You know, I realize that complaining of the aroma of pot smoke in Lakewood is like complaining New York is crowded, Seattle is rainy, and it's humid south of the Mason-Dixon, but really--dear neighbors, the stink tonight is driving me nuts. Guess you're lucky that no one seems to be that interested in your house, huh? Because after 6 years of living next door to you, I think it's soaked into the carpet like the stink of your cats.
Oh, and don't let your guests park on my side of the drive. And when they do and the lot of you are sitting out on the porch, and a space in front of your house opens up on the street, you need to tell them to move their car before I get home because I will not be amused. I am not friendly. I fully realize that you all are of the "here's an opening, let me slither into it" school, and there's nothing that gives me more pleasure than laying the slap down on you.
I deal with the lack of home training in the EC all day (got called "big bitch" today and got the officer to throw some kids out upstairs AND down). I've got my librarian voice. Don't make me bring it on home.
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