Welcome To My Neighborhood: Part 2

I wrote a story about the neighborhood I live in, and it turned the place upside down. Accusations of abuse, illicit drug use, coat tail riding and excessive dog hair. All of these accusations have been directed toward me, all because I said what I wanted to about people whom I choose not to socialize with anymore. They have called me every name you could imagine and even took on different personas to verbally (I use that term very loosely) abuse my wife and children while responding to the story that is posted online. I wish this story wasn’t true, but seriously, I can’t make this shit up.

Facebook. A virtual place to network, reconnect and catch glimpses of peoples lives, if you allow them. I “friended” a few of my neighbors on Facebook, but never have I considered them my friends. It was more of a gesture of kindness rather than I-want-to-get-to-know-you better gesture. I would post stories and links to my writing and when they would see me on the street or at the bus stop, they would compliment me, tell me how funny and talented I was. I don’t take compliments well, no matter where they come from, but I was still pleased that people enjoyed what I wrote. I never pretended to be their friend, nor has my wife or children for that matter. I despise hypocrites and ignorant people drive me bat shit and in my opinion, that’s what some of my neighbors turned out to be. So I wrote a story about the neighborhood (changing all the names to protect the stupid), the way I see it, through my eyes. I un-friended them on Facebook and then the shit hit the fan.

Leslie, who is the forty-something-frosted hair-muppet sounding-coochie flashing-Bon Jovi fanatic emailed my wife and asked her why I un-friended her on Facebook. My wife didn’t respond and she never asked me the numerous times we would cross paths at our childrens bus stop. She read the story which was posted on my “blog” (by blog I really mean a place to park my stories until one day someone would pay me oodles of money for them) and wrote several nasty emails to me, telling me that I was a “horrible person” and she is going to “pass the story to the entire neighborhood, so they can see how horrible I really am.” My first thought was “GREAT!” More people will get to see my writing. My second thought was, “is she really going to show this to other people? I mean, she flashed her forty something BonJovi loving vagina to people, does she really want to admit that?” Apparently she does.

Shortly thereafter I received an email from Nickleback’s wife. Nickleback is another character in the neighborhood, who would rather blast a song about a blow job at one in the morning than get one from his wife. Now if I spoke a paragraph worth of words to her in three years, that would be generous. Her email was laden with psychological evaluations, and scolding me for “dragging people’s character through the mud”. My retort was “the names are changed, do you really think someone in Tuscaloosa, Alabama reading my words are going to know who I’m writing about?” And asking me why I “moved to the neighborhood in the first place.” Really? I’m going to assume that there is an equal opportunity housing code somewhere that states you are not allowed to tell prospective buyers of a home that at the other end of the block live people who will judge you because you don’t hang out with them. It’s not like you can Google the neighborhood and get the douche bag factor of a certain house. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have moved here in the first place. Get it. You don’t know what you’re getting into when you buy a home, it’s like the biggest gamble of your life, but we all take the risk and have to deal with the consequences. Oh, Nickleback’s wife didn’t send another email, she got the point. And this was just the tip of the coochieberg.

Days went by and I started getting strange comments on my blog post. Really strange. They were from a “writer” named “Jeremy”. He was telling me that my writing was too negative, I have no ethics and he was keeping me on watch, I was going in the “book of those who write negative”. Being the most inquisitive person I know, I started doing some research. First was to check the email address of the person leaving all of this gobblygook. The blog site I use as I’m sure most of them are like this, require you to leave an email address if you are going to leave a comment. “Jeremy’s” email address was there and it was his entire name at gee mail. I thought wow, that was easy. I Google his name and guess what, nothing. I then email “Jeremy” and ask him who he writes for and where I can view his published work. He never responds. On this site they also list the IP address and I thought, awesome, at least I can see where this alleged writer lives. I Google the IP address and you’ll never guess where it was located, yes, the town I live in. By the power of deduction I figured it to be one of two people, Coochie Flasher or Tight Walls. But Tight Walls is a neanderthal and can barely form a sentence. That only left one suspect, the one who sounds like Gonzo from the Muppets sucked helium while riding those really bumpy roads on a test track. Coochie Flasher Leslie.

My wife then receives an email from the big horticultural hypocrite across the street, the one who thinks the word decapitation is not age appropriate, but condones violent video games for her first grader. This email was also drenched with accusations of abuse and psychological evaluations. We had no idea that we lived on a block full of Dr.’s and PhD’s. The hypocrite had explained to my wife in this email that she notices signs of abuse happening to my wife and children. Really? And this is the first you mention it? You don’t say anything for almost a year and now all of a sudden she gets called on her shit and the accusations fly? Funny how she left her son with me numerous times this past summer, so she had no regard for his safety? Again how much more of a hypocrite can you be? In my opinion, none, she is like Rush Limbaugh and Ted Haggart, two of the biggest people who talk out of the side of their mouth for a living. Meanwhile her son, who will lie about almost everything, told her that my son looks sad all the time on the bus. We asked our son and he said “I’m not sad, I’m happy”. But hypocrites son said you were sad on the bus and his immediate response was “he cut in front of me on the bus last week, that’s why I was sad”. Straight from the mouths of babes. So no more communications has happened between us and her, good thing because I couldn’t stand there and be silently judged by this horticultural psychologist, she should stick to talking to plants.

The comments on my story were getting more frequent, more personal and more libelous. Leslie was now making wild accusations, alleging that we broke our daughters arm on purpose and that we neglect our children. Again, if you’ve noticed all of this abusive behavior and haven’t contacted the proper authorities, what good are you as a parent yourself? She said that I drink as much as her husband Dean. Yes, I enjoy beer every now and again, and I even get drunk on a very rare occasions, but to be dependent on alcohol to deal with listening to Bon Jovi and a Muppet voice constantly, I am not. And the last time I checked I didn’t need a breathalyser installed in my car to prove to the ignition that I was sober. Nor did I have to ask Club Mommy to blow in it to start the car so I could get more booze. Yes he did ask her to blow and not just in the breathalyser.

More comments were being posted which added more hits to my blog. She was emailing this story to everyone she knew. Hundreds of people on a daily basis were checking in to see if anything else was being written. I was at the bus stop one morning with my children and Tight Walls Dean decides to wake from his Jim Beam slumber to take his daughter to the bus stop. I’m standing there with my children and he comes up from behind me and gets way too into my personal space and asks in a Chicago-guido way “You got a problem?”. Last I checked I don’t have any more problems then the average person on the street, but this is no average street. I tell him “No, you have the problem, deal with it.” He goes on and on about how I’m fuckin’ this and I’m fuckin’ that, all in front of the children. He didn’t have the common decency to wait until they were on the bus. But I’m the loser, no one likes me. Good thing because with friends like him, well you get the point. He also tells me that he’s been in my house and saw excessive dog hair, and how filthy I live. Really? Well I’m sorry that I have dogs and I was on vacation, thanks for letting me know. Oh, did I mention that his tight walls only lasted a week or two before his basement flooded. Yes all the bragging about how it took him almost a year to finish his basement and get the tightest walls ever, were washed away because you didn’t service your sump pump. Thought you might like that. Anyway, things are getting heated and he’s getting more aggressive.

Words are exchanged and he screams “I’m gonna kick your ass!”. I ask him to, “please, please kick my ass.” He gets in my face, literally, his nose to my chin, like Ivan Drago and Rocky Balboa, yelling at me to hit him, while flecks of Jim Beam spittle jump off his mouth. I don’t move a muscle, I’m staring him down and begging him to hit me. He says “I’m not gonna do it!” What? All this for nothing? He just proved what a giant douche bag he really is. I mean who says they’re gonna kick your ass and then get to the stare down and not throw a punch? Tight Walls, that’s who. I haven’t been in a fight since the eleventh grade and back then I got my ass kicked, but the last thing I was going to do was back down from a bully in front of my kids. The children get on the bus and he still did nothing. He and his wife are obviously a match made in one of the seven layers of Hell, she flashes her pussy and he is one. I feel sorry for their daughter, I just hope they can keep her off the pole.

After that incident there was a brief lull on the blog. I went to New York and my wife was going to the bus stop with not a word uttered to her. Fantastic. It’s over. But little did I know what was going to happen next. It’s Halloween, I’m at my mothers apartment and calling to check on the kids and wife to see if there is any ding dong ditching, toilet papering or egg throwing happening to my house. The neighbors had no idea that I was not home. I’m checking my email and low and behold what do I notice? More nonsensical comments from the Coochie flasher on my blog. Telling me the the neighborhood is wondering where I am and that I’m too much of a pussy to answer the door. I proceed to email her and tell to leave my wife and kids alone. No more email responses from the queen of the silent vagina monologues.

I then notice an email from our phone company telling me that I have a new voice mail. We have our voice mail sent to our email so we can hear it wherever we are. I didn’t recognize the number, but the voice was unmistakeably familiar. It was a female Muppet, with the slur of a drunken sailor, I’m surprised I didn’t hear Bon Jovi in the background. She went on a two and a half minute rant about how “the neighborhood wants me to come to the door so they can kick my ass” and “where are your wife and kids, are you beating them?”. Then there was this “momentarily you will have people at your doorstep, I’ve called the Lake In The Hills Police department and they know you, the neighborhood talk will be whether or not you answer your door you puss”.

I call my wife and ask her if the doorbell has been ringing and she says yes, but she has not answered it, it is Halloween, so a ringing doorbell is to be expected. I hang up and think that everything is OK, the neighbors are drunk and being the people that they are, douche bags. Then I get a phone call from my wife. Tight Walls was at our door ringing the bell incessantly, screaming for me to come outside, my wife told him I was not here and to just leave. He, being the belligerent disrespectful drunk that he is, starts to yell and curse at her! Calling her bitch, asshole and the ever sacred never call a woman word, cunt. I tell her to call 911. She made the phone call and they are on their way. While she is waiting for the Police a second phone call is made and this one is even more vile and nonsensical at the same time. The Coochie Flasher is sounding more drunk saying things like “I have friends in the police department, I asked if I could toilet paper your house and they gave me things to talk about, miss fashion K-Mart.” “They all know how psychotic you two are, you are really nuts. Everybody knows you!” and then the icing on the crazy cake “your husband was kissing me, he told me how much he hated you! He know all about my dry pussy because he stuck his dick in it!”. Now that’s about the most craziest thing I’ve ever heard of, seriously, I’d rather bang my Dyson vacuum then some big assed, Bon Jovi loving apparently dried up forty something year old pussy.

The police arrive and my wife is telling them the story and playing back the voicemail for the officer, when out of sheer stupidity the doorbell rings, and guess who it is, Tight Walls. Did he not see the police car in the driveway? How much of a drunk do you have to be? That has to go down in history as one of the dumbest things to do, ever. Gee officer I didn’t notice your car in the driveway, I’m here to harass these people, that’s OK right? Well the officer answered the door and said “You’re exactly the person I want to talk to.” With that being said the officer leaves and takes Tight walls to his home, three houses down. We did not hear anything for about an hour. My first thought is that they were showing him my stories. And guess what, they did. More fans for me!

I’m on the phone back and forth with my wife asking her what’s going on and she has no idea. I’m getting frustrated, nothing is being done. What the hell could they be doing down there? Finally the officer arrives and tells my wife that she does “have a case of telephone harassment, in Illinois it’s a Class B misdemeanor, would you like to press charges?” And my wife’s initial response was “no just tell them to leave us alone”. What? Really? These people will never leave us alone, until we move, which we planned on doing in the very near future. I ask her to reconsider and logically explain the circumstances. The only way these people will stop is if they are told to stop by the authorities. My wife agrees and guess what, they went down to the Coochie Flashers house and arrested her. Handcuffs and all. My wife had to wake the kids and go down to the police station to file a report. That’s almost enough justice for me, but to top it all off, her husband couldn’t pick her up, he was too drunk to drive. All of her neighborhood posse that was going to get me and all of her “friends” on the police force, left her there. In the only pokey that she has experienced in a while. Finally, Nickelback’s wife and an older man, come to bail her out on two counts of telephone harassment.

Since that night not one word has been muttered, not one doorbell rang, not one phone call made or one keystroke posted. All is quiet, until, maybe, Part Two.