When my family and I moved from San Francisco's Mission District, part of the reason (other than not being able to afford little things like food and rent) was to live in a neighborhood where the kids could play outside and the schools had actual text books -- to basically live a better life. Maybe Legal would finish high school and find a boyfriend that wasn't cloaked in red from head to toe and didn't have a record. Maybe we wouldn't have a crazy neighbor that would routinely call the police on us with claims that we were dragging dead bodies across the floor and throwing pots of piss at her door. Maybe Seltar would get a job where the work was consistent and the boss wasn't high on Oxycontin. Dream a little dream ......
So we made the move and from that very first night things were better. Much better.
We moved into a nice community of townhouses with a pool and a skatepark around the corner and an elementary school a short walk away. Seltar's job was a perfect fit. Neighbors actually introduced themselves and everybody was very friendly and even the UPS driver would bring lollipops for the kids every time he made a delivery. At first I thought this behavior was more Dateline Predator than genuine kindness, but then I relaxed a bit. Everybody moved a whole lot slower than they did in The City and it appeared that nobody here knew how to use a goddamn horn. All of these things took some getting used to. But life was good and the neighborhood was great. You didn't have to worry about wearing red on 16th Street or wearing blue on 24th.
Then Seltar passed and things got dark again. And there I sat for awhile but not too long. At some point, you start to shower regularly again and dinner becomes more than just semi-cooked rigatoni or a pizza delivered by a pimpled face boy that knows your whole family on a first name basis because he's ringing your doorbell four times a week.
But now my safe and quiet neighborhood is looking more like a scene from something John Singleton would direct. Okay, maybe not that hood. But something close, where close means not really close at all. But still, not what I signed up for. These are the suburbs, dammit!
First there was The Mother's Day Street Brawl of 2009. Then The Boy did a little shoplifting, Miss Perceived robbed a grave, undercover cops made a bust right outside my house (turns out the guy robbed the gas station around the corner) and our car was stolen, recovered and then broken into again.
The Fuck, right?
But wait ... there's more! Some random FuckNut tried to break into the vacant townhouse that is located right across from mine, by breaking out the entire two front windows. It wasn't even the hour when you would expect this type of shit. It was only 9 o'clock! I know that when I used to break into empty houses to steal microwaves and paint thinner, I wouldn't make my move until at least two in the morning. I'm Ninja like that.
Lastly, my daughter was at the local library trying to use the computer so she can get a motherfucking job and put to rest my constant bickering, when some sick fuck pedophile slithered into the teen area of the library and started jerking off.
But fear not readers because Miss Spoken has got herself a plan and it looks a little like this:
Masturbate in front of my kid again and I will chop, cripple and mutilate beyond recognition and no jury in Nevada will convict me.