Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Neighborhood Blahs

My neighbors are having a big block party right now. J and I were supposed to go, we RSVP'd. Last year we had a great time, did shots out of a little bottles stolen off of an airplane and each tripped over a lawn chair at least once.

But he is at a funeral. I don't much feel like going.

Our neighborhood isn't quite as nice a play to live as it was a year ago. Not because of a bad element moving in or robberies or anything like that. A year ago I liked most of my neighbors--enjoyed talking to them. Now, there are very few that I can stand to even look at.

It started small. Little disputes over the homeowner's association. Rude comments. Weird shit honestly.

I don't want to live here anymore. I don't like almost anyone. Our house is alright, but the yard is too small. And I really really hate the homeowner's association.

I have learned a lot about myself and about J from living in this place. What we need in a house, what we like in a community. What kind of shit we will put up with. Not much is the answer.

We live in a suburb. But I am not very suburban. I don't drive a minivan. I vote Democrat. The last way to get me to do anything is to say, "but think of the children." I do not wear Keds.

And those sort of women are lovely I am sure. They seem nice. They invite me to Pampered Chef parties and talk about wear to get the best deal on tiolet paper. But I don't have much in common with them.

I guess I am a different kind of wife to my husband. I like to talk about sports and politics. We enjoy each other's company.

I am never going to be the kind of wife that complains to the girls about how her husband likes sex too much. Or isn't it awful that he plays video games. I want my husband to be happy. That is why I married him.

I don't understand the kind of woman who lives entirely for her family. Who keeps nothing for herself. I don't want to be that kind of person.

So I find that I feel less and less comfortable in this place. And more and more eager to leave.

Only a year to go.

5:15 p.m. :: comment ::
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