On Suburban Life

On Suburban Life

I like having neighbors.

I don’t like that my neighbors can see into my bedroom, though. That I could toss a rock into their upstairs from my upstairs and hit them in the head.

People who live in the suburbs and don’t give away Halloween candy to trick-or-treaters are assholes.

I wish I lived out in the country sometimes, alone with my unmowed yard and junky cars and lackadaisical attitude toward raking leaves and pulling weeds that grow up in the cracks in our driveway.

I would like to retire in an apartment in the city. No car. No yard work or garden. No shoveling the walk.

I don’t know why people spend their retirement masturbating over the state of their lawns, though. Is that what you’ve been waiting for all these years – so you can decimate dandelions and maintain perfectly green, chemically-treated grass that you never lounge in for one moment?

Why do people put benches in their yards if they never sit in them?

It’s nice when my neighbors notice who comes and goes. Ask which cars belong to you. Wonder if your husband is out of town. Know who bought the house that just sold and at what price.

We have one Childless Cranky Neighbor couple on our street. We nicknamed them “Dick” and “Bitch.”

I like walking my dog around our local park and that he knows the other dogs and the owners know his name is Pablo (because Adrian introduces him and probably gets their names and tells him his blood type, too. I don’t talk to the dog people like that. I just let the dogs sniff butts and smile and move on.)

Do people who use leaf-blowers realize that leaves can blow right back into their yards? Someone should inform them of this, I think.

I kind of wish my dog could just run free without people caring if he craps on their property.

I kind of wish other people’s dogs would not run free and crap on my property.

Why are people watering their grass in October? Just let it die, man.

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