Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

Nevermore -- ain't that for 'sho!  Some relationships just aren't meant to be, and this one is done.  Done, dead, over, finito.  Who'd have thought I'd be initiating a break up just two weeks before my wedding?  And that my fiancee would be totally, 100% on board?  Yep, even my soon-to-be husband agrees it's time for me to say adios to R. the hairdresser.

Burn me once, shame on you.  Burn me twice, shame on me.  Cut a chunk of bangs on one side of my head that looks like I fell asleep chewing bubble gum and had my blind 96-year-old Grandmother cut it out -- after being explicitly asked to JUST TRIM MY DEAD ENDS AND NOTHING ELSE -- two weeks before my wedding?  Shame on... well, just shame.  A crying shame (and oh did I cry!).  But even I could have forgiven an honest mistake (or admitted it doesn't really look that bad)... had R. made any attempt to make it up to me.  What I can't forgive is that, after five years of loyal patronage and sending him four now-regular clients and goodness knows how many others, R. did not even bother to return my tearful message.  Nope, he had his assistant call me back -- LAME.  It was well below a C effort and really, at this juncture, I'm only interested in A's or above.

So we're moving on to better things, like handing out Halloween candy to what we've been told will be at least 100 neighborhood children.  My fiancee, who is giddy with excitement and dressed like the Hamburgler, just asked me, "Are the parents going to think we're the weird house instead of the cool house because I'm dressed up?" (Probably.)  He really wants to be the popular house for Halloween on Woodward Way, which is why he insists on giving out full-size candy bars so we gain some street cred with the kiddos -- though we may be missing the mark because the second most excited kid was the one who took the banana, which we put out as a joke.  Anyway, about the street cred: I do think it's working - we've had massive crowds already and only a few of them have laughed at my bangs.

The Masked Crusader was totally supportive of me throughout the bang ordeal and with my ensuing decision to call it quits with R. He's super sweet to the trick 'er treaters, too, whereas I insist they take only one item or else the demon who lives under our stairs will likely follow them home.

 

So maybe my hair didn't look so great pre-haircut, either; nevertheless, I'll consider going back to R. when this skeleton rises us out of his grave and gives me a full-size Kit Kat,  like the ones we're handing out.

The nerve of some people!

A few days ago, this shameless fellow had the nerve to poop on my front lawn and then happily trot up to my front door, where I was watching him through the window in horror.  He and his buddy were frolicking their way up and down The Way, leaving no bush or Herby Curby safe and with no owners in sight.

I was talking to my friend Erika at the time and we agreed that -- despite how mad it makes us homeowners to see a neighbor-dog relieve himself Number Two-style on your turf -- no amount of poo makes these types of yard signs acceptable.

What  IS acceptable, however, is the call I'm putting in to Wade Blasingame.

Gone Baby Gone

The only neighbor we've really bonded with is L*., seen in this picture snuggling up to my fiancee. (*Name abbreviated here to protect the innocent)

L. used to come over all the time. She would show up at our back door and meow to tell us "hello!" before sunning herself on our porch.  Sometimes she would greet us at the front door and rub against our legs.  Needless to say, we adored L.

Then, one day, I heard what sounded like violent homicide coming from our bushes.  I ran outside and watched in dismay as BDNC (Back Door Neighbor Cat, another truly UNFRIENDLY neighbor with whom I've had several a run-in), sped off as fast as his guilty legs could carry him.  My dismay slowly turned to horror a few moments later when L. sheepishly creeped out of the bushes.

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING?" I shouted. "NO, don't answer that. I KNOW what you were doing, you little hussy!"

I called our sweet little neighbor kitty a hussy, and now we've never seen her again.  That was weeks and weeks ago.  She's gone.  We have a couple of theories about where to.
#1 - She hates me for what I said and simply refuses to come back around (as she should... who am I to judge, when I myself am living in sin!?)
#2 - Her owners "sent her to Europe to study for the semester" -- and we all know what that means!
#3 - She and BDNC ran away together to California and eloped. 

Seriously, L.'s gone.  My fiancee says he recently saw the guy next door holding a kitten -- her love child? Or her replacement? I hope it's one and not the other, because I really can't bear to think something bad happened to her.

We miss you, L.  You were the only one who seemed to notice we were here.  Come back, and you can do whatever in our bushes anytime!

Enemy, Thy Name is Squirrel

Show me a squirrel anywhere near my home, and I'll show you my nasty side. You may even hear a curse or a threat come out of my mouth. That's because of a series of events that unfolded back in August, revisited here, for your reading pleasure.

SQUIRREL PART 1

AUGUST 4, 2009. MY MOTHER'S FIRST VISIT TO THE HOUSE. WE OPEN THE DOOR, AND LO AND BEHOLD, A SQUIRREL IS SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM JUST STARING AT US. WELL, STARING, UNTIL ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. HERE'S A LETTER I POSTED TO FACEBOOK:

Dear Squirrel who is currently terrorizing my office:
Thanks so much for giving my mom a welcome tour of mine and W's new home that she will never forget. There was nothing greater than opening my front door and seeing you freeze in your tracks over near the doorway into our office. The little poops you left everywhere are fabulous too. And now that you're hiding, I just hope you know how much I love having you in our office to wreak further havoc on our computer and all my wedding planning folders.
Love,
C

SEVERAL HOURS LATER. IT TOOK LITERAL POKING AND PRODDING TO GET HIM TO COME OUT FROM BEHIND OUR FILING CABINETS.

Dear Squirrel,
In the words of Taylor Dayne, saying goodbye is never an easy thing. I'm sorry it took W 7-8 violent pokes from the end of a Swiffer to persuade you to finally walk (haul a$$) out that door from behind our file cabinets, but we figured an abrupt departure was better than dragging things out... you know how much I hate goodbyes! We'll miss you!
Love,
C

P.S. Never come back.
************************
WE THOUGHT OUR TROUBLES WERE OVER, UNTIL...

SQUIRREL PART TWO

AUGUST 12, 2009 - LETTER TO FACEBOOK

Dearest Squirrel,
It was so good of you to "drop" (down our chimney) back by again today! What a glorious surprise to hear you perambulating up and down our office blinds again! I have to admit, many folks thought you'd come back for another visit, but I truly thought when you said goodbye it was forever. Forgive me my shortcomings as a hostess! Next time I'll be ready for you with a glass of lemonade.
Love,
C

P.S. That lemonade will be spiked with weedkiller.

********************

He left evidence of his journey throughout our house all OVER the house!

 

He had a time running around on our computer keyboard. At one point he Googled the letter "L." We can only assume he was trying to type "liberation," or "locksmith." (I broke my key off in the door trying to open it to let him out!)

One of four window sills he mutilated.

His hiding place until he was poked out.

********************************

The exciting conclusion to our squirrel saga? After visit #2, we called an exterminating company's Wildlife Division.  They came out and convinced me that not only did we have a home ripe for squirrel drop-ins but that we had access points all over for other errrr, creatures.  Needless to say I was the perfect sell (AKA sucker!) because I just opened up my checkbook in fear (and I, of all people, should know better!).  The good news is we should be critter-free from here on out, though the dead chipmunk in our front yard this past weekend made me wonder.

The 500-Year Flood

We move to Woodward Way... I start a blog called Woodward WAY-WARD... and then our street suffers some of the worst damage by what folks in town are now calling "The 500-Year Flood." Now I'm not saying the Great Flood of 2009 and my blog are related in any way. (Nor is the fact that I haven't written in nearly a month related to the Great Flood.) I'm just saying it's an interesting coincidence....

On a serious note, we felt very fortunate to be on higher ground during the flood, which occurred on Sept. 21, 2009. We had a tiny bit of water in our basement, but it was cleaned up very easily. Our hearts go out to our neighbors and all others who were not as fortunate, and especially those who lost a loved one because of the flood.

Yep, those are the tops of stop signs in the back of the picture, and that's a black mailbox on the right.  Earlier that morning I turned around in that driveway... by the end of the day, the water was too high to even get down the street.

For context, here's the same view of the street after the waters receded.

 

Lesson learned: instead of cursing the steps I climb each day from the carport to the back door, be glad our house is on high ground. 

Lesson #2 learned: never buy in a flood plain!