livin' da thug life

I've put out a hit on the graffiti tags.


Someone from outside the neighborhood is going to drive in, paint over the tags on the sidewalk, then drive away. I bought the spray paint on my lunch hour (yes, I paid cash), and drew up a map showing precise locations.


Tuesday while I was at work, someone backed up to my garage and starting loading stuff into his trunk. My neighbor was outside lunching in her back yard, enjoying the lovely fall day. She yelled at him and he gave her some story about helping someone move some stuff. My neighbor called bullshit and then called the cops, god bless her.


I'm pretty sure that was my retaliation for hanging out and watching them Friday, because I don't keep anything worth stealing in my garage, and taking crap from my garage would merely annoy the hell out of me. When I got home, there was a box of trash bags and a quart of oil stacked near the garage door, and a box of golf balls by the back gate. Not exactly the kind of stuff that fetches top dollar on the black market.

Unfortunately, said thug did not take any of my ex-husband's crap that's still stacked in the garage. Perhaps I could put up a sign or something: "Please take this shit first. Thank you."


Oh, and I've declared war on an elderly woman. I'm not particularly proud of myself, but I've had it with her. Every few years one of her grandchildren gets sprung from juvie and turns her house into Thug Central. She refuses to do anything about it and doesn't understand why everybody's always calling the cops on her babies.

So yesterday, I filed a complaint with the city about the junk cars in her back yard. Every piece of trash, loose gutter and unmowed blade of grass is going to get reported from now on.

If it was illegal to "plant" fake plastic flowers in your front yard (which it should be), I'd turn her in for that, too.