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. 

Keep Worcester Clean…or That Time I Became the Neighborhood Snitch

Three Decker aka The Main Housing Option in the Woo

For those of you not from the Worcester area, this is a three decker. Also called a triple decker. Or a three deckah. Back in the day, I'm fairly certain that 3 deckers were built to jam as many people as humanly possibly into densely populated urban areas in order to provide local housing to the large number of workers needed to fuel the industrial revolution. Today, the industrial revolution may be long gone, but the 3 deckers still remain. In 2015 they still serve the purpose of jamming as many people as possible into densely populated urban areas, while allowing the tenants to enjoy a relatively large living space at a relatively low price. This 3 decker actually isn't in my 'hood. Despite living smack in the middle of a cluster of 3 deckers (the "hole in the middle of the donut" so to speak), since you know, I can't walk right now due to the aforementioned derby incident and a boat load of snow, this photo stolen from Wikipedia will have to suffice.

Anyway, one of the best things about 3 deckers are the huge laundry windows out back. Almost all 3 deckers follow the exact same floor plan. (So if you've been in one 3 decker, you've essentially been in them all.) They have an enclosed rear stairwell/porch area that has this huge window that opens and closes with a giant sliding wooden "door". (I scoured the internet for a picture of one of these and couldn't find one. There are at least 6 of these about 10 feet from my building and I can't get outside to take a picture. Worcester fail.) Originally, a close line thingy was attached to the house here and you would slide open the window/door and hang out your laundry. Today, most of the clothes lines have broken off, and most people go to the laundromat anyway, so these windows have been used for more creative pursuits. In our 'hood, this is generally the place you go to argue with your significant other late at night so as not to wake the kids sleeping inside (Or as we like to call it, where we go to watch the nightly installment of the live action soap opera "As the 'hood Turns…). Or it's the place where you sit with your boys and drink cheap liquor when your girlfriend throws you out of the apartment. (And in m 'hood you don't bother recycling those cans and bottles. You just chuck them right out of said laundry window.) And in some very specific cases, this window becomes your method of waste disposal. This is how I became the neighborhood snitch.

At the time, our porch overlooked the backside of three 3 deckers. We would sit out on that porch, channeling Francie Nolan from a Tree Grows in Brooklyn…aka the BEST book in the history of the world. (A tree grows in Worcester?) From our awesome vantage point, we were able to see some pretty incredibly sights. Like this evil squirrel, who was known for stealing donuts from the Dunkin's dumpster and running by with an entire donut in his mouth.

Evil Squirrel. Fat from excessive donut consumption. Note the glowing red eyes.

And my personal favorite, the neighborhood car detailing center…

Hard core business doings going on here.
Please excuse the quality of this picture. It was taken on a Blackberry. Remember those?!

Well, one particular nearby 3 decker contained residents who like to get their drink on mid-day and follow that up with crazy shenanigans. These included throwing bags of trash (in the yellow city trash bags that you have to PAY FOR!) out into the backyard from the 3rd floor. Because if you are actually going to pay for the city trash bags, you might as well just toss them into the backyard instead of, you know, PUTTING THEM OUT ON THE STREET so that the trash truck will pick them up. (I would think that if you put any thought into just tossing the garbage into the back yard, you'd just use dollar store trash bags to save money…) Eventually, this must have gotten old, because one day while we were sitting out on our little oasis in the 'hood, the neighbors appeared in the back window and started tossing out small appliances. Mainly old TVs. So essentially at this point our porch was overlooking what was essentially a third world landfill. I had officially had enough. I consulted the Google and called the nuisance control board (Yes, such a board really does exist.) and complained about my neighbors and their shady trash disposal techniques. The person I talked to that day obviously hated their job or just the city in general because they were 100% unwilling to help. (I may or may not have given them a talking to in my best angry teacher voice…) What to do? What to do? Once again brushing off my best Nancy Drew skills, I got in touch with a friend who "knew people" (important people) in the city. She hooked me up with a direct phone number that went to an actual, Worcester loving person. I called. We had a nice chat. And she promised to look into the situation (after I begged her not to tell them who called. Because you know-snitches get stitches and all that…).

Imagine my surprise when just a few days later, I looked out of my bedroom window and saw the tenants of that apartment cleaning up their backyard. Under the watchful eye of city workers. It. Was. Awesome!!! The 'hood never looked so sparkly and clean!

A few days later, a package from the city arrived in the mail. It included Worcester pencils, little Worcester trash bags for picking up litter, Worcester coloring books, a Worcester growth chart for charting your child's height, and several Keep Worcester Clean bumper stickers, one of which I promptly stuck on my daughters' Cozy Coupe. Because nothing says, "My mom is NOT the neighborhood snitch" like a KWC sticker on your slick ride…

Keeping Worcester Clean…since 2009

The Mercury Incident or Who Needs TV When you Live in the 'Hood?!

An alternate working title for this story could be, "Why does that tree have legs?" (Keep reading to find out why…)

This was a good time in the 'hood. We had just moved across the hall to a bigger apartment (which prompted my husband to continuously sing the Jefferson's theme song…you know, about the deee-luxe apartment?). We had a new baby. (Eeee! So cute!) And best of all? Moving across the hall gave us a new view! New neighbors! New shenanigans! It was like upgrading to a better cable package and suddenly discovering the amazing shows that had been just out of reach all along.

So it was the fall of 2010. I was home on maternity leave. Not sleeping ever. Watching a lot of daytime television while attempting to take care of myself, a two year old, and a newborn. Never leaving the house. (Whoa. Sort of like now, except the kids are 4 and 7 these days.) Anyway, one day I woke up to an incredible amount of chaos in the school parking lot next door. (Yes. We live next door to an elementary school. Which somehow hasn't deterred multiple neighbors from growing and selling drugs in and around our building. Sheesh. You can't fix stupid.) Imagine my surprise when I looked out of my window and found this.

The Red Cross?! This can't be good!

And this….

A little Environmental Protection Agency action?! I smell a meth lab!

There were also multiple network news trucks reporting from the street. You just KNOW something terrible had to go down to see all of this action on your street. Well, being the sleuth that I am (I was a HUGE Nancy Drew fan back in the day! Ned! So dreamy! And that car! *swoon*) I immediately looked out to see which channels were currently reporting live and then put that channel on the TV. (Genius, right?!) The "crime"? A student had allegedly brought some mercury into the school. Not a lot. Maybe the amount you would find in an old thermometer. But enough to shut down the school for days at the start of the new school year.

Now one thing you need to know before I go on. I have this neighbor. You know, the enterprising man who built the (entirely up to code) "garage". Well, enterprising is probably the best word to describe him. He also build an entire deck out of old wooden pallets, upon which he hung a sign stating that he was "looking for young boys to do odd jobs," which set me on a feminist rant about "why weren't girls good enough" until I realized just how creepy that help wanted sign really was. He also allows local businesses to pay him for "advertising" and then hangs giant signs advertising their businesses on his house. (And yes. Multiple businesses actually do this.) Now, this entrepreneur was not about to let this golden opportunity pass him by. An environmental "disaster" is an obvious gold mine! So what did he do? (Here is where I REALLY wish I'd taken a picture. You're going to have to paint a picture in your mind for this one…) Apparently, Mr. Pallet Garage took a little field trip into some nearby town where they actually have trees (my money's on either Holden or Shrewsbury) and ripped some (rather large) branches off of someone's (formerly) nice apricot tree. And there he stood. On the street corner by the news trucks. In his ripped off, Gilligan's Island style pants, holding these massive branches filled with apricots, which standing next to a sign that read, "Fresh apricots-50 cents." No lie. Like I said before…you can't make this stuff up.

As part of a (self-created) anthropological study, I watched this guy for a bit. No one was buying his apricots (Shocker.). The news people were giving him nervous sideways glances and you just KNOW they were talking about how they couldn't wait to get out of Worcester. But this guy was not about to give up! The good thing about having a mobile apricot tree is that if no one's buying, you can just walk your tree closer to the action. So he did. Like I said-entrepreneur.

The mercury clean up action went on for a few days. Apricot guy eventually gave up and started selling furniture items on the street instead. When that didn't raise funds, he just started giving stuff away.

Who wouldn't want a free roadside toilet?
Five bucks said someone tried to use this during the week it was on the street!

And the show goes on…never a dull day in the 'hood...

32 Days...

It's been 32 days since my roller derby drill gone incredibly wrong. 31 days since I had surgery to put all the pieces together again. 30 days since I arrived home from my little adventure in the great state of Connecticut. 30 days of sitting on the couch, staring out into my 'hood. 30 days of thinking about how I've always meant to start a blog about life in my little corner of the 'hood and all of the exciting things that go on here. So here it is. My life in the 'hood as a mom, a runner, a domestically challenged wife, a derby girl, and a teacher. We moved here in 2008, when children were part of our "five year plan." Two months later, children were suddenly part of our "two month plan" and we had a mortgage on a one bedroom condo in a questionable part of the city. Living the dream! That first summer, I started noticing some strange goings on in the 'hood and realized that this neighborhood was story telling gold! My first clue? At the time there was a factory of sorts next door. They fixed wooden pallets. You know. Those wooden things that goods are shipped on? Well, suddenly I noticed that the three decker next door had amassed a large amount of these pallets (either legally or illegally-that's still up for debate). They sat there, in between 2 three deckers for about a month. As the size of the pile approached the height of the first floor windows, I debated reporting them to the city, but at this point I still wanted to avoid becoming the neighborhood snitch (That quickly changed…). What followed was about 24 hours of non-stop hammering. When I looked out the window the next day, I was surprised to see a "garage" built out of these deconstructed pallets with some sheets of tarpaper stapled on top.

Behold! My neighbor's "garage"!

Good stuff, right?! "Sided" with old plywood that didn't quite reach the top. Sandwiched amongst three buildings in a densely populated area. There isn't a thing wrong with this situation! And although you can't see it in this picture, there is a rickety wooden ladder leading to the roof. Those bottles you see scattered up there? Beverages that my neighbors drank and left up there while relaxing on their new and entirely up to code oasis in the ghetto.

Now, I figured it would end here. There's no way it could get better than this. So imagine my surprise when I woke up to MORE hammering the following morning! I stepped out onto my porch that overlooked this little gem and laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants!

Math. It's important.

Yup. When my neighbor went to put their car in the "garage," they discovered that the door wouldn't close all the way. I guess they'd neglected to measure accurately-or measure at all. That hammering I heard? My neighbors cutting this hole in the front of the "garage" so that they could close the door behind the car. You can't make this stuff up. I laughed all the way until the snow fell because once those little helicopter things started falling off the trees, they stuck to the hood of the car, totally defeating one of the purposes of having a garage. And yes, this happened 7 years ago and I still share these pictures with my class when we start learning about measurement and why it's important to learn to measure accurately.

So there you have it. The start of our life in this part of the city. Always a good time! In time I've come to love my neighborhood, but I still get lots of laughs out of the neighborhood shenanigans. Including these from my pal Turtleboy...

Turtleboy. One of Worcester's most-loved citizens.