The One With the Intoxicated Neighbor

About a year ago, I found the perfect home for me. It was a bit of a fixer upper on the inside, but the outside amenities were wonderful. It had a fenced in yard, perfect for my three dogs and the cat who occasionally slips out the door. There was a covered deck out back for me to hang all sorts of plants. It even had a garage! The best part, however, was that it was being offered as a mortgage at a fairly reasonable price. I could be a homeowner.

The only downside? The neighborhood. It is definitely not a place for the feint at heart, and especially if you're a single woman living on your own, as I am. In the twelve months I've held residence here, I have been cat-called while taking out the trash. I have called the police on someone trying to break into my home (while I was inside of it). I have also came across a methed-out neighbor holding another rather questionable dude at gunpoint.

I dialed up the cops like:

Within two minutes, six different police cruisers were pulling in front of this man's house. This included a k-9 officer vehicle with an extremely beautiful black German Shepherd. As a dog lover, that was pretty awesome, but is a story for another time.

Fun, right?

I initially told myself I couldn't stay here. I had to move out. I had to leave if I wanted to feel safe. This was especially true after I began to have panic attacks. I couldn't even walk outside without feeling like I was being watched. Just seeing a person similar to any of these three neighbors was enough to skyrocket my anxiety. I had never been in such a scary state before.

With that said, I am also a very stubborn lady. I did not want to feel as if I was giving into the bullies. Acting very much like the boy in Home Alone as he protects his home from the burglars, I decided to deck out my own with security items like cameras, motion lights, padlocks, and even a number of self-defense weapons that I was more than capable of using. I also adopted a "trust no-one" philosophy.

Today, I feel quite at home once again, but I'm getting off track.

Yesterday, while I was preparing to go into work, I went to the backdoor to get Blue, my 70 pound Dutch-shepherd, inside. I didn't think anything of it as I hollered out to him "Blue, get in here, boy!"

Sure enough, as Blue was making his way across the yard, I hear the sound of someone stumbling across a porch. My dog looked over in question, too. And then back at me. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

At the house next door, I saw my neighbor then, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts. This wasn't unusual for him. He had an irritated look on his face as he watched me. This is the one who, at one point, held the other at gunpoint. Thankfully, I did not see any weapons.

Watching me dead in the eye, he moaned back in a mighty Southern yet incredibly intoxicated drawl:

"I ain't going nowhere! I'm staying right here."

It took me a second before I realized what he had said, or even that he was talking to me. Blue squeezed past my legs and into the door. I about died of laughter after I went inside.

Honestly, the more I think about it, I think I'm going to be okay living here for a while. Yes, the neighborhood is scary at times and the neighbors are certainly questionable but something about it still feels like home.

That, and it's pretty entertaining at times. At least I'm not bored, right?

Is that wrong? Should I be ashamed? Do you think Jesus is disappointed in me? I mean...after all the stuff they've put me through, I couldn't help but get some sort of amusement out of that, right?

No? I'll see myself out.