The Pussy Posse

Johnny was over at Jimbo's last night again, still working on that room. Apparently it's in bits and he has to button the plaster down and everything -- isn't he a good neighbor? Well, yes he is, but that's not the reason why...

The old tenants in Jimbo's house -- the ones that just moved out and left the place a shambles -- were relatives of this other family in the neighborhood. Let's call them the Clampetts. While Clampett Jr. lived at Jimbo's, Clampett Sr. took to parking his car in the spot in front. Now that Jr. moved out, Sr. still parks there.

This is something of a pattern with the Clampetts. When we moved in, Nephew Clampett was parking in our spot. We'd sporadically ask him to move, but we had no success until Johnny's friend John B. (hoist up the sails) realized that he'd known Nephew in high school. They'd gotten in a fight, in fact, and John B. bit Nephew on the head. So the next time John B. was visiting and Nephew parked there, John B. went over and said hello. Haven't seen Nephew's truck in our spot since.

So Johnny happened to be over at Jimbo's when New Tenant asked the Clampetts not to park there anymore. Mrs. Clampett refused to move, shrieking "I've been parking here for forty years!" Not true. We've lived here for three and she only started parking there when her daughter lived there.

But the Clampetts called the family, and they all came over. And when Johnny came home to get some tools, they drove en masse and boxed in New Tenant's car with theirs. Five of them.

We heard shouting and we looked and realized what was happening. Neither of us really wanted Johnny to get involved -- I would not have sent him out there if it were happening at any other time -- but he'd just come from there, and he said he'd be right back. He couldn't very well abandon her just because trouble had started.

So he walked out with his bucket in his hand, walked right past the Clampetts, nodded hello, and went into the house. The Clampetts, leaving their cars where they were, went home.

Johnny sent New Tenant over to talk to me, so I could tell her what I knew about the Nephew situation. Flustered, I plum forgot to invite her in when she knocked on the door, and we both stood on the front step for a minute, chatting. When the Clampetts saw us standing there, they all came out and stood on their front step, arms crossed on chests, trying to stare us down.

We finished our conversation anyway, and she went home. About an hour later, Johnny came back again -- this time for a smoke. While he was here, the Clampetts went to claim their cars. You think it's a coincidence they make their moves when they believe he's gone home for the evening?

So he stubbed his cigarette and walked through them again. Nodded, said hello, and went back in Jimbo's house. Not starting trouble but trying to end it. Letting them know that there are ways to go about being neighborly to a single mother...

And calling out the pussy posse isn't one of them.

Won't You Be Mine? Take 2

Dang, that'll teach me to just hit "Publish" when the phone rings. Here's an edited version. Sorry for all y'all who suffered through already...

When I got home from work just now, there was this big black pickup truck parked out in front of our house with a big burly bearded guy hopping out of it. He was headed across the street but turned when I pulled up in front of him and shouted "Is that in your way?"

"No," I hollered from the driver's seat. "You're all set!" But by the time I was out of the car he was on his way back over.

Crap.

See, we don't have the best relationship with our neighbors. Not all of them, but several. We've been told by other locals that their dislike of us has to do mostly with the facts that #1. they've all lived here forever and we haven't; #2. they wanted the AssVac and we bought it; #3. they wanted us to give them money when we moved in and we didn't. Ta da! The Montagues and Capulets it ain't, but there you have it.

We especially don't like the people that live across the street. They're -- well, how can I put this? I wouldn't be terribly surprised to have TV crews show up on our block because one of these goony goo-goos was caught in the act of setting cats on fire. (I believe that is the technical term for it, is it not? "Goony goo-goo"? Ref. Eddie Murphy, Raw?).

Anyway...

So this guy -- this big burly guy with a big burly beard on his big burly head who had gotten out of his big burly truck and headed for the goony goo-goo house -- was now heading straight for me and saying something about painting. I couldn't understand what, precisely, because there were too many cars going by behind me, so all I caught was:

traffic noises traffic noises "... paint your house?"

Oh come on. We'll get to it, all right? Go burn a cat or something, will you?

I turned to look at the AssVac over my shoulder (and I'm looking at this version of her, remember...

... not the nice, still-in-one-piece version from the old picture above). I cupped my hands around my ears to indicate I hadn't heard, and said the only thing that sprang to mind.

"My husband's a painter."

Very good, sweetheart! And you are a writer and Mommie Dearest is your mother and Khurston is your sister! Here, have a spearmint leaf...

I don't know where I was going with that comment. Might have been a "we'll do it ourselves, thanks" deliberate deflection. Could have been a "Cobbler's children have no shoes" sort of apologetic shrug. Just possibly it had a hint of "I have a husband and he's huge and eats burly thugs like you for breakfast so please leave me alone" mixed in there (and don't you like that I at least said "please" in my imaginary not-quite threat?).

Whatever I meant by it, though, this is what the thug said in reply:

"My name is Jimbo, and I own the house across the street. The tenants that were in there for the last few years are moving out -- thank god, they made a disaster of the place, the scumbags -- "

(hey, he said it, I didn't)

"I haven't got anyone moving in until September, and I'd really like to find someone to look after the house for me till then. Most of the folks around here are old and dying [sad, but true], except for the scumbags [also true: they're frightening young and virile-looking] -- and this Polish lady over here is just a lulu!"

[Also true. "The Polish lady" (although I thought Lithuanian) would be the kitty-corner neighbor who pounded on our door one night wanting to sell us meat. Long story. Actually, no -- that's pretty much most of it right there...]

"Anyway, if you wouldn't mind just, you know, keeping an eye out, I've got a mess of pipe scaffolding I'd be happy to lend you -- you know, in exchange -- whenever you plan on painting."

"Yeah!" I gasped. "Of course we'd be happy to keep an eye on things. Even without -- you know. But I'll tell Johnny about the scaffolding. I don't know if he --" I have (finally) learned not to speak for Johnny about anything regarding his profession, so I cut myself off.

"My name's Erin, by the way -- Johnny's my husband."

"Yeah, I see him around sometimes. I see you, too. You guys are always working on that house!"

Ah, go on...

"So -- Erin, is it? Jimbo," he said again, and stuck out his Hagrid of a hand, which I shook.

"Nice to meet you!" I enthused, perhaps embarrassingly.

"Likewise," says Jimbo.

And we went our separate ways.

Well, what do you know? A real, actual, honest-to-god neighbor. A big, burly, you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours neighbor right here outside my house. I shook his hand and everything!

Too bad he doesn't actually live here, but still.

Jimbo. Huh.

It might not have been a bad idea to get a last name. Or a phone number.

Ah well. Here's hoping nothing too terrible happens to his house. At least not while I'm in charge...