Crazy eBay People...Or You Can't Fix Stupid

Since I've been down for the count for 64 days, (Yup, I counted.) I've been selling my old stuff on eBay. Totally a "job" I can do from the safety of my couch. While there are lots of nice, normal people out there in eBay land, there are also a few psychopaths. Here are my two favorites so far. 

Let's call the first one "scarf girl." I sold her a brand new scarf with the tags still on it for 99 cents plus shipping. It took her eons to pay, but she finally did and I shipped her the scarf to the address she had on file with eBay. I sent her the tracking information a few days later and that's when things got weird. 

Her: Oh. I didn't want you to ship it to that address. I wanted you to use the my other address. 

Me: Huh. I don't know you. That's why you provide eBay with your address. 

Her: Well, the address in my PayPal account is the right address. You should have gone into my account and noticed that the two addresses are different. 

Me: Why would I go into your PayPal account? eBay takes care of all that. And I don't have your PayPal password. 

Her: Well, can you go into the post office and find the package and get it back?

Me: Clearly you have no concept as to how the US mail system works. 

Her: I'm reporting you to eBay. 

Me: Go ahead. 

Final outcome: eBay refunded her the money in their dime AND she received the scarf. (Thank you tracking information.)

Moral of the story: Sometimes stupid people win. 

The next gem we'll call Jacket Girl. Jacket Girl bought a worn once jacket from me for $30 plus shipping after a pretty heated bidding war. I had posted pictures of the jacket from multiple angles and taken close up shots of the size tags. I clearly stated that I do not accept returns. It took nearly a month, but before long I got an email from Jacket Girl that went like this:

Her: This jacket doesn't fit me at all. It's too narrow in the hips. I want my money back AND I want to keep the jacket. 

Me: I clearly stated the size in the listing. I'm sorry it doesn't fit, but I don't do returns, as I said earlier. And why on earth would you want to keep a jacket that doesn't fit?!

Her: The jacket is too long.

Me: There were multiple pictures of the jacket with the listing so you could see that. If you want, you can ship the jacket back to me and I will refund you the cost of the jacket, but not the shipping. 

Her: (sound of crickets chirping)

Final outcome: I told ebay I was sticking with my no returns policy. They said the seller might give me a bad rating. I said oh well. 

Moral of the story: It sucks when you buy something non refundable and it doesn't fit. Just do what I do-turn around and sell it on eBay. 

So there you have it. Using eBay to sell stuff you have laying around in your closet is a great way to make a little extra money. And there are mostly nice people out there. But be prepared to deal with Internet psychos. Who now have your home address. Awesome. 

Reason 9,998 Why I Am Going to Hell (Or Vodka Makes Everything Better)

Anyone who knows us knows that we do loud REALLY well. My kids have two volumes: loud and louder. I have two volumes: louder and loudest.  Despite this, um, "challenge," we still try to bring our kids to church. Every week. Where I spend a solid 90 minutes attempting to get them to focus, stay quiet, and sit still. When we first moved to Worcester, I was lucky enough to make a church friend whose kids also brought the loud. They were awesome. Spirited. Opinionated. Enthusiastic. All of the traits that I love to hate in my own kids. I love me a kid who isn't afraid to make their voice heard. It's magical. It makes me think that one day they might be brave enough to try to change the world. Because everyone knows that well behaved women rarely make history. 

Anyway, we always sat near this family. Because they were awesome. And because our kids blended together in one joyful, noisy, chaotic mess. It was a beautiful thing. My friend and I often joked that we should start bringing a flask to church, because vodka makes everything better. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and this family that complimented mine so well in those back pews ended up moving far, far away. That's when the best decision ever was hatched. 

Now I've never claimed to be a mature person. (I think anyone who was at that stuff meeting where we played the game  called "Finger Snatch" would attest to this. I giggled like a 13 year old boy through that entire game.) So given my amazing lack of maturity, I thought it would be appropriate to bring a teeny tiny bottle of vodka to church. (We call these nips in Massachusetts. I have since learned that this is a regional thing. You will get some strange looks when you tell out of state people that you "drank nips in church" when they have an entirely different meaning of the word nips. Just sayin'.) Since we had always joked about needing a flask for church, I thought it would be funny if I brought this in my purse and then passed it back to my friend the minute our kids brought the noise. Brilliant and oh so mature, right?!

On the last Sunday before this family moved, I smuggled the little bottle of vodka into church. A going away nip, if you will. It took no more than 3 minutes for one of our littles to turn up the volume. At which point I turned around and handed her this. 

Which of course made us both dissolve into a fit of extreme church giggles. (You know the ones. When you are some place where you shouldn't be hysterically laughing and that just makes you laugh more?! These often strike without warning at very important work meetings and funerals.)

Then we thought it would be an EVEN better idea to bust into the church Kool-Aid supply and share said nip. 

I look evil in this picture. Because clearly I am, as evidenced by my sneaking booze into church. And then downing it shot-style with coffee hour punch. This may or may not have gone down as my best time in church ever. We giggled. We told a few people. We got some SERIOUS disapproving looks. It was awesome. 

I am currently in the market for a new friend to be the naughty girl in the back of the church with me. (Except now the back pews are roped off. Coincidence?!) Who wants in? I'll bring the nips!! 😉

The Midnight Gun Fight

In October, Joe and I briefly woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a scuffle behind our building. Now I've mentioned before that we live behind a lovely neighborhood establishment we'll continue to refer to as the "Ruby Hotel." There are frequent bar fights here, so we generally just ignore the noise, roll over, and go back to sleep. Par for the course. 

Well, on this particular night, my sister and her husband had arrived home from their honeymoon at 1am. They heard the scuffle too, but since they lived on the first floor, they had a better view of the situation. Apparently sometime between midnight and 1am, there had been a little gunfight outside of the Ruby Hotel. My sister's welcome home from your honeymoon surprise was a guy who had just been shot climbing over the fence and into our backyard, moaning. Because you know, he'd just been shot. (At this point they decided it was probably a good idea for them to get off the porch and away from the windows.) Minutes later, the backyard also contained police officers shining flashlights into the windows, and dogs sniffing out perps. Awesome. 

The next day there was an article in the paper about the shooting. It mentioned that the guy who had been shot was chased into a nearby backyard, but wasn't apprehended by the police. So our yard is famous for its role in this crime and one of the bad guys is still on the lam. How's that for a welcome home from your honeymoon party?!

Really Important Things I've Learned this Week

I don't get out often these days, but when I do, I try to really appreciate it and look for the good things that are out there. In the past 7 days or so I've learned a few things, so I thought I'd pass them on to you...

1. The West Boylston Post Office is far superior to the Worcester main post office. Regardless of when you go the the main Worcester office the parking lot is a nightmare. There is always a line of cars waiting to park and then when you finally get inside the giagantic line is being held up by someone trying to mail a chicken to Ghana. Always. This is made more difficult when you hobble in there on crutches with packages to mail packages from your fledgling eBay business. There wasn't a chicken this time, but someone was trying to mail a plastic Stop & Shop bag filled with canned goods to Virginia. Apparently no one in the Woo knows how the U.S. mail system actually works. Today I had packages to mail and a PT appointment in West Boylston. (Or maybe the appointment was in Worcester? It's right on the line.)  I decided to seek out the West Boylston post office. Behold! A post office with no line, smiling people, plenty of parking, and no chickens being mailed out of country. Well worth the drive if you ask me. 

2. Driving an automatic rocks. I have driven a standard since I can remember. Then I broke my ankle. I couldn't drive my car for the foreseeable future and since it was falling part anyway, we decided to sell it for an automatic. I wasn't 100% on Team Automatic until I decided to reward myself today with post PT Starbucks. If you've ever been to the drive thru at the Starbucks where the old Aku Aku used to be, you know that the drive thru is a hill. In my old car, I'd get a cramp in my clutch leg if I had to wait too long and I'd almost always stall just as I got to the window. But today? I drove up happily, grabbed my coffee, and moved on. Happy and caffeinated. 

3. Someone in my building is having the newspaper delivered. What?! I didn't even know the Telegram delivered to the 'hood! Gentrification. It's happening. 

4. Butter pecan iced coffee is back at Dunkin's!! Like many true born and bred New Englanders, I drink iced coffee all year long. (Well, as soon as I realized you could order it in the winter, which I learned about 12 years ago when I accosted a person in January, demanding to know where they got that iced coffee in the winter. Who knew?!) Butter pecan is by far the most superior flavor and it's back! Like the shopping cart, the reappearance of butter pecan coffee heralds the coming of spring. And now that we've next door to a Dunk's I have some seriously easy access. Winning! Speaking of spring, my brother in law spotted this little gem the other day. Spring. It's almost here. 

5. If you have a Clapper attached to the light in your bedroom and your child comes into your room at 2am coughing, the cough WILL make the light turn off and on. And the next night, your husband WILL try to fart in the exact pattern needed to turn the light on. Awesome. 

6. Finally, if we invite you to dinner at our house, don't eat the vegetables. We don't eat them anymore. I just use them to ice my ankle and then refreeze them. Veggie shaped ice packs courtesy of Price Chopper. 

Heidi's Tips for Surviving Life in a Transitional Neighborhood that is Transitioning the Wrong Way

Apparently at one point our neighborhood was filled with families made up of blue collar workers. They lived their entire lives in the same 3 decker-with different family members occupying each apartment. Some of these people are still in my 'hood and I see them once a year when it's time to vote, but now the neighborhood is definitely transitioning-the wrong way. Instead of families who look out for one another, the neighborhood is largely transitional, and people barely know each other. This requires some helpful hints for surviving in a questionable neighborhood. 

1. Get to know your sketchiest neighbors. This step is really important. These are the people you want on your side when shit goes down-and it always goes down in the 'hood. Say hello. Hold the door. You treat them well, they'll treat you well. I have one awesome neighbor who buzzes me in when my hands are full and keeps an eye on my car (her porch faces the parking lot) so no one breaks into it. She's moving soon. I'm sad. 

2. Keep the WPD non-emergency number handy. While 9-1-1 is handy for those big emergencies, (like the knife attack and the tweaker gone wild) 

sometimes you need to call the police because your neighbor's bass is shaking your kid's bed at 2am or because the people in the 3 decker next door started throwing TVs out of the laundry window. The po-po doesn't like it if you use 9-1-1 for these "emergencies," so it's always a good idea to keep the non emergency number on hand so you don't find yourself doing a desperate Google search at 2am. (Been there.) I keep it on my fridge and in my phone. And I use it often. 

3. Know about text a tip. The WPD advertises this service on the backs of the city buses. It's their way of trying to get around the "no snitching" policy in the 'hood. You just text your crime tip to the number and voila! You are not a snitch! You are a concerned citizen of the Woo, helping the police do their job via technology. Just make sure you text the letters WPD before your tip. Apparently there is just one text a tip line and other cities use it too. Texting WPD first lets them know that the tip is from Worcester. Now go get 'em, crime fighter!

4. When times get tough, steal power.  Sometimes in the 'hood, money gets tight. (OK-money is AWAYS tight in the 'hood.) But sometimes it gets so tight that you have to pick and choose which bills to pay...or start a game of check writing roulette. (Everyone does this. Right???) Sometimes, despite these efforts, your power may get shut off. If this happens, just do what my neighbors do. Run an extension cord to the outlet in the hallway and steal power from the building's common areas. Your lights work. You're welcome. 

5. Always lock your door. This one pretty much goes without saying, but not for the reason you'd think. I don't keep my door locked out of fear of robbery because really, no one's going to sh*t where they eat. I keep the door locked to keep the wanderers out. Yup. In a building where every floor looks exactly the same, people will wander into your apartment, thinking it's theirs. I've done it. My neighbors have done it. It always freaks out all parties involved. Spare yourself the awkwardness. Lock your door. 

6. Use a space saver. Unlike some communities around Boston where using space savers after a snowstorm is a punishable crime, the practice is still alive and well in the Woo...because 'Murica. Having been the person who got up early before work to shovel out their on street parking space, only to come home after work and discover that the lazy upstairs neighbor has stolen said space, forcing you to have to park on an iceberg, which makes you late for work the following day because your car got stuck, I fully support the use of space savers. (I'm looking at you, residents of 26 Howland Terrace, Apt 2, circa 2003!). Lately I've seen some pretty creative space savers in the 'hood, and if I could walk I would have taken pictures of them. But I can't, so you'll have to create a mental image of these beauties. Popular space savers include things like chairs, end tables, old TVs, empty Rubbermaid tubs, stolen traffic cones, and boxes. One of my two favorites is the quite popular use of the Graco baby carrier. No one's going to move that space saver because of the "what if" factor. What if there really is a baby in there? (Quite a possibility in this neighborhood...) You don't want to be the one accused to moving someone else's baby. Even if it was being used to save a parking space. And my personal favorite? The Cozy Coupe. The person who used this one is a genius! Because if Worcester does someday decide to crack down on the use of space savers, this person could probably argue their way out of a fine. "Officer! That's not a space saver! That's my car! It's the only car I can afford and I'm just parking it in front of my house." See?? Genius!! 

Let me know if you see anything that tops the Cozy Coupe. I just KNOW there's something even more awesome out there, just waiting to be discovered.

3 Crazy Things

Crazy things happen on our street ALL the time. Sometimes we get REALLY lucky and crazy things happen right inside our building. Think of it like a front row seat to a reality television show on cable. Who needs to pay Charter a small fortune each month? Just come hang out in our building for a week. You're bound to see something good. Now I've already told you about the junkie overdose, the weed and 'shroom growing operation, the man living in the basement, and the base thumpin' DJ set up-here are 3 more crazy things in no apparent order:

Bleach Girl

Bleach girl and her husband lived upstairs. She was a pharmacy student. He was a med student. And they definitely thought they were too good for the 'hood. You would say hi to these two in the hallway and they would look right through you. My kids would say hi and these two wouldn't respond, prompting my kids to start yelling, "Mommy! They didn't say hi back! You said that's rude!" He wore scrubs ALL THE TIME. Presumably so that everyone would know he was a doctor in training, but all it did was let everyone know that he was a real asshole. Anyway, you'd think that these two would have some amount of brain power between them, right? Wrong. I came home from work one day and my apartment smelled like the pool at the Y. I heard water dripping somewhere. I followed the sound to my bedroom where I found bleach water dripping through our bathroom ceiling and into two closets. Our red towels were bleached. Our shower curtain was bleached. Clothes in the closet were bleached. I went upstairs and knocked on the door. Pharmacy girl answered. I said, "You do know that bleach is pouring into my apartment and staining everything, right?" Her reply? "Yes. My tub was clogged so I filled it with bleach and water and it overflowed."

What?! Apparently they are letting anyone into medical and pharmacy school these days. I asked if I could come in and help clean it up so that it would stop ruining my stuff sooner, rather than later. She wouldn't let me into her apartment. (Which of course made me think she was secretly cooking meth in her bedroom.) Anyway, they never offered to replace the stuff they ruined and they never even apologized. You can't fix stupid and you apparently can't fix asshole either. Karma got them in the end though. They moved after a shotgun wedding (Medical school apparently didn't teach them about contraceptives either.) and never left a forwarding address. So some of their wedding gifts were left on the porch during the time we had mail theft issues going on in the 'hood. I totally saw the neighbors going through the boxes and said nothing. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I certainly wasn't about to provoke the neighbors on their behalf. Lesson learned: If you live in the 'hood, you are not too good for it, regardless of what you may think. Also, karma's a b*tch. 

9-1-1 Knife Girl

Not so long ago, there was a scuffle in the hallway. I'm pretty sure it was all one family, fighting with each other. A girl came running down to my sister's apartment and told my brother in law to call 9-1-1 because her mother was being attacked with a knife. Because you know, your neighbors knock on your door on the regular and tell you things like this, right?! No?? Maybe that's just in our 'hood. Anyway, 9-1-1 was called. The po-po broke up the family knife fight. I think it was all a big misunderstanding-maybe a family dinner gone wrong. Lesson learned: Knives are for cutting meat, not for cutting Auntie Edna during a family dinner. 

The Transformer (which was definitely more than meets the eye)

I was at church on New Year's Eve (What?! That's not how you celebrate the New Year?! See, not everyone in the 'hood is a heathen.) when our tenant called. (Yup. We are landlords. We actually own a little slice of the 'hood.) Apparently the transformer by our porch was sparking so the National Grid guys shut off the power to repair it. Which caused a mass exodus from the nearby 3 deckers. Soon the light pole was surrounded by locals yelling at the line worker about how he was ruining their NYE. I'm sure he was loving his job at that moment. Because he certainly wanted to spend NYE on Grafton Hill being yelled at by the locals. The best was the guy who came out yelling about how his baby was crying and how was he gonna heat up the bottle in the micro if the power was out and now his baby was going to STARVE TO DEATH!! Yup. Starve. To. Death. The power was on in less than an hour. No one starved to death. And I assume the line worker went home and got good and drunk. Lesson learned: National Grid is not in the business of trying to kill your baby or ruin your party. They just want to fix the power and get the hell out of Dodge. 

So that's it. Three more crazy things in a gold mine of crazy. It's all good in the 'hood. Always. 

The Guy with the Antibiotic Resistant Staph Infection

From time to time we go out in or 'hood. When in Rome and all that. One of those nights, Joe was in Vegas, so my sister, cousin, and I decided to head out into the Woo for dinner and drinks. I forget where we went for dinner, (That part's not important.) but I do know that we ended up at a local watering hole long after we probably should have been in bed. (My mom always told me, "Nothing good happens past midnight." The next time you're out past midnight, think about this. Chances are you are up to no good.) Anyway, we arrived at the bar with some friends and ordered drinks. (Extra dirty martini. Because nothing says "hydration" like gin and olive juice, am I right?!) The drinks arrived. We drank and chatted for a bit. And then I realized that my sister was missing. Not good. I decided to go on a hunt for the missing sister and trekked out into the big bad Woo, where I quickly discoverd that it was snowing. (Ugh.) I stood in front of the bar, shivering and pondering my next move when a pretty colorful Worcesterite walked up to me. He noticed I was freezing in my short sleeved shirt and offered me his jacket. His jacket that had the sleeves ripped off. (Who says chivalry is dead?! Obviously they've never been standing outside a bar in Worcester at 1am.) I was tipsy, he was tipsy...so of course we started chatting. Apparently he'd been at St. V's earlier than night where his girlfriend was staying due to an antibiotic resistant staph infection, that he'd supposedly given her. (It was at this point that I decided that it was a good idea to smoke the menthol cigarette he offered me. Like I said. Tipsy.) The nurse asked him to leave when visiting hours ended, so of course he did what any civilized person would do. He punched the nurse. And was promptly thrown out of the hospital. So of course he went to a bar. Of course. At this point my phone started buzzing uncontrollable with text after incoherent text. From my sister. Apparently she gave up trying to text me (because she couldn't seem to type clearly) and instead shouted, "Heidi! Stop talking about staph infections and get over here!" I'd found her! Lying across the hood of my cousin's snow-covered car. Yes!! 

This story ends here. No big excitement. My cousin drove us home and we went to bed. However, there is one other way home from this particular bar...

You see, you can see the street this bar is on from our building. But due to a mind boggling maze of dead end streets, you can't get there directly. Or can you?? If you walk down the path (alley?) between the abandoned crack house and the three decker, you can get to a little patch of woods. (The same woods where two crack heads later killed another crack head and set her body on fire. Safe, right?!) Anyway, if you walk down the path, over some rocks, and into the "woods," you will be let out onto the end of our street. Ghetto shortcut. One night we even found a boxing nun puppet on this was, which we of course took home and played with all night. Because that's what you do when you find a boxing nun right!?

Nights out in the 'hood. They don't happen often these days, but when they do you know that something crazy is bound to happen!!

3 Crazy Things...

My neighbors are interesting people. Nice people, but they definitely do some things that make me look twice (Or sometimes, like a train wreck, I just can't look away.). Here are 3 things that have happened in my 'hood that made me go, "What the WHAT?!" (This list is in order of least crazy to most crazy.)

Using Your Car as your own Personal Fish Bowl

When I go running in my neighborhood, I see a lot of interesting things. Most of my neighbors think I'm crazy for running (and routinely tell me so), but I think they are crazy too-so we're even. There are these people in my neighborhood who sit in their car and smoke massive amounts of weed. In broad daylight. On a public street. They aren't fooling anyone. When I run by their car it's all smoked up and I get a contact high from running by. I'm not sure if they do this so their house doesn't smell like weed, or for the added bonus of smoking pot in an enclosed space, but either way there is a TON of public pot smoking going on in the 'hood. 

The Man in the Basement

Every apartment in our building has a storage unit in the basement. This is where we keep things like out of season clothes, the kids' bikes, and a random assortment of junk that is still in the box from our last move 8 years ago. Apparently one of my neighbors thought this space would also be a good way to make a quick buck by using it as a rental property. 

One morning, the hubs went downstairs to grab some warmer jackets for the kids, when the door of another storage unit opened. A guy came out, stretching and yawning like he had just woken up and asked Joe what time it was. When Joe peeked inside that unit, he noticed that instead of the usual assortment of boxes and bins, there was a mattress and a crate that was being used as a nightstand. Yup. This guy was living down here. Further Nancy Drewing taught us that our across the hall neighbor was letting her friend "stay over." Nice of her to give him a place to stay, but super scary if a man pops out of a place in the basement where you don't expect a person to be!

The Hooker Photo Shoot

When Liija was a baby, we had a period of intense crazy in the 'hood. My downstairs neighbors were a housekeeper and a DJ. (She was supposed to clean the common spaces in the building in return for lower rent. She never, ever cleaned the common spaces.) He would set up his equipment in the parking lot, taking up valuable parking spaces, and blast his music-extension cords snaking into the building. Always while my kids were sleeping. Always. (My sister got into a pretty spectacular argument with them over this once when their DJ booth was set up in her parking space.) There was a drug dealer/user living upstairs who had a friend overdose in his apartment while he ran around the building, pounding on doors in a drug induced freak out. The people across the hall (the ones with the tenant in the basement) liked to stand outside of our door and smoke. This way, the smoke didn't like get in their apartment. It got in ours instead. Like I said, it was a period of crazy in the 'hood. 

Joe worked nights then, so I was always the only one home with the kids at night. Around this time, I heard a ruckus outside of our window one evening. Imagine my surprise when I looked out of the window and discovered what appeared to be a hooker photo shoot. 

 

What is going on here?! We have these women dressed in teeny, tiny tight black dresses. We have the dudes in white Hanes t-shirts masquerading as photographers and photography assistants with a point and click digital camera. These women are posing seductively against an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. Yup. A place where kids go to learn every day was the backdrop of the hooker photo shoot. And why were they doing this? Were they making a "hooker of the month" calendar? Hoping to make it big in the modeling/fashion industry? Taking glamour shots for their boyfriends? I still don't know what this was all about, but it went on until it got too dark that night.

Seriously. I can't make this stuff up. Never a dull moment. It's like watching tv-right outside my window. 

Oh-and one more thing. This wasn't outside my window, but it was on my computer and it is from Worcester, so I think it counts. 

This. 

Why, why, WHY would you send your kids to this daycare/preschool?! Apparently people are sending their kids there because they only have 2 spots (Or should I say "spot's?!") left, but just...no. If you can get past the fact that a preschool, a place that is supposed to be teaching children, used an apostrophe in the word spots, then you have to contend with this "railing." The "new location" of this preschool is apparently a basement, which was brought up to code by nailing a random assortment of two by fours to the wall to create a railing. And this feature is so awesome they are using it to advertise their "school." I'm horrified. But at the same time I'm wondering if this "preschool" is cheaper than my child's current school. We gotta do what we can to save a buck or two in the 'hood. ;-)

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I sat down to write a post about the good, the bad, and the ugly things about living in the 'hood. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it was mostly good stuff?! I mean sure there was that little incident last year where some crackheads burned a body at the end of my road, but come on-we also have a Dunkin' Donuts RIGHT NEXT DOOR! You can't beat that!! I think easy access to Dunk's trumps burnt crackhead any day!

So here goes...the good, the bad, and the ugly of living in the 'hood. 

The Good

There is a surprising amount of good stuff in the 'hood. Yes, my neighbors are generally nice to one another. (We look out for our own.) Yes, we can easily walk to about 3 different convenience stores. (We will never run out of milk or bread during a blizzard.) And amidst all of this awesomeness, we also have this...

Behold!! Preggo Barbie! My kids made her. And I found her in the backseat of my car. (How appropriate!) This just begs the question, Is the 'hood responsible for my kids making Preggo Barbie or would it have happened even if we lived in a fancy town??

Our View

You can't beat our view. Worcester looks beautiful at night when it's all lit up. And we have an awesome view of the city during the day too. Good stuff. 

Our Beer Garden

While we are enjoying this view, we like to relax in our very own urban beer garden. (Biergarten?? I took German for 5 years. Gotta use that somehow.) We can sit here, drink the Pumpkinhead that I've stashed away since it was in season, and listen to the sound of the traffic, which is a rather pleasing white noise. 

Pumpkinhead in the beer garden. 

And a beer-less beer garden.

The Bathroom at the Local Dive Bar

We live thisclose to a shady dive bar. I've referred to it before as the Ruby Hotel. If you're local, you can probably easily figure out which bar I'm talking about. Anyway, we've been known to wander in there from time to time when we find ourselves without kids. (Don't judge. It's within walking distance.) Imagine my surprise when I discovered these little gems in the bathroom!

As my kids would say, "What the WHAT?!" Apparently it's 1992 in the Ruby Hotel bathroom, judging from their cologne choices. 

And then there's this incredibly awesome sign...

What?! This is enough of a problem that they NEEDED TO HAVE A SIGN PRINTED ABOUT IT!! Whoa. 

And of course, no tour of the good things in the 'hood would be complete without a visit to Turtleboy! Stay classy, Worcester!

The Bad

The Trash

I've said it before, but my crazy, illegal garage-building neighbor likes to dump random trash on the street. He had a particularly active period this summer, as evidenced by this photo. 

At one point there was enough random furniture on our street to set up a little bedroom suite right there on the stret. There was also this strange phenomenon this summer where random shoes would constantly turn up on our street. Constantly. Sometimes in pairs. Sometimes single shoes. But there were lots and lots of shoes for several weeks. It was weird. 

Rogue Shopping Carts

This one is a double edged sword. While constantly finding abandoned shopping carts in your neighborhood can be an eyesore, they also serve a greater purpose. While the fancy towns have Robin sightings to herald the coming of spring, we have shopping carts. You start seeing these showing up in the 'hood and you can pretty much guarantee that spring is here. (Because you can't push a shopping cart home from Price Chopper with 3 feet of snow on the ground. Duh.)

Spring is in the air!!

The Ugly

Drugs

Luckily this doesn't happen often anymore, thanks to the arrests of some key players, but there was a time when we regularly found drugs in our parking lot. Needles, pills, drug paraphernalia...it was there and it was pissing me off because my kids play there. 

Sometimes when I showed people these pictures, people would say things like, "Oh, my grandma uses those needles for her insulin!" or "They probably just spilled their medicine." Um...no and no, Naïve Nelly. Diabetics don't leave their needles all over parking lots. People don't spill random assorted, unlabeled pills all over the steps. This crap is left by junkies, pure and simple. 

The Random

I needed one more category because my last two pictures didn't fit in anywhere. Last fall I noticed what looked like corn randomly growing on the side of our building. Upon further observation and a quick google search, I learned that it was corn!

Growing nicely...

See the corn tassle thingy down at the bottom? That corn looks ready to harvest! No idea where this came from, but we got a good laugh out of it for a solid 3 months. 

So there you have it.  Your own personal tour of life in the 'hood. Spring is coming, so keep your eyes open for those shopping carts!!

That Time I Took the Bus...or Make Sure You Have Your Keys Before You Close Your Locked Apartment Door

We live right in the city. City buses drive by our street all day long. And my kids are fascinated by them. I attribute this to the fact that they go to a school that doesn't have bussing. Buses are like some magical creature to them that pick people up and then magically spew them out a few miles away. So of course, wasn't long before they started asking me when we could take the bus. Something that I had no desire to do. Ever. I thought it would be funny to tell them that Auntie Lori REALLY loved to take the bus. (If you know my sister, you know that riding the city bus is the last thing she would ever want to do.) I trained my kids to constantly ask Auntie when she was going to take them on the bus. When Lori complained that she had to drive to work in the snow, I pointed out that we lived on the snow route for the WRTA and that she could just hop on the bus. I even sent her the bus routes, schedules, and fare information. At this point I should have realized that karma was going to get me, but nope I pressed on with the bus jokes. 

Fast forward a few months. It's the first really hot day of the summer. I'm going to take the kids to the park. We pack a bag, head out to the parking lot, and I promptly realize that I have no keys and the door just locked behind us. Fail. After a few moments of panic, I remember that my sister had an extra key to our apartment. All I had to do was get to Umass, get the key, and get back home. To do this, we would take the bus. (An idea that excited my girls to no end. Mommy? Not so much.) I quickly googled "How much does it cost to take the bus in Worcester?", scrounged change from the bottom of my bag, and went to wait at the bus stop. 

So we crossed the street to wait at the bus stop, while I desperately googled Worcester's bus routes to find out which bus we should even take. (Shoutout to the inventor of the smartphone!) While this was going in, two different people that I knew from the girls' school drive by and beeped and waved. All I could think was, "I am SO Worcester."

Finally the bus came, I paid the fare for all three of us. When the driver noticed this she said, "Why'd you pay for the little one?" I told her, "She's 3. You have to pay for kids over 2." Her response? "She's tiny. Next time don't pay for her and just say she's two." Huh. You heard it here first, folks. You have permission from the WRTA to lie about your kid's age to save on the bus fare. Winning!

We sat down. Near a man who was wearing a long coat, all buttoned up and another man who arguing with himself. Violently. Even though it was 80 degrees outside. (In his defense, the air conditioning in the bus WAS on.) Without incident we get to UMass, get the key from my sister (who was laughing at me), and went back to wait for the bus home. Oh yeah-and I had to borrow bus fare home from my sister. Like I said-I am SO Worcester. 

We're waiting in the little glass bus waiting hut thingy and things start to get exciting. A man who was pounding energy drinks starts chatting with me about how difficult it is to rely on the bus system. (See. I am one of the bus people! I fit right in!) A mom and her little girl came next and sat down. My kids were playing in the sand on the sidewalk at this point and the little girl soon joined them. She was Hispanic with beautiful caramel skin. My kids were pasty the way only people of Scandanavian decent can be on the first shorts day of summer. The little girl walked back over to where her mom and I were sitting and said, "Mama? Why those girls so blanca?" Haha! Now I just happen to have watched enough Dora the Explorer to know that she asked her mom why my kids were so white. Her mom looked like she wanted to die. I laughed out loud. (And I totally empathized with his mom because a few years earlier it was my daughter who yelled out, "Look, mom! An Amiga!" when we saw a Hispanic woman at Target. Again-I blame Dora.)

After what felt like EONS the right bus arrived. Now everyone else riding the bus seemed to know what to do, whilst I was totally clueless. I got us on what looked like the bus back to our 'hood. It starts driving and goes to Target, where the driver yells, "Last stop! I'm off duty! Everyone off!" Um, what?! I used the last of my money for this bus fare and now we are even further from our house than we were when we were at Umass! Apparently sensing my stress, the bus driver said, "You can get back on this bus in 20 minutes." Good Lord. 20 minutes. In the Target parking lot. With two kids. And it's hot out. In my desperation, it seemed like an eternity. Eventually we're allowed back on. He asks me for my fare. What?! I just paid a full fare to go one stop!! Naturally being the Fitchburg/Worcester girl that I am, I started arguing with the driver about how ridiculous it was that he charged me the full fare (For two people only this time. I'm learning the ways of the bus....) to go only one stop. ONE STOP!!! And nowninhabe to pay again! Now at this point I've gone from completely rational to 100 % bat shit crazy.  The driver sighs and says, "Just get on the bus..." What do I do? Calmly get on the bus, right? Wrong. I say, "I don't want your handouts!" and promptly burst into tears. Like I said-bat shit crazy. I picked up L, grabbed A's hand, and started walking across the Target parking lot towards Lincoln Street. With the bus driving next to me with the door open while the driver tried to convince me to get back on the bus. Yup. That really happened. 

After about 500 feet I was too hot and too tired from carrying a 40 pound toddler, so I swallowed my pride and boarded the bus. Where we sat down next to a lovely woman who told me every detail of her child's birth story and then started asking me questions like, "How long did you push for? Did you tear?" Because these are obviously questions you ask strangers on the bus in Worcester. Obviously. 

Finally, FINALLY, we made it back to our 'hood, got off at our stop, and walked one block home. I was exhausted. I felt filthy. This whole adventure had taken us a solid 3 hours. (To go a whole 4 miles round trip...) I vowed to never, ever take public transportation again. Ever. And I also developed a new level of empathy for those who have to rely on public transportation every day. That bus is no joke. 

And because I couldn't find the pictures of our bus trip on my phone. Here's a picture of Tuetleboy. Same time of year. Same city. So it's pretty much a picture of the same thing. 

That Time I Ran Out of Gas or It Really Stinks to be Stuck on the Side of 290 in a Monsoon

My gas light always seems to come on two days before I get paid. Always. I hear that little ding and see that yellow light at the point when my checking account is completely wiped out and I've started playing check writing roulette. (If you are more financially independent than I am, you may not be aware of this game. It's when you are out of money until pay day-but bills need to be paid. Usually things like daycare and school tuition. So you write the checks and send them off, crossing your fingers that they won't try to cash them before payday. Sometimes it works, sometimes you pay the bounced check fees. You win some, you lose some.)

I grew up with a dad who made us refill the gas tank when it got to half a tank. I never really knew what kind of horrors would befall us if we failed to do this, but I always, always kept the tank at half full. But as I grew up, had children, and therefore had less dispensible money, I really started thinking about the WHY behind this practice. I mean, I live in a big city. The second largest city in New England. I have AAA. (Or so I thought...) Was I ever going to be in a situation where gas would be totally out of reach? Because of all these things, I often pushed the envelope when it came to putting gas in my car. My car tells me how many miles to empty. I knew how far I could go after that gas light came on...and how many miles I could go after it read "0 miles to empty," or so I thought...

On this particular day, my car had been 

on "0 miles to empty" for over a day. I dropped L off at preschool and then stopped to get coffee. I drove past a gas station. (OK-maybe the Honeydew I went to for coffee was AT a gas station. Minor detail.) But...it was 37 degrees and raining sideways. I didn't want to start my work day freezing cold and wet. So I pushed on...with a plan to get gas after work. 

As I drove down 290 towards work, it started raining even harder and more sideways. (Can something be "more sideways" or did I just make that up?!) I was in the left hand lane, driving my car, and mentally congratulating myself for being early for a change. Suddenly, my car made a little coughing sound. And then it turned off altogether. In the left hand lane. During rush hour. In a monsoon. Somehow I managed to drift over to the (virtually non existent) breakdown lane, after half the drivers on 290 flipped me off and/or layed on their horns. (Because...Worcester.) At this point, I still wasn't sure what was wrong with my car. I tried restarting it. Sputter, sputter...nothing. That's when I realized. I had run out of gas. Now here's where I had some decisions to make. First I decided to call AAA. Except I couldn't find the card. And when you google AAA you get numbers for AAA insurance and AAA travel, but not roadside assistance. What to do, what to do? I could call Joe-who was at work in Franklin, but then I'd have to deal with him yelling at me for being irresponsible. I couldn't call my dad at 8am-and he lived too far away anyway. Plus, he probably wouldn't be too pleased either. Everyone else was probably at work. So I did what any mature woman would do in the same situation. I sat in my car, in the monsoon, and cried. 

Finally I got it together and called Joe, who, as predicted, was not pleased. I told him that I needed him to look up the AAA number for me. That's when I learned that he forgot to renew AAA. Fail. (Good news though-you can renew immediately online. File that away for future use.) So there I sat. On the side of 290 in Shrewsbury. The road with the smallest breakdown lane EVER. In a monsoon. And every car that came by made my little Ford Focus shudder and blow in the wind. I called work. Told them my car "may have broken down, but probably ran out of gas" and that I was going to be late. 

At this point, I had no idea what I was going to do. I didn't have AAA apparently. Joe and my dad were both too far away. (Note to self: Make local friends who will bring you gas or at least pick your a$$ up when you run out of gas on the highway at 8am in a monsoon.) 

If this next part was a movie, a bright white light would shine down from the heavens illuminating the goodness that was about to happen. As I sat there feeling generally annoyed with myself, I noticed a van pull up in my rear view mirror. My first thought was, "This better not be a kidnapper." (I don't know about you, but whenever I see a white van, my first thought is "kidnapper." I blame the news during the 80s and America's Most Wanted.) A man came out of the van and walked up to my window and asked what was wrong. At this point I decided to 'fess up, throwing aside any concerns about stranger danger and guys in white vans. "I ran out of gas," I mumbled. What does this guy do next? He says, "I have gas in the van. I'll give you a gallon so you can get to a gas station." Always suspicious, I asked what the catch was. Get this. No catch! This was the Commerce Insurnace Cares Van. It patrols this stretch of highway, looking for broken down cars and helps for free. All I had to do was fill out a card rating the service. (Anyone who says New Englanders aren't friendly? Liars!!) So he put the gas in the car, waited to see if the car would start, and when it did, he drove away. (I wish I could say he drove into the sunset or something fabulous like that, but really he just drove onto the mess that is 290 during rush hour in a monsoon.) I drove to a gas station, got gas (just in case!), and then drove to work. Crisis averted. Commerce Cares Van-YOU ROCK!!!

Epilogue:

A week later my tire blew out on that EXACT SAME STRETCH OF HIGHWAY. I'm thinking I might need to adopt that piece of road in an effort to appease the highway gods, who are obviously pissed at me. (Or maybe I should just keep gas in my tank and stop driving into curbs. Meh. It happens.)

Gunshots or Fireworks??

We have a favorite game that we play here in our 'hood. We like to call it Gunshots or Fireworks. Shortly after we moved here, we learned something that had been outside our range of immediate knowledge when we lived in a nicer neighborhood. People in questionable neighborhoods spend a small fortune on fireworks. July 4th is the most obvious time to see this urban phenomenon , but we've also seen displays on MLK's birthday, Memorial Day, Labor Day, and often on July 3rd and 5th as well. (Those people must be working with old calendars or perhaps just struggle with basic math. Both very real possibilities.) On the 4th of July, you don't even have to leave your house. Neighbors will duel with one another to see who can shoot off the biggest and therefore best display. These (literal) back alley fireworks shows come with some added features that you don't get with your city sanctioned events. At the city fireworks you have safety barriers, ambulances and fire trucks on hand, and people who are trained in pyrotechnics. At the back alley fireworks displays you have 12 year olds and drunk men shooting off professional level fireworks with no training whatsoever. That adds its own level of excitement because you never know if the fireworks are going to hit a house, or a car, or all go off at once. My favorite 4th of July was the year it hasn't rained in weeks and the locals started shooting off their fireworks in the 4 foot space between two 100 year old, wooden 3 deckers while I shouted, "You're going to burn down the neighborhood" at them between explosions. These displays also turn into a game of cat and mouse between the people shooting off the fireworks and the local police. It is illegal to own and shoot off fireworks in Massachusetts, so these nights often involve the cops showing up in the areas where these fireworks are going down. Everyone scatters. The cops leave. Five minutes later, the show is back on. Cops show up again. Everyone scatters. This goes on all night long. Because...'Murica.

So fireworks are commonplace in the 'hood. Gunshots are commonplace in the 'hood. From time to time you'll hear what sounds like one or two fireworks going off. This is when you play Gunshots or Fireworks. Everyone present guesses what made the sound-a gun or fireworks. There are a few fool proof ways to win at this game. First, people rarely shoot off just one firework. If you hear just one, the answer is probably gunshot. If it's one of the aforementioned holidays, the answer is probably fireworks. 

Worcester put Shotspotters in certain high crime neighborhoods not too long ago. (Including ours! Winning!!!) These are mounted high up on light posts and send a signal to the police within something like 40 seconds of hearing the shots. (The reason for these being that people in the 'hood often subscribe to the "snitches get stitches" line of thought and no actual person would ever tell on a neighbor for shooting up the street. Enter the Shotspotter aka the electronic snitch.) With the Shotspotter on the case you will often hear sirens almost immediately-letting you know that the winner of the game is whoever said "gunshot." Some days you have to wait for confirmation though-either via the police department's Facebook page or a roadside memorial springing up. (Sad, but true.) If you have friends in the area you can engage in a multi-player, real time version of this game where you hear the sound and then immediately text your friend, "Did you hear that?! Gunshot or firework?!" Always a good time, never a dull moment. 

Keeping lookout, as you do in the 'hood. 

Ten Reasons I Love Running in the 'hood...Or Running the Gauntlet through Drunks and Rabid Pigeons Makes Every Run More Exciting

I run. At least, I used to run before the unfortunate roller derby incident of 2015. And most often, I would run in and around my own neighborhood. I ran during the day. I ran at night. I ran before the sun rose in the morning. There is no shortage of entertainment when you run in the 'hood. Sure, quiet suburban roads are nice, but noisy urban roads have their own brand of awesome.  And Worcester's roads are some of the MOST awesome!

Here they are...the ten reasons why running in the 'hood is awesome...or maybe it should be "the ten reasons running in the 'hood makes you run faster."

1. Any runner knows that satellite signals are feast or famine. Either you magically get a signal on your Garmin as soon as you step outside, or you stand there like an idiot staring at your wrist whilst praying to the satellite gods. In my neighborhood, the best place to pick up a satellite signal is on the street corner. (Thisnis probably also the best place to pick up other things in the 'hood as well.) And it takes forever. I attribute this to the large number of 3 deckers blocking clear access to the sky. One day I was standing here, waiting for the satellite gods to smile upon me, when a local crack head came up to me. She noticed my watch. She commented on my iPod. Then she told me to be careful "because there are bad people in this neighborhood and some of them do drugs." You don't say?? Neighborliness isn't dead...even in the 'hood. 

2. The "satellite signal corner" is apparently a hot spot for 'hood action because at the start of a different run, my sister and I were standing there when a guy came out of the local dive bar and blocked our path. I forget what he was rambling about because it was mostly incoherent, but I do remember that he grabbed our hands and wouldn't let go. My first thought was, "This is why I live in the city. Because at least someone will hear me scream." But no. He just wanted to be extra friendly. He kissed our hands a few times (Note to self: Start carrying hand sanitizer while out running.) and staggered on his merry way. Like I said-neighborliness isn't dead, even in the 'hood. 

3. And speaking of the neighborhood dive bar, this particular place is inexplicably open at all hours. 6am, 10pm, noon-it doesn't matter. If you run by this place, we'll call it the "Ruby Hotel" to protect the innocent (And if you know Grafton Hill at all, you should be able to now figure out the real name of this fancy establishment), there is a crowd of regulars standing outside at all hours. And they are ALWAYS super drunk. So in my 'hood, you have to run the gauntlet past the Ruby Hotel twice during a run. Once coming and once going. Occasionally you'll get dirty catcalls, but most often it's like having your very own (albeit inebriated) cheering squad. They'll cheer for you like you're leading the marathon. They'll congratulate you on a job well done. And the best part is that their cheering section is smack dab in the middle of a hill. So they encourage you to keep running. Because if you stop you are now hanging with the neighborhood cheering squad and while they are fun to run by, you don't really want to stop and hang out with them. Because they will try to kiss your hands. (See point #2 on this list.) But they do have a pretty sweet Mike & Ike dispensing machine just inside the door, so there's that. 

4. So as I said earlier, I often run very early in the morning. And at certain times of the year, this is before the sun has come up. My apartment isn't far from the train station. So when you're running in certain directions you have to run through tunnels that have the train tracks above them. They are actually decently lit, but nothing will prepare you for accidentally running into a sleeping homeless person (Spoiler alert-this will scare the shit out of both of you!) or running by a pigeon that you think it dead, only to have it "wake up" and fly at your face. You want to run faster? Come to my neighborhood. Adrenaline is awesome for helping you to increase your speed.

5. Last year I was binge watching The Walking Dead. So I had zombies on my mind. When you run by the common at 5am, you could swear that the zombie apocalypse is well underway. There are no cars on Main Street. The common is filled with people just waking up and staggering in the manner of the "walkers" on the aforementioned zombie show. It's unreal. And it messes with your head. 

6. Remember my neighbor with the ill-fitting garage? He always has lots of people hanging out on his porch. Sometimes they sleep there. On the porch. If I go running early in the morning, there will sometimes be people sleeping on his porch. And they are usually still sound asleep when I return. I pretty much live for following his shenanigans.  

7. Long runs are the best. Because that's when I venture into new territory and see new, exciting things. On one long run last fall, I was down on Main South. Now most people don't think good things when you say Main South, but here's a little known fact. You will find the BEST cheerleaders down there. People will clap for you, tell you how awesome you are, tell you to keep up the good work, and if it happens to be raining out-they will be doubly impressed. Running on Main South is like being in your own personal parade where everyone loves you. It's awesome. 

8. Of course, with the awesome cheering square comes the weird. One long run down in that next of the woods caused my path to cross with a David Koresh look alike. He had a mullet. He was wearing all white. He was carrying what appeared to be a samurai sword slung across his back. And there he was, just walking down the street like this was a totally normal thing to do on a Saturday morning. It was awesome. 

9. Sometimes you get to see people trying to take steps towards a healthier lifestyle. One time, near that same neighborhood, I saw a man in the distance who was running and wearing what looked like scrubs. Now one very important thing to know about me is that everything is secretly a competition. (I can't help this. I'm just wired that way.) If you're on the treadmill next to me, we're racing. If you're in the pool lane next to me, we're racing. If you're running on Park Ave ahead of me...I naturally want to catch you. So when I saw this guy, I picked up the pace. As I got closer, I realized that he wasn't wearing scrubs. He was wearing acid washed jeans and a Member's Only jacket. As I passed him I realized that he was holding a legit disc man. This guy was apparently running full speed towards 1984. 

10. And finally...the BEST reason to run in my 'hood?! Turtleboy, of course! If getting to run past a celebrated statue of a boy riding a turtle (A turtle who appears to be screaming out in pain, I might add.) isn't motivating, then I don't know what is!!

In the 'hood, The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same (Or that time in 2009 when we saw a whole lot of crazy on our walk)

A few years ago, when Aili was about 18 months old and Liija wasn't even part of the plan yet (Something that I have a hard time believing because at this point it feels like she's always been here and that we were never a family without her.) I used to walk Aili up to a park near our house that had a small playground (and an abandoned city pool that was filled with green water and discarded shopping carts and probably a healthy dose of EEE spreading mosquitoes too). It wasn't far-maybe two miles or so, but those two miles were completely uphill and went through some of Worcester's finest 'hoods. Apparently one day I wrote a list of the top things we saw on our walk that day. And then yesterday? I found that list! Here it is...a little throwback to the summer of 2009 during the long, cold winter of 2015. 

So today I decided to take Aili for a walk up to the park and there was definitely a higher amount of shadiness than usual going on in the 'hood. (2015 note: I have since learned that summer heat brings out the crazy. Ever been in the top floor of a 3 decker on a 90 degree day in July? You'd go crazy too.) Usually we go to the park at 10am before the neighborhood riff raff is up and at it for the day. Today we went at 3pm. Lesson learned. Note to self: Only go to park early. On that note: Here are today's reasons why I love to hate my shady 'hood. 

1. The first thing we saw when we hit the stret was a guy running down the road, in non-workout clothes, holding a flat screen tv with the cord dangling behind him. I'm pretty sure he stole it. 

2. We walk all the way to the playground (uphill...both ways. Seriously. It involves a complicated course to avoid the most traffic and find the most sidewalks.) and all of the swings for little kids were either ruined or wrapped around the bar up top so a 5'2" mama can't reach them. Oh-and one of them had an empty bottle of Hennessey in it. Keep it classy, Worcester. We decided to go to the slides instead, where there was an incredible amount of profanity written in black Sharpie. Note to self: Avoid this playground once Aili learns to read. (2015 note: I forgot about this note to myself until we went up there a few years later and Aili asked me what a bitch was. Oops.)

3. We decided to leave once the creepy 18 year old guy with no kids with him showed up to "play" on the playground while looking shiftily at the kids there. (I don't usually get creeped out by weirdos in my 'hood, but this guy's creep factor was higher than most.)

4. Walking home, we discover that everyone on Plantation Street parks their cars on the sidewalk in the afternoon, so Aili and I have to walk in the street and play a real-life version of Frogger as we dive out of the way of cars going 90 mph down an incredibly narrow street. I think I'm going to write to the mayor and suggest that Worcester's new slogan be, "Worcester-The city where drivers have complete and total disregard for pedestrians." (2015 note: Worcester drivers were recently voted some of the worst in the state of Madsachusetts. A state which is notorious for its bad drivers. That's like being the baddest guy in prison.)

5. The good news is that on a normal day, I notice quite a few empty liquor bottles on the ground. (the flat size that can fit in a back pocket and also quite a few nips.) (2015 note: On a trip to South Carolina this summer, I discovered that calling tiny bottles of liquor nips is a regional term. So to clear things up-those teeny bottles they sell behind the counter at the packie-a packie being a package store.) On this particular walk, there were very few bottles on the ground. So way to go Worcester! Good work on the litter front!! Now what am I going to call the mayor about?? Oh that's right, the parking on the sidewalk thing. 

6. Just as we're almost home, I pass our mailman about a block from our apartment. He seems genuinely shocked and concerned that I'm out walking the baby. This would be the same mailman who routinely asks me, "Are you sure you feel safe living here?" (2015 note: He is not our mailman anymore. We can only assume that he didn't feel safe delivering mail here and requested a transfer to the West Side once he had enough seniority.)

Never a dull moment. Gotta love our 'hood. And here is baby Aili on said playground. Having fun whilst blissfully unaware. (Quality of photo is a direct result of it being taken on a Blackberry.)

What's in a Dumpster...Actually, there's a lot of stuff in the dumpster-and not all of it belongs there...

In Worcester, like in many cities these days, you have to pay for special trash bags if you want the city to pick up your trash. The price of these has climbed steadily over the years and the bags are yellow and kind of see through. If the people who pick up the trash see recyclables in your trash bags, you get a disciplinary note. If you carefully sort your recycling bin according to the city's guidelines and then a homeless man goes through your recycling bin and messes it up, you WILL get a bright orange sticker put on your bin-a scarlet letter so to speak, stating that if you mess up again, the city will no longer pick up your recycling. Apparently I am the Hester Prynne of the Worcester trash/recycling program. So you can imagine how excited I was to move to a building that had its own dumpster. Take that, city of Worcester and your semi-public shaming of those who can't handle the strict recycling rules!

Well, little did I realize that having a dumpster attracts its own set of problems. Yes, you get to avoid the wrath of the zero sort recycling guys, but you also have to deal with everyone and their mother (and their son...and their cousin...and their aunt...) dumping their trash into your dumpster. Because really, if you live in a low income neighborhood in the Woo, chances are you aren't going to want to spend your hard earned money on expensive special yellow trash bags, and if you see a dumpster, it's the ghetto equivalent of hitting the lottery. Except that the people who actually live in the building are paying for that dumpster and everyone else is just dumpster free loading. I've seen cars drive up with trunk loads of non-regulation trash bags. Where do those bags go? Dumpster. There's a woman down the street who makes her 7 year old nephew walk their trash over. Where does he put it? Dumpster. The result of this is that there often isn't enough space in the dumpster for the residents of the building to put their trash. So we end up with overflowing trash and garbage storms (For those of you who don't live in the city, this is when it's really windy out and trash blows around like crazy, like fallen leaves might do in the suburbs.) 

The dumpster is also a favorite resting place of the local feral cat population. Nothing wakes you up in the morning like throwing your trash bags into the dumpster on your way to work and having members of the neighborhood feral cat gang spring out at you-claws flying, screeching, howling. Who needs coffee when you can have a feral cat fly into your face at 7am?! Take that, Starbucks!! Way cheaper than a non-fat caramel macchiato. 

Unfortunately, our biggest dumpster problems didn't come from feral cats or neighbors, but from our own stupidity. More than once we've meant to toss our trash into the dumpster on our way to the car, and ended up tossing the keys in as well. (If Toonces the Driving Cat ever moves into our dumpster, he's going to score BIG!) There's a video of this that my loving husband took a few summers ago (You can hear the concern in his voice. Or is that sarcasm? It's hard to tell sometimes.). This was way back when we had trees! (Trees!!! Oxygen!!! We were livin' large back then!) If you're my facebook friend, then you should be able to click on the link to watch the video. Otherwise, here are a few stills from the video so you can get the idea. 

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=3804610306045

Climbing in...

Almost there...

Even closer...sitting on the edge now...

Inside the belly of the beast!!!

Aaaand scene!

Like I've said before...you can't fix stupid. 😉

Call the Fire Department!...or That Time I Accidentally Became the Neighborhood Narc

  In June of 2007 we had recently moved into our 'hood. Our five year plan for children had recently been changed to a two month plan-and I was already three months pregnant. At this point our neighbors seemed decent, albeit a bit unfriendly with an unusual amount of foot traffic to their apartment. (Hindsight being 20/20, this should have been a sign of things to come, but at the time we were still relatively new transplants to the 'hood and didn't recognize the now familiar warning signs that shit was about to go down.)

We had gone to bed on this night noticing nothing out of the ordinary. It was a school night. (I remember this because I had a field trip the next day that I ended up being exhausted for. Foreshadowing.) At 3am we were woken up by the carbon monoxide detector going off in the apartment above us. We lay in bed for awhile, annoyed that we were up. But as the alarm kept on beeping, we started to get worried. What if the neighbors were dead from carbon monoxide poisoning? (Neighborly-ness isn't dead. Even in the 'hood.) Joe went up to knock on their door and see what was up. Partially because we were concerned about them, but mainly because we wanted that alarm to stop so we could get back to sleep. (I mean, if we're being honest, it WAS 3am on a school night!) There was no answer at their door. That was it! They HAD to be succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning up there. (Also, I have a tendency to jump to the worst case scenario in 2.5 seconds flat.) Time to call the fire department! (aka time for me to become the neighborhood narc)

A few minutes later, the good men and women of the Worcester Fire Department arrived, went up to that apartment, and checked the carbon monoxide levels around the door to the apartment. No reading because the door was too tightly sealed. (A good thing when it comes to heating your apartment efficiently, a bad thing when the fire department is trying to figure out if people are dying from CO poisoning inside said apartment.) We thought that would be the end of things and went back to bed. Because like I said-school night. Five minutes later, just as I was finally drifting off to sleep, I hear a metallic "clink" outside of my bedroom window, so I looked outside and came face to face with a firefighter climbing a ladder to the third floor. Huh. This was followed by the sound of large boots clomping around the apartment upstairs. And a few minutes later? A knock at our door. Time stamp: 4am

I stumbled over to the door in my sleep deprived state and opened it-only to discover several firefighters and police officers standing there. (If answering the door at 4am-pregnant and wearing nothing but a Tshirt and underwear doesn't say, "I belong in this neighborhood" then I don't know what does.) If they noticed my outfit, they didn't mention it. All they said was, "Ma'am? Is the layout of your apartment the same as the one upstairs? And if it is, may we come in?" At this point I sprinted to my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Just in time for several emergency response people to stomp into my bedroom and check out my closet. Oh. My. Goodness. Time stamp: 4:30am

A few minutes later all emergency personal leave the bedroom. What follows is a bit more stomping around upstairs, followed by another knock on our door. (Knock, knock! Who's there?! It's the chief of the Worcester Fire Depetment!) Mr. Chief tells us that our upstairs neighbor has "quite an extensive drug operation going on upstairs" and that the reason they needed to see our closet was that his was blocked off by plastic sheeting and vented out the window with a dryer hose. They couldn't go in without a warrant (which they later got) so they needed to see just how big the closet was. Come to find out, our unfriendly neighbor had a little grow operation going on in that closet. 

But wait! There's more! After the warrant was procured, Worcester's finest found 2.5 lbs of weed, 20 tubs of hallucinogenic mushrooms (The police weren't sure of the street value of these because they had never seen so many in one location before. We're #1! Oh wait, that's not a good #1, right??), and a book called "The Cannabis Grow Bible." But that's not the best part. The reason the carbon monoxide detector went off? Our resident genius decided to rig his oven so that it could run in the self-cleaning setting WITH the door OPEN. To dry his weed. I've said it before and I've said it again. You can't fix stupid. 

When I left for work later that morning, there was a full fledged stake out going on because apparently, neighbor dude had returned from the clubs the night before, seen the police action at his crib, and hightailed it out of town. (Leaving his girlfriend to clean up the apartment after the police left. Classy guy.)

Not sure whatever happened to him after he was finally apprehended and unfortunately I don't have any pictures of this night. But here's a picture of Turtleboy instead because, well, Turtleboy is awesome.