Satan’s Spawn’s truck was at his home this morning when we took the dogs out this morning, meaning that he is probably inside plotting the demise of some family he dislikes. (We’re not the only neighbor who he thinks deserve to be shipped to his motherland of Hades.) I, as usual, was nervous as I walked passed with Xander, because even though I have trained Xander NOT to pee on Satan’s Spawn’s tires, I still worry he will. (Xander did once, in front of SS, and SS got mad and I think issued a hoodoo curse.) Luckily, it was not Monday, because in the almost nine years I have had Xander, I haven’t been able to express to him the importance of NOT peeing on the recycling bin. (If you happen to live on my side of “my” street and you leave your recycling bin out, chances are, my little sweet baby has saluted.)
You know, his peeing on the recycling bin has caused me to have a fear that I had never had before…recycling bins after they’ve sat out and waited for the recycling truck. I know that though he’s adorable, Xander isn’t incredibly original when it comes to peeing locales, so chances are that other alpha males have come along and saluted the bins.
What else? The Jaguar was not at home this morning. I don’t know how I feel about this. Maybe Jaguar owner has a legit job? Hopefully. I hope I’m not right about this theory that he/she is involved in illicit practices. That would suck. This was always such a nice neighborhood, aside from the blatant dislike of non-WASP that so many people have. After Tank, the only pit bull on the street, moved in with his not clear black family, people have gradually gotten used to the idea of an integrated neighborhood. Maybe in forty years, there will be more than one sign supporting a black candidate for President in the entire school district. (No, it was not in my yard. I’m not ALLOWED to put up signs at MY house because apparently my Republican father believes my Democrat ways are bad or something.)
Yesterday, my mom and I went to the grocery store. I was hoping against hope not to run into the four horse-girls of the apocalypse. Luckily, the fates smiled upon me and did not grace me with such a pleasant experience as seeing and hearing these bright shining beacons of evil. These girls are the ones who a few weeks ago were with their mother at Wal-Mart while she was grocery shopping, and I could hear them for two hours asking for chocolate, running, screaming, and just basically acting like the poster children for what happens when Mommy forgets to give little darlings their precious Ritalin…or when she forgets (4 times) that she promised God that she loved humanity enough to know to use birth control. I normally don’t say things like this about children, but those girls are just so bad that it’s frustrating to see them. They were a little better last week with their father (or their contact from Hell), and I almost rethought my stance on them. However, when he had his back turned, suddenly, they were at it again…running, screaming, and basically acting like someone had just given them 100 Cokes and a bunch of red food dye. (Red food dye is the one that increases hyperactivity, right?) So, I was happy they won’t there.
Grump master general is sleeping right now, as is the mother dearest. I probably should be, but who would report on the wonders of this glorious neighborhood if I ever went to bed? (No, I’m not manic…I just can’t sleep. I want to. I’d love to. Just not happening.)
Oh, one more neighbor thing. There’s a new neighbor. They have a black lab. It’s pretty…a little out of control. I wouldn’t be surprised if Satan’s Spawn tries to sneak over and sacrifice it to appease his father. I hope that doesn’t happen. I like when there are more dogs in the neighborhood, not only because I like dogs, but also because I get a bit of joy and satisfaction out of things that displease SS.