My street might as well be named, “Drama” Drive,…maybe, “Wrong” Road,… how ’bout, “Tell ‘er off ” Tnpk, …hmmm- “Beeyotch” Blvd?…wait!- “REAL TREAT” Street? maybe…”Lighten Up” Lane! and finally, “Hit The” Hwy!
What’s scary is, fire arms are legal here as are the fireworks, but these three houses that surround the ‘Office’ created enough ‘sparks’ without a purchase! Oh! I think I forgot one! “WTF?” FREEWAY!
I have never seen so much unnecessary drama in my lifetime, as I have, since moving in. What makes it difficult, is that they’re all very nice people, with very good points! It just seems there are 3 or more sides to each story, and no one is allowing each other to Talk! It seems that this has been an on going dilema for the past 12 years, and my moving in, as sort of stirred the cul-de-sac pot! Why? Because they all feel they can talk to me, share their stories of war casualties, and expect me to remain a bipartisan supporter!
So let me get this straight-… I’M the NEW guy- and I’m given the KEYS to the Old Jalopy, that holds all the gossip and war stories in the trunk, and I’m supposed to know where I’m going with this Jalopy, and not talk to strangers along the way?? What??
First of all, even if this old Jalopy had a New GPS- there’d be no getting around this. There is a ‘Pink Elephant’ in each and every living room in this ‘Old West’ neighborhood! So I did what I know everyone secretly hoped I’d do: I told each of them the other’s Shit! I just know how to do it, diplomatically!
I made each one of them want to know MORE. I also turned and twisted and rearranged the furniture a bit, in each one’s living room, so that ‘pink elephant’ would have a bit more BREATHING space. I made each one look at the other’s point of view, without letting them know that I’d even TALKED with the enemy!
After all was said and done, and all 13 kids and 8 adults had had enough of walking on egg shells- I did the final lap of the neighborhood. Visited all homes, spoke my ‘pieces,’ prayed to God that none had seen me walk in and out of the other’s house- and then I came home. What did my husband do? He shook his head. You HAVE to know, how much I HATE that. I threw my hands up in the air at that point, and said, “WHAT??” With that, I went upstairs, got ready for bed and proceeded to lose my voice.
Yes, … I can blame it on the Smoke from the Distant Fire of this, ‘Gunsmoke-like’ Neighborhood , with all the negotiating I’d done, I wound up sounding like a sick frog on the air on Friday. That’s the BAD news, and I’m still not recovered- still “croaking,” and tomorrow’s Monday, the start of another week. Nothing worse than not sounding like yourself, when you’re on the air. Actually, Yes… the worst thing is, trying to talk when on the air, and having NOTHING come out. That’s where I am, right now…but-
The GOOD news is, the neighborhood has holstered their weapons! They’ve met, they’ve all agreed to disagree, but it’s amicable! It’s the closest they’ve come to amnesty, in 12 years. My work is done here. I need to go polish my badge. Spit-shine, spit-shine. The Marshall’s Office is now Closed.