suburbs

Late Friday night, my neighbors down the street had a loud party that culminated with several adults wrestling nude in a kiddie pool filled with oatmeal. They were cleaning up oatmeal all weekend. It wasn't all that surprising to me as I have so many colorful characters that live near me:the retired Chicago truck driver who sleeps in his underwear on his un-enclosed back porch and makes his own rubber bands because he said he can't find good ones in Florida. Once he cut the elastic off several pairs of his underwear, tied them together and used them to hold the tablecloth on his picnic table.  Another neighbor, a chain smoker who was working at a gas station, burned his garage down after stocking it with gas.  In our playground, someone once hung the head from a Chuck E Cheez costume 30 feet off the ground in a tree.  One neighbor, feeling despondent, tried to drive his car in to the retention pond only to get stuck in his yard. Some other neighbors helped him push the car out of the mud. And they never questioned him about it. Another neighbor, desperately trying to sell his house for months, finally got a buyer. But he blew the sale - and landed himself a fine — during closing when he announced that he'd done lots of clearing in the protected wetlands behind the house. Meanwhile, I'm sure my neighbors could blog about me and my family. My husband who is constantly peeking out the blinds to make sure the kids don't touch a blade of grass in our meticulously perfect front yard. My son who seems obsessed with peeing in the yard. Wonder if those two things are related?