When Neighbors Attack

I am beginning to recognize that my utter suspicion of friendly neighbors stems from a deep and disturbed past. Growing up, we did live in something that resembled a "neighborhood", yet I was never under the impression that the human habitants on the street were of any use to us at all.
Although we resided in what is considered a "very good" neighborhood, somehow the folks next door never got the memo. I believe my earliest neighborhood memory is of being bitten by a dog--not only the dog on the left side of our house, but also on the right. As this was the 1970's, I was simply scolded, as back then the child "deserved it".
Nevertheless, the dog bites really weren't that bad, as they paled in comparison to how the neighbors gleefully enjoyed terrorizing us.

There were four teenage boys next door. These particular youths had an enlightened set of hobbies consisting of : starting fires behind the house, drunkenly climbing utility poles, stealing my father's gasoline, shooting pellets at the fish in our pond, and hosting loud parties while blasting fireworks into trees.  I was always on the alert for the smell of smoke, as something was usually on fire. 
Somehow, the delinquents managed to grow up and move on with their lives, but were replaced by something equally annoying in our "nice" neighborhood: Lawn care!

The raucous seventies gave birth to the materialistic 1980's. Now everyone on the street needed to chemically treat their lawn, manicure their trees and show off just how rich they were by summoning large amounts of immigrants to trim bushes. The worse part was the leaf blowers. As rakes were considered to be tools of the proletariat, endless leaf blowing became the neighborhood pursuit. The noise pollution was relentless and pointless.

To top it off, the town also experienced a rash of burglaries around that time. The perps weren't some sort of recidivists from far away--no, just "bored" local kids.
That's right. In New Jersey, neighbors don't bring over cookies or sing Christmas carols, but you can expect their children will steal your TV for kicks.
I think all this evidence will hold itself up very well, when my new friendly neighbors take me to court for being the "town crank". Leery suspicion is really the best I can do under these circumstances.

The End of The World as We Know It

As is my daily habit, I began the morning by scanning the Google News headlines. And what a grisly set they were!!! Apparently, we are double doomed here on earth... Stock market plunging! Fisheries depleting! Warmest year on record!...But none of these spell out the end of our species as obviously as: "Sarah Palin gives speech endorsing Trump!"

Why oh why is she still relevant news? Why are people even interested in her?? Is it the Alaska thing (but aren't we over that already?)  It can't be her awesome articulation and cognitive abilities (?)..Leaving me to believe there is only one last thing going for her--looks.
There is a simple truth about good looking women that nobody wants to admit (come on just admit it!!) People listen to them--maybe not all people--but men do. Men might not even be listening to what they are 'saying'--but they like to watch their hair and boobs jiggle while they are 'talking'.  Maybe imagine those spiky red heels in the air..This is a fact. If Sarah Palin gained 75 pounds and had a goiter on her forehead, she would magically disappear from political circles....(not the tabloids though--they would love the "before" and "after" pictures).
Men have a terrible weakness for beautiful women (as some women do for rich men--do you think Fifty shades would be remotely sexy if the main character was dirt poor??! NO. (Forced sex by a poor man is called rape. By a billionaire, it's fun! Got it?)
But I regress...
Trump himself is a perfect example of the biological truth that men love a pretty face. Just ask his ex-wife what happens if a woman dares to 'age'. Or maybe he just discovered that she used the bathroom...?? Either way, my advice to Silly Sarah is---while you are hanging out with your new friend Donald, keep up on that lipstick and heels, but don't ever, ever, excuse yourself to use the outhouse....

Do We have to Choose Between Burgers and Birds??

I, like many other residents of Oregon, have been watching the so called "Oregon Standoff" with mixed emotions of bemusement and horror...
These crazed cowboys with poor articulation skills, tons of guns, brimmed hats and a penchant for vanilla coffee creamer, are quite the spectacle. Any good Portland hipster can begin each morning reading the headlines of what their very own "Y'allQueada" are up to in Eastern Oregon...

Are they driving around in Federally owned vehicles? Reading biology brochures and mocking them? (quote: " That's what's wrong with America", according to the occupiers.) Or are they chasing the sheriff on horseback???

Yesterday, the crazy cowboys cut open the fence between the wildlife refuge and cattle land..to free up the "gubernment" land to grazing. And as any good land conservationist knows--once tons of unregulated bovines come trampling in....the land will most likely be decimated once again.

These machine gun totting cowboys claim: "People have the right to use the land"---But first we must define the word people. Because obviously bird watchers, environmentalists, tourists, hikers, and all others who want a wildlife refuge are not people, nor are they Americans. To clarify: only ranchers with beef cattle are people.
Good, now I understand.

But worries me the most is---what if the hikers, hipsters, tourists etc...are the ones driving the market for more grass-fed beef in the first place???? These Wal-Mart loving militant cowboys, are probably perfectly content with crappy feed lot beef...So the people the 'occupier cowboys' consider to be not people--(i.e. those that support the wildlife refuge) May in all actuality be their main consumer base?? What a quagmire...

The Inconvenient Gun Truth

Nobody really wants to offend anybody when discussing the right to bear arms--(especially scary, large people with ammunition!) so they don't like to talk about (although they probably know) the reality:--Gun zealots are not your average Joe suburban neighbor.

Having myself lived in communities with zero guns (except maybe an antique rifle mounted on a wall), to tolerating gun crazed neighbors in Alaska...here is a short list for those that may not know how to spot the difference:

PRETTY SURE THEY DON'T HAVE AN ARSENAL:

College Professors

Tech Geeks

Chemists

Astronauts

New Yorkers

Soccer Moms

Bankers

Surfers

Chefs

Hipsters

PRETTY SURE THEY DO:

Those that wear camo suits to church

Subscribe to the Sarah Palin channel

Post "We don't call 911" signs

Say "git" instead of "get"

Walk around generally paranoid

Stockpilers of everything

Under-employed, angry and missing a tooth

Post the Constitution in their truck window

That said, the crazy part is that my gun yielding, paranoid, toothless friends just can't see the real hoax that has been played on them. As they keep chugging the propaganda juice they are being fed--assuming "gubernment" is responsible for all their problems...they can't see that it was really corporate America that pulled the rug out from under them. In the meantime, in their confusion and paranoia---they will continue to stockpile weapons and do bizarre things like take over visitor centers...

If You Don't Have a Food Issue, Please Excuse Yourself

Oh dear. I have discovered that within nine measly months of living in the Portland vicinity, my understanding of American social norms is already wildly eroding.
I suppose it was once called "dining etiquette". That byzantine notion that refusing a particular meal or offer of food is considered rather rude. Scandalous even.
Not so here....
In Portland, the old rudeness table has been flipped right over, legs upright with not much of the old ideas clinging to it all. In fact, every self respecting hipster knows that the hosts are always to blame for the rude behavior in a meal exchange!  Tisk, tisk..
In order to avoid host negligence (for those not enlightened to West Coast customs), let me clarify:
Offers of sugary sweets: are you trying to kill a diabetic?
Serving soda: what are you, white trash?
Serving white bread: worse than soda. (Tip: Unless you want to be ironically unhealthy, --then offer to pass a Hookah instead)
Offering peanuts: are you trying to kill my kid?
Milk products: "no cow". **Unless grassfed, otherwise go goat or cashew.
Meat: Always allow 5 minutes for vegans to exit the room first. Local meat is ok, as are strange German entrail sausages . Or anything from a café only known as "PIG". (Again: it's fine if it's ironic.)
Beer and Wine: Make sure 32 varieties are available, including gluten free and cider. Eugene or Seattle are not local enough. Must have a creepy picture on the label, or perhaps sasquatch.

Maybe it all sounds exhausting, but it's actually quite fun!  You just start to embrace the quirks and self righteous eccentricity...Why not overanalyze your food in Oregon??
Where else can you enjoy the cognitive challenge of the allergen free, locally sourced office party? (Yes, we honestly made hand picked heirloom apple pie, with gluten free, no sugar crust).
Or the overly friendly (aka stoned) neighbors bringing over their Christmas cheer--accompanied with a long winded ingredient list --assuring everyone that no one will (intentionally) die with consumption. (We all know that those that don't list ingredients are sociopaths).
Proper etiquette includes long preparation. As my husband's diligent co-worker did by spending hours designing a computer spreadsheet for an office road trip- in order to prepare "paleo pescatarian" meals for the road. (Needles to say he got a bonus).

Is it any surprise then, that even the local strip club advertises: Gluten Free Lap Dances?  I am sure they are also quite probiotic....

P.C. Christmas

For the first time ever, my child is experiencing something known as "Public School". With this endeavor, I also get to experience something exciting and new: "the politically correct holiday season." (yay! insert eye rolling)
First, the child comes home and announces that we are no longer to say, "Merry Christmas", that would be offensive.
From now on it is "Happy Holidays". 
I ask the child: "Would you really have your feelings hurt if someone said 'Happy Kwanza' or 'Happy Hanukkah', or 'Happy whatever' to you"??
"No". He replied.
Of course not. Who cares? And what is crazy--is that what most people associate with "Christmas" has zero to do with the Christian religion. Unless, of course it is paganism you are afraid of--after all, the pagans are the ones that danced around and burnt the 'Christmas' tree. And what is offensive about mentioning Santa Claus in school?? When did Santa become a religious symbol (??) Can they mention Mickey Mouse?
Of course the public school isn't all about eliminating fun, so instead of just stomping out the traditional Christmas party from the agenda, they replaced it with something known as the "winter parade".
The kids get to dress up in funny hats and eat doughnuts. They also invited parents to the auditorium to see them sing their "P.C. Holiday songs"--one of which was "Walking in a Winter Wonderland".
Which , in fact, I found offensive. If they are so busy analyzing to death the offensive symbols of "Christmas" (like Rudolf! the horror!) Why are they instead teaching elementary students lyrics that go: "Are you married, he'll say "no ma'am", "but you can do the job when I'm in town" ?
Yes, yes, the sweet innocence of implied one night stands! Happy Holiday indeed !!






 

Bullied by Old People

It all started rather innocently, fueled by my naively ambitious good intentions...

You see, I had inherited my mom's cherished living room couch. It was her prized possession, but after some 40 years in need of love or what is also known as 're-upholstering.'

Now smarter souls than I, they do not do re-upholstering. Logical people get a quote for the project, laugh at the ridiculously high price and then skip off into the sunset to buy a new couch ...

But no, no, no... I had to be a self righteous fool!...smuggly deciding that I would most definitely reupholster. Look at me! Re-purposing this fabulous old frame!

And to top it off, I chose a cute elderly couple to embark on the project. Employing pensioners, yes, how sweet of me! And the gentleman had even gone to furniture school, embarking on his family's lifelong trade, with beautiful craftsmanship to boot...

All seemed well, and I began the journey by tediously picking out the proper upholstery fabric. After looking at hundreds of swatches--I made the choice to go with a yellowish linen type pattern, that seemed very sturdy and varied in color--good enough for 

hiding minor stains. I envisioned a functional couch that would be enjoyed by all.

The day came, when we rented a truck and dropped the behemoth couch off at the furniture shop (and its accomplice--heavy side chair). Finally ready to receive the long awaited foam and upholstery.

Upon arrival, we were greeted by the elderly couple with my expensive roll of fabric in hand. As they were pointing to the material, they confirmed-- this is the fabric, correct? And yes, I saw my linen patterned choice in hand. But here in came the confusion. Both of these fine folks simultaneously exclaimed--that rough fabric is the back of the cloth!

What? 

Oh yes, they chimed--look at the other side, smooth and white-- that is the front.

(But I know I picked the darker, patterned side!) But these old folks didn't care--they went on and on... how I couldn't have possibly picked the rougher side. That's impossible. That would be ridiculous even!--they laughed and giggled. And somehow it was getting late and I was confused and we weren't going to haul the damn couch home or reorder the fabric...so I said "fine" yes, let's go with it...you're correct.

Eek. So three weeks later we pick up the couch. And it is beautiful (and they did find weird family photos and a billy club inside of it). BUT it is friggin WHITE.

We hauled the behemoth back home, gingerly set it up in the living room...

And there the white, delicate showpiece sits. I wanted a rough, darker, linen couch-- that we could actually use. But no, the couch smuggly rests-- smooth, clean and white-- just daring for someone to sit on it....And when I exclaimed to the old folks, "how will I keep it clean?"

They simply answered: just bring it back and we will reupholster it again!