Yesterday afternoon I was on the phone with a girlfriend gossiping about the latest Facebook drama and getting dressed for ballet when Gray (8) strode purposefully into my bedroom holding a red Sharpie out in front of him like the Olympic torch while Jonas (5) trailed behind, wide-eyed and nervous.

Me: I know, I can’t believe she completely deactivated her account. I bet she was kidnapped and brainwashed by a cult, like in The Following.

Gray: Mom… MOM. Jonas wrote all over a bunch of stuff in the greenbelt with this! Mom!!!

Me: Uh oh… I have to go. *Click* OK, what is going on now? Who did what?!

Gray: Jonas wrote on a bunch of stuff with this pen!

Jonas: *Bursts into tears*

Me: Why are you crying?

Jonas: Because he’s hurting my feelings so bad!

Me: He’s hurting your feelings by telling me you did something really bad?

Jonas: No! He was hurting my feelings outside!

Me: Oh I do not even want to hear about that right now. I want to know what you wrote on and I want to know right now. We are all going outside together to see just exactly what Gray is talking about.

Jonas: *Still sobbing* But he said I poop in my mouth!!!!

Me: *Stopping to turn and look incredulously at Gray* Gray Edward Newlin, I’m going to hope that is not true because it is both unkind and disgusting. Jonas Finn Newlin, even if he did say that it’s not a reason to act like this or to do any kind of writing on anything with a permanent marker. Stop crying and keep up!

Gray led us outside and two houses down to the path that leads to the greenbelt behind our house. He proceeded to sanctimoniously point out five different spots Jonas had graffitied:

On a paver on the driveway of our neighbor’s house right next to the greenbelt entrance.

The railing around the drainage path.

The electrical box.

A rock in the riverbed-style landscaping of the neighbor’s yard.

A concrete block on the path to the greenbelt.

I have to say, I always hoped and dreamed if I had a son who was a vandal, he’d at least be smart enough not to use his own name to deface property, but alas, this is apparently not my lot in life.

When we got to the last one, Jonas was adamant to almost hysterics he had not committed this particular crime.

Jonas: GRAY!!! I didn’t write that one! I know I didn’t! You must have done it! HE DID IT, MOM!!!

Me: I could not possibly care less whether you did that one or not, Jonas! You did all of the rest, right?? You vandalized our neighbor’s property with a permanent marker! How could you do that? Why would you do that? And how could you not know we would know it was you? You wrote your own name!

Jonas: *Seeing my fury and realizing he wasn’t making it any better for himself.* I’m sorry.

I sat Jonas in timeout for a full hour while I used nail polish remover, a toothbrush and sandpaper to try to get the marker off. We attempted to inform and apologize to the neighbors, but they weren’t home.

Last night, after the kids went to bed my anger over the situation had cooled a bit. I was telling Jason the story and looking through the pictures of the evidence when my CSI skilz kicked in. I flipped back and forth between each of his defacements and I realized the handwriting analysis didn’t match. Every signature had a capital A except the one Jo was sure he hadn’t done. My rage reignited, but in another direction this time.

That self-righteous, tattling little shit framed his little brother! Sure, Jonas did most of the damage, and I’m positive he was the one who started it, but Gray absolutely contributed! And then he pointed to his work and told me it was his brother! What a goddamn sociopath!!

This morning when confronted with the evidence, Gray confessed. I feel like I probably just taught him a lesson in how to be a more adept criminal. Next time he’s forging a signature he’ll make sure those letters match perfectly.

Jason (on his cell): Hey.

Me (from the kitchen on the home phone): OK, so is there a trick for making the disposal work when it stops working?

Jason: Well there’s a reset button on the bottom. Did you try that?

Me: No. I’ll try it right now.

Jason: It just stopped working?

Me: Yeah, and it’s kind of a huge problem. I didn’t have much time to get ready for your parents coming today because I had to finish my license renewal that I typically left to the very last second and the house is a total shithole, also as per usual. I decided the best use of my time was to get food to make dinner, but then I got home and both fridges are completely full of like rotting food and moldy leftovers. So I got out a big trashcan and gloves and I cleaned out all the disgusting liquefying vegetables in the outside fridge, like that butternut squash that was turning black and the zucchinis that had dried up and shriveled into zucchini rasins.

Jason: I was totally going to do that last week.

Me: Yeah, but you didn’t, so I did. Even though it’s repulsive and my least favorite thing ever. And then I pulled the like FIFTEEN containers of leftovers out of the inside fridge and stacked them on the counter to empty out and get them in the dishwasher before you get here with your parents. I think one of them is actually mashed potatoes from Thanksgiving.

Jason: Gross.

Me: I mean seriously. What is wrong with us? And then I started emptying the first one into the sink and the disposal worked for a second and then stopped. So now there are 14 containers of rotten, moldy food SITTING ON OUR COUNTER and the disposal doesn’t work. AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Put them back in the fridge??? Put them in a plastic bag, set them in the backyard, cover them with an old blanket???

Voices in the background of the call on Jason’s end: Hi, Elizabeth!!

Me: … am I on speakerphone and you actually have your parents in the car with you right now?

Jason: Yeah… I thought you knew.

Me: YOU THOUGHT I KNEW??? Why would I have said all of that stuff if I knew your parents were sitting in the car WITH you? WHO DOES THAT?! If you’re in the car with other people and you answer on speakerphone, the first thing you do is tell the other person, I’m in the car on speakerphone with my parents. It’s like the most important rule that ever existed! I could have said so many offensive or inappropriate things! Not just the parts about how we live like pigs!

Jason’s mom: Well you already said most of that on Facebook so it’s not like we didn’t know…

Me: Yeah, but I was going to pretend I was exaggerating for comedic effect!!

Jason: I’m sor-

Me: *Click*

Continued from Part I…

Me: The second legs were when everyone really started to hate me for talking them into the whole ‘running 200 miles as a team’ thing. I have to admit, I kind of hated me a little bit when I had to get out of the van at 3:20AM in 30 degree weather to run uphill on a BLACK AS THE SOUL OF SOMEONE REALLY EVIL night. Like it was kind of scary and horrible.

You: ’Black as the soul of someone really evil’? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?

Me: I was going to say ‘Sarah Palin’ but I thought I’d get hate mail. And I’m pretty sure I already lost readers after the last post.

You: Got it.

Me: So after my miserable second run, my team met me at the exchange and sent Will off. I was already near tears of exhaustion and then Lacey said, “So we have good news and bad news. The good news is the next exchange has inside sleeping and pancakes. The bad news is someone hit our van at some point and there’s a fairly substantial dent in the back.”

You: No, she, didn’t!

Me: Yes. And then she slammed my finger in the cooler as hard as she could.

You: Wow, that chick like sincerely hates you.

Me: Well, she said she didn’t actually mean to squish my finger. And it was really my fault for trying to put my finger in it while she was trying to shut it with as much force as she could muster.

You: So then you cried a lot, right? And your team kicked you out of the van because there’s no crying in Ragnar?

Me: Nah. They actually made the dent sound worse than it looked to me, and whatever: INSIDE SLEEPING AND PANCAKES. My standards for joy were far down there at that point. So we moved on to the next exchange.

You: Were there beds and stuff for you to sleep on?

Me: Please. We rolled sleeping bags out on the floor of the Fountain Hills High School gym.

Lacey said, “It’s like the zombie apocalypse!!” And IT TOTALLY WAS. I always like to think I’ll kick ass at surviving the apocalypse, but who are we kidding? I’m sort of a rule follower. I’d be huddled in the gym with the rest of the ‘it’s gonna be ok’ people when the zombie herd broke down the doors and started gorging like at a chinese buffet.

You: That looks miserable. Why do you do this again?

Me: It’s like a slumber party! When it was light out and we’d gotten a couple of hours of sleep, we all got up and sat on the floor of the hallway and charged our phones while Blaine and Will told dirty jokes.

After that Lacey and Blaine went to get their promised pancakes, which inspired maybe my favorite text conversation ever:

Lacey: They’re out of bacon!!!!

Me: Bastards!!

Lacey: That’s what I said when I threw my pancakes at them.

I don’t even think she was kidding.

You: Haha, don’t eff with Lacey. She’ll slam your finger in a smelly cooler and throw pancakes in your face.

Me: I know, right?

Leg three went pretty well for everyone, I think. Although Van 1 was done, so they showered and ate and texted me pictures of their adult beverages. Because they’re assholes. So I kicked them all off the team because I’m the team captain and I’m allowed to do that. And what the hell did we need them for anyway; they were done running.

You:  Magnanimous of you.

Me: Just kidding. Will finished up leg 36 strong and we all crossed the finish line together.

12 Day Drinkers and a couple of offspring.

Van 1 voted my dad The Best Van Driver Ever On Earth. Which is surprising to no one who knows him. We were lucky to have his support. Additionally, he gets extra accolade for his assist on the return of the vans to The Shadiest Rental Place Ever. We cleaned those suckers up, buffed the paint transfer off the back end dent and the rental agent guy didn’t even notice. (Of course this is possibly because my dad was standing in front of it and chatting the guy up while he did his super swift van check, but I’ll never admit anything in a court of law. Also the guy wrote our milage ON HIS HAND. So… it’s also possible they’re lax on stuff like that at TSRPE.)

Good job, Day Drinkers. I love you all and I officially now know way too much about each and every one of you (especially Blaine. Who I have like 5 stories I’d really like to tell about. But each and every one of them is too inappropriate even for this website. Which is really saying something.).

Van 2, Before and After

Me: So I Ragnared this weekend.

You: I KNOW. We’re Facebook friends, remember? You didn’t shut up about it. Like THROUGH THE NIGHT. I almost muted you.

Me: Oh right… sorry about that.

You: It’s cool. It’s not like it’s much different from your usual blabber-mouthyness. How did it go? You were a team captain this year, right?

Me: I was.

To tell you the truth, the last couple of months I was starting to wonder why I’d decided the whole ‘being in charge’ thing was a good idea. It was SO MUCH PRESSURE. Do I have everything organized and ready? Are the van personalities going to mesh? Is Will actually going to die during one of his runs? And then my runners started dropping like flies. We lost a runner due to a hamstring injury like five days before the event! I got to the point where I’d wake up in the middle of the night hoping my spleen was rupturing so I didn’t have to participate at all.

You: Well that’s sad and lame…

Me: Yeah. But then we got in the van Friday morning to head to our first exchange and I remembered: Ragnar is basically a two-day party with running. And um, I LOVE PARTIES. Plus running is pretty cool. So it was typically awesome.

You: I take it it ended up being pretty stress-free and smooth sailing?

Me: Um, OF COURSE IT DIDN’T. Have you met me? It was on the verge of total destruction and chaos, mixed with delirium and hilarity at basically every minute. But that’s kind of how I like things.

You: Alright, give me the highlights.

Me: OK, so next time I go to rent two gigantic vans from the shadiest car rental place ever, I’m going to remember to call my credit card company first so they don’t totally credit-block me because an out-of-character $1000+ charge to ‘Airport Rentals’ smells fishier than a Rocky Point taco stand.

You: Uh, oh…

Me: Yeah, it wasn’t stressful or humiliating at all to have to sit on the phone for 20 minutes with Bank of America while my dad, one of my teammates and two shady rental car agents all watched and wondered if someone was going to be required to cut my card in half while I cried at some point.

You: And that was before all of the running.

Me: I also learned static cling window decals will not stick to the paint of a moving vehicle more than 7.8 seconds.

You: Bye, bye van decorations.

Me: And apparently sliced summer sausage is not appropriate to store in the cooler with the waters and gatorades. I, personally, really like summer sausage, but my sister (the vegetarian) said it was like taking a bite of meat-flavored air every time she opened the cooler. I said, You’re welcome, but the rest of my van voted I’m not allowed to bring my favorite hiking snack: garlic Triscuits, summer sausage and spray cheese, in the van next year.

Their loss.

You: I think that sounds delicious.

Me: You are my best friend. We should totally eat awesome, smelly appetizers together.

You: How did the actual running go?

Me: The running was pretty good. Except our team name, Day Drinkers, just mostly made me depressed that we weren’t allowed to day-drink on the course.

You: Buzz-kill. Literally.

Me: The first set of legs was pretty strong, although van 1 started from Wickenburg at 6AM Friday and the temperature was in the high 20s. They were kind of crabby about that. And my sister’s first leg was 13.5 miles.  So that was kind of miserable.

But she did get a special medal for it:

And the rest of us entertained ourselves while she was running for 2 hours:

When we were waiting for Lacey to come in from her first run so we could send Danielle (our pregnant runner, who should have gotten a special medal for being that hardcore) out, we saw a guy come in whose team wasn’t there to meet him. The poor dude just stood there and looked around like, Are you kidding me with this shit? It was the saddest.

If you look just to the right of Danielle in the awesome purple skirt, behind the lady in green and the guy in the white shirt you can see the top of the guy’s head and his left shoulder. See? Right there? Squint your eyes a little. He’s there.

Sarah and Danielle wanted to adopt him to our team because his team obviously didn’t appreciate his awesome hottness and studly-o-city enough to even be at the finish line when he was done. So for the rest of the day, whenever we saw him we referred to him as ‘the hot black guy’. You know, because we live in Mesa, AZ, so this is an identifying characteristic (I feel like explaining it is actually making it racist. And possibly a fair housing violation. I should have stopped two paragraphs ago. PUSHING THROUGH.) Eventually, though, Will decided this was both objectifying and racist and he deserved a real name, so he dubbed the hot, abandoned, black guy, ‘Antoine’. Because that’s not a completely weird stereotype at all. Sarah shortened it to Tone.

At the finish line when we were sitting around having our $1 beers:

       Will: Hey, Sarah, your boyfriend, Tone is here. *Points to a guy a couple of tables away.*

       Sarah: *Looks over her shoulder.* Will, you racist! That’s not Tone! That’s just a random black guy!

You: …that’s not an offensive story at all.

Me: OK, it’s not offensive to acknowledge that people have a skin color… I’ve dug this hole for myself haven’t I? It’s like the time when I called Sarah’s friend, Dawud, ‘monochromatic’ because he was wearing a dark brown shirt that like perfectly matched his skin tone and everyone acted like I’d told him to sit at the black table or something; WHICH I DID NOT BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE HORRIBLE AND RACIST. IT’S NOT RACIST TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT SKIN HAS A COLOR.

You: Alright Shouty McGee, this is an awkward conversation.

TBC tomorrow…

You know what I just LOVE about Valentines Day? So many things:

1. I just LOVE the fact that the teachers now make the specific instruction that you wrap the shoe box top separate from the rest of the box so it can be removed to accomodate larger cards for the kids’ Valentines box. Because I have nothing else better to do with my life than spend an hour and an entire roll of wrapping paper trying to cover a box so it doesn’t look like a 3 year old did it while my kid looks on disapprovingly.

2. I LOVE all of the candy and cookies and crap they stuff my kids with at school for the ridiculous party to celebrate a fake holiday and then send them home with so I can be the bad guy and take it all away or let them have it so they don’t hate me and contribute to the childhood obesity epidemic. Relatedly, I LOVE that my kids refuse to eat dinner the night of the 14th because they’re too full/sick from candy.

3. OMG, I just LOVE all the ‘I love my shmoopie’ posts on Facebook all day. Sappy over-sentimentality is SO MY THING. Adorable. And not at all grossing me out or creating unrealistic expectations in the general public for how much we should all worship each other if we’ve been married 15 years.

4. I LOVE the chocolate that hangs around our house for the next month slowly gathering in my backfat region.

5. I LOVE the commercials. Oh the commercials, they are just the best. They totally don’t make me want to slit my own throat with a box cutter.

6. I LOVE that Facebook was all up in my business all day with weird suggestions about what I should get my husband for Valentines Day. Why are you so concerned with my marriage, Facebook?

7. I LOVE the pressure to compete with all the other moms to see who can make the cutest, cleverest valentines Pinterest can come up with for the kids in the classroom. You know, because my kids completely give a shit and it’s not just about my own ego and need to be the best at something, anything.

8. I just LOVE that my five year old has Valentines Day confused with Halloween and was indignant when I told him he couldn’t take his school Valentine box around door-to-door to collect more cards and candy.

9. I LOVE the chocolates that look like dark chocolate caramels but are really dark chocolate cherry creams and I can’t tell until the cherry cream is ALREADY IN MY MOUTH.  Those things are super easy and pleasant to scrape off my tongue.

10. The thing I LOVE the very most is the fact that I wake up in the morning knowing it’s been a busy week and I’m just lucky my husband was willing to stay with the kids while I attended 83 social functions and not divorce me for it, so I’m not getting any fancy valentines crap and I’m fine with it because I know he loves me and just hasn’t had time and it’s a stupid holiday anyway, but by halfway through the day, watching pictures of flowers and proclamations of love filter past on social media I’m bitter I didn’t get any love swag. Because I’ve been brainwashed.*

*Jason says he LOVES when he agrees with his significant other that you won’t get anything for each other because it’s a stupid holiday and then the other person violates the agreement and gets him something and he feels like an asshole.

Dear Diary (Blog),

Sorry I’ve neglected you this week! I’ve been super busy being overcommitted socially and generally having a fabulous time eschewing work and all responsibilities. But don’t think I didn’t miss you, Diary! <3 <3 <3

So listen to what’s been going on:

Last weekend I went to a couple of bar-type events. At one we played that fantastic new game, Cards Against Humanity. I have to tell you, Diary, CAH is SO MUCH BETTER than that boring Apples to Apples game everyone is always trying to get me to play, and not just because I almost won the “__________ + __________ = Profit” hand with ‘Tentacle Porn’ and ‘Pixellated Bukkake’*. Beyond the winning, there was also learning, which you know is really important to me. When I got the ‘Seppuku’ card, I had to look it up, but now I will forever have the knowledge of what Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment is called (is it just me or do the Japanese have an unusual amount of ways to commit ‘ritual suicide’? Like maybe I just can’t think of any right now, but I feel like America doesn’t even have one national ritual suicide method.). The point is, CAH is the bomb (people still say ‘the bomb’, right?) and I have to get my own, Diary. I do have to say, though, it was a little disturbing just how much glee BFF Rebecca got out of playing cards like ‘dead babies’. She’s really good at that game.

Anyway, Diary, I also went to this fun/weird dinner thing with some random people I went to high school with. It was just the kind of thing I really like because it involved people I sort of know, but not really, and cocktails. It’s hard to go wrong with a combination like that, right? I also love how you think people are a certain way in high school and then everyone grows up and 20ish years later you realize they’re a completely different human being than the stereotype you had of them in your head.

I did wake up both mornings after these events with a touch of the ‘boy am I loud and embarrassing’ self-loathing and regrets, Diary, but then I realized someone has to be that person or there’s nothing to talk about the next day, so I guess I’m ok with occasionally (usually) taking one for the team. And I’m sure the girl who said to me, “So you think hugging is awkward but you’re fine with randomly grabbing my boobs?” meant it in that, “Wow, isn’t that interesting and not at all invasive or inappropriate!” sort of way, don’t you think, Diary?

So last night, Diary, I went to the Pink concert. P!nk? Is that how I’m supposed to write it? Two days ago I Facebooked about how I want to buy tickets to see ‘FUN’ when they come to Phoenix in September and my sister and Jason were both super humiliated by the fact I didn’t realize it’s ‘fun.’. Sorry, Ironic Use of Overly Casual Lowercase Letters and Punctuation, I didn’t mean to embarrass you by being enthusiastic.

Anyway, Diary, my girl, Pink, was FANTASTIC. No, like really. I think I might have a new BFFAEAE. I’m not saying I’m going to start stalking her, but I’m not promising I won’t either. She’s just so talented and gorgeous and funny and the show was AMAZING. LIKE I JUST WANT TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS FOR AWHILE. THAT AMAZING. Plus, my brother from another mother, Todd E. Merrill, hooked us up with suite tickets so we totally had our own bathroom and could take off our shoes and dance without worrying someone would steal our purses. I kind of don’t think I can go back to sitting in the seats with all the commoners like ever again, Diary. I’m ruined.

It’s hard to dance in shoes this tall, Diary.

Debbie posed us. Didn’t she do a good job? It’s amazing what properly placed elbows and standing up a step from my sister will do, right?

Pink started the show with ‘Raise Your Glass’ and I almost peed myself with excitement because that is my jam. Like when I’m running and it comes on I get so excited because DUDE: I will also never be anything but loud and a nitty, gritty, dirty little freak! I mean I sincerely believe that about myself! It’s like she’s talking to my soul. Or about my soul. Or something.

I bet Pink sometimes wakes up with a bit of the self-loathing and regrets for being ridiculous the night before, too, Diary.

And then she did a bunch of like super awesome acrobatic numbers where she bungeed and flipped on silks hung from the ceiling and there was a ton of awesome dancing and I’m thinking of trying out to be one of her backup dancers, is what I’m saying. She’s almost the same age as me, so if I email her and explain how we’re practically twinsies at heart and that I’ve taken like 5 trapeze classes and also I’m a mom, like her, she’ll probably let me audition if not just bring me straight on, don’t you think, Diary?

SHE’S SO COOL.

Speaking of age, Diary, I was a little nervous going in to this show that we were going to be the only old ladies in a sea of teeny boppers, but it turned out the show demographic was mostly 30-50 year old women. Plus, there seemed to be a significantly high percentage of lesbians in attendance. Although this last fact really shouldn’t surprise me, I guess, considering 3 of the 6 women in my group decided to add Pink to the list of their celebrities they’re allowed to sleep with if they ever get a chance, after the show last night. I can’t tell you who, because I’m not sure they’ve all alerted their husbands of this list alteration yet, Diary, but their names rhyme with ‘Who-lian’, ‘Fo-fecca’ and ‘Schwebbie’.

Whew. I think that’s most of the dirt, Diary. It’s been a fun week. I promise I’ll update you more often from now on.

Love and Kisses,

Elizabeth

*You’re not allowed to be offended that I wrote that because if you already know what it means you’re just as bad as I am and if you don’t then you don’t even know what to clutch your pearls about anyway. Unless you just Googled it to find out… don’t Google it.

You know how we’re always like: Dude, HOAs are THE WORST. All they do is fine us for leaving our garbage cans out 10 minutes longer than we’re supposed to and raise the monthly fees. I have to submit a ream of paperwork just to put up a goddamn shed in my own backyard! If I saw an HOA-Nazi’s golf cart burst into flames, I wouldn’t spit on it to put it out.

Well last weekend I showed this house in a cute Non-HOA Tempe neighborhood:

Nice, right?

Unfortunately, this was the house to the left:

Ah yes, holiday lights in February. Also I’m pretty sure the inspiration for the color palette was my favorite ice cream, mint chocolate chip.

Even more unfortunately, this was the house two to the right:

There just really aren’t words, am I right?

I wanted to take some closer-up pictures, but there was a guy wandering around the yard watering stuff who looked way crabbier than someone with a purple house and a yard full of precious moments angels really should. You’ll have to cope with a zoomed in version:

It’s fairly amazing.

The point is, next time you’re paying a gypsy to curse your HOA for the tedious misery it’s constantly wreaking on you, just remember; you could be living next door to that, with absolutely no recourse.

This is the story I’m going to tell any client from now on who wants me to show them a vacant house after dark:

Yesterday afternoon I showed a large, vacant house in Gilbert to a family I’ve been showing property off and on for awhile now.

I unlocked the front door and the group immediately split up to investigate different areas of the house. The husband, Kevin, went to see if the yard was big enough. The wife, Ashley, headed into the kitchen to see about storage and upgrades. The sister, Amanda, entertained Kevin and Ashley’s 2 year old son by following him up the winding staircase. I meandered around downstairs.

Ashley: The kitchen is pretty nice. 

Me: Yeah. Not the worst we’ve seen.

Kevin (coming in from the backyard): The yard is way too small. And this house is way too big.

Me: It is massive. Like 4200 square feet.

Ashley: I’m going to go look at the backyard.

Kevin: I’ll check the garage, just in case it’s awesome enough to make up for the yard.

Me: I’ll go with you.

Kevin walked over to the door that separates the entryway and the garage. I stood just behind his shoulder, ready to walk in behind him and evaluate cabinets and epoxied floors. Kevin turned the knob and swung open the door and I saw a silver sedan in the garage. This was strange, because the rest of the house was totally devoid of furnishings, but it’s not completely unheard of for a seller to park a car they’re not using in the garage of a house they have for sale. But before I could step in for a closer look Kevin slammed the door shut and turned to face me, wide-eyed.

Me: There was a car in there…

Kevin: There were people in that car.

Me: WHAT?! There were people in that garage???

At this point the showing turned into what I’ve always been sure would happen eventually. I just always thought the creepy murderer guy would be hiding in the attic instead of the garage. I briefly berated myself for not mastering some form of martial arts that would allow me to take on squatters hopped up on meth. I thought about the pink pepperspray key chain I’d been given years ago and where it could possibly be now.

Kevin: Yes. At least two. They were sitting in that car, drinking.

Me: We need to get out of this house.

Kevin: Yes, we do. RIGHT NOW. 

Both Kevin and Me: ASHLEY!!! AMANDA!!! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. GO GET INTO THE CAR. NOW!

Ashley and Amanda: WTF??

I shooed everyone through the front door, locked it tight and backed away from the house, shakily. When I turned to get into my car and drive away from whatever illegal scariness was going on inside, I realized the sprinklers had come on while we were in the house. Of course one of the sprinkler heads was broken and a giant fountain of water was shooting up in the air and landing directly on my driver’s side door. This is when I had to have a short conversation with myself about the pros and cons of getting murdered vs. getting my outfit and the inside of my car a little damp. As I’m here to tell you this story, you can guess which I decided to go with.

Later the listing agent returned the frantic voicemail I’d left her about how she should probably call the police because her listing was not secure. She explained that the seller had moved out of state, but had left behind a 17 year old son to finish out his senior year by living with his grandma. She guessed the teenage son and his girlfriend had broken into the house and were up to shenanigans in the garage. It was definitely a less disturbing possibility than the nefarious Gilbert gang/drug/murdery situation I was envisioning.

But I think the point is: I’m going to find that pepperspray. Or buy a new one. Or maybe buy 5 new ones. And learn karate. And stop showing vacant houses after dark.