thought I'd Say Out Loud...

...until I had dogs.

• THOR! STOP humping your brother!
• Who peed on the bathroom floor?
• Dude...it's a buttless, headless monkey (much beloved/abused stuffed animal)...gross.
• Chewy, I know you have to eviscerate stuffed animals, but do you HAVE to get the guts all over the floor?
• Chewy, seriously, poop THEN wander around. You look retarded.
• DON'T STEP IN IT!! GODDAMMIT!!!
• NO HUMPING!
• Thunder is not the sky barking at you. Shut up.
• That leaf is not out to get you. Shut up.
• No, you can't rip that squirrel apart. Stay in the house.
• Oh my god, stop bitching. Your bath isn't that bad.
• Don't sniff (insert any guest's name here)'s crotch!
• Seriously, go wipe your mouth, you ishy drool machine.
• NOT ON MY LEG!!
• What the hell?? Who peed on the kitchen floor?? What's WRONG with you?
• Dude...I wouldn't do that. He's gonna bite your face off. (To Chewy while he's tormenting Thor).
• Sigh. Told you so. Come here, let's see if you still have both eyes. (To Chewy, after Thor lost his temper).
• Belly rubs!
• Don't swallow that plastic/fuzz/paper/shoe!
• Stop licking your feet!
• Put your head out the window and shush (to Thor, in the car)
• Thor, why do you rip the ears off of every chew toy?
• Get off my foot, you fat cow.
• Oh dear, what have you done? (This is anytime I come home to two cowering, remorseful, hiding dogs instead of wagging-happy dogs).
• Don't eat barf!
• Did you DROOL in my shoe? You bastard!
• DROP THAT SOCK!
• Aww, snuggle-puppy

UPDATED: My husband commented on Facebook (NOT my blog: bad form dude, bad form) with the following:

You forgot "stop licking your brothers junk" and "no you can't have the bottle yet, it's not empty".

Touche Sir, I indeed forgot those two. Along the same lines: "put that away, nobody wants to see your junk."

Nah, 4th Graders Are Ok...

Posted on Facebook today: Seriously people, I don't dislike children!!

But I'm still amused.

I have OPK (Other People's Kids) in that 2nd - 6th grade range, and I have to say I greatly enjoy them in general. They're balancing on this fantastic edge of "I want to be cool, so I'm attempting smart-ass-ery" and "I'm still a kid who's totally entertained by cartoons, still likes my teddy bear and Mom, and is easily entertained by furniture forts."

Recently one of my favorite kids in the universe turned 15...and got her driver's permit. THAT horrifies me. Not enough to lynch 9th graders though...even they're still generally ok in my book.

The Value of an Aunt

Recently a friend told me I'd never understand his feelings because I didn't like kids and don't want to have any. Before I could protest, he apologized for the tone and clarified: he meant I couldn't truly love kids in their entirety, because I don't have any (and therefore don't experience the diaper blowouts, temper tantrums, and projectile vomit right along with the baby giggles and other fun). I haven't written about this for a few days: it took me some time to consider and process and get beyond pissed-off.

I wholeheartedly agree with this person that being a Dad is 1) something I'll never understand (um, specifically I'LL NEVER BE a Dad, but generally we don't plan to have children so I won't be a parent) and 2) that a parent's love for their child is a deep level of understanding I can't reach unless I have a child myself. I include ALL forms of "having" a child in that statement, including foster children, adoption, natural birth, etc.

The knife twist of his comment is that I'd like to have a family, but our lives right now are totally unsuited to raising a family, and until/unless we really want them and are in a place to make our lives about kids, we're not having them. Maybe my husband's and my views do make us selfish, but I'd rather be ready and have no regrets before changing everything for children. If that makes me a selfish bitch, well so be it. I'd rather be selfish no-kid-family than be a selfish bitch with kids who suffer for it.

In the meantime, I find an incredible amount of value being an "aunt" to my nieces/nephews/friends' kids. I'm fairly empathic and understanding: people talk to me all the time about their personal problems, relationship issues, etc etc. Seriously, random people on a plane will tell me all their shit. So it's not that weird to me that my friends' kids feel like they can talk to me about stuff they may not want to bring up to their parents, and trust that I'll tell them the truth. And not being their parent, I can tell them the truth and they may listen.  I don't have the same parent/child relationship that can make both sides uncomfortable and cloudy when touchy teenage things come up, and being an aunt instead of a parent I can point out stupid behavior or give advice without being seen as judgemental or overprotective.

I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles in my life: they're still important people in my life and I still look to them for the occasional reality check on stuff I don't feel comfortable talking to parents or siblings about. Family dynamics are a fascinating, compliated minefield of relationships: there are times as a teenager I know my aunts' influences kept me from royally screwing up. If I never have my own children, my goal is to be that resource for the kids in my life if they need it. I don't think that makes me any less loving or more selfish than a parent.