Happy Frickin Easter!

The picture suits my very frazzled state of being right now. My milk of human kindness has turned sour and my Scottish nature has just declared war on my neighbors.


I live in downtown Atlanta...in the West End. It's an area that is in the process of being reclaimed from the junkies and gangs. It is indeed the Ghetto but the houses are really cool and most of the neighbors are nice. It's the sort of place where when it rains on garbage day one of the neighbors (I have no clue which one) brings my trashcan back up to the porch for me. Nice hard working folks.

We've had a recent move in though. I had high hopes when they bought this wonderful old craftsman bungalow across the street and started renovations. I was like YAY another person not afraid to come in here an work to bring things back. Huzzah!


But...... and there's always a but...
Just about every night since they moved in 3 weeks ago they've had a party. A big loud one that gets cranked up about midnight and goes on until daylight. We're talking enough traffic to block the street, loud engines, louder stereos and people fighting out on the sidewalk.
...in addition to the loud music pouring out of the house - the doors and windows wide open black light on.

The neighbors have gone over there (one of them has an almost new born and she's ready to KILL). I've gone over there - 5 am walked right on in the open front door in my bathrobe and fuzzy slippers and had a little come to Jesus meeting with them . Up until last night we were being nice about it and trying to handle things like grown ups. And to be fair after my bathrobe chat they had been being quiet starting  at 2am like I asked them to. Last night...the hoopty ghetto blasting jackassery was back in full force.

About 5 am I gave it the hell up and did something I hate doing unless there's blood being shed....I called the cops.

The conversation went like this.

Me "Hi, I live at ******* and I'd like to call to report -
Operator "the drag racing? You're the fourth call we've gotten"

Me (half awake and stupid tired) " Huh? I have no idea how they're dressed....they're just being loud and I really want to sleep"

Long pause

"M'aam? have you been drinking?"

"No ..but if I had any booze in the house I'd probably start"

"What kind of CARS are they driving?"

"OH! THAT kind of drag racing - sorry...wrong cultural reference. I have no idea I'm laying in bed trying to sleep and I'm not going to get up and go look. They're just being loud. They're going to wake the dead and start the zombie apocalypse"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

"No....I'm utterly serious."

"We're already sending someone out."

"Thank you SO much"

Dispatch has zero sense of humor.


and I've pretty much lost mine now too. It's war. They want music...I'll give em music....in the daytime... loud and proud. Scottish pipes, filk songs, BACH ! Drummers! Gregorian Chants! and Maybe even Alvin and the Chipmunks!

I have a friend who's a 6ft5 muscle bound special forces type who's volunteered to come pipe for me...full kilt...worn regimentally.


(mine is an evil laugh)