Menace II Society...or at least the Homewood Public Works Department

You might not want to be here. You might be somehow linked to me and deemed dangerous. Just thought I'd warn you.

Because ladies and gentlemen, you are at the blog site of a real troublemaker. A threat to the greater public. A menace to society. Someone who has *almost* been charged with... misdemeanor criminal misconduct.

But, in the end, wasn't.

Actually, the policeman was quite friendly and we parted ways shaking hands, but, he probably just shook my hand because I am ONE CRAZY UNPREDICTABLE MENACING BITCH and he was totally scared of me.

And so our story begins...

Soooooo I kind of was late paying my water bill. It's not that I didn't have it, or anything. It's just that, when it arrived in the mail, I was in the process of attempting to move and get things looking clean and clutter-free. So rather than paying it, I just stacked it to look aesthetically pleasing to the eye, to deal with another day. Somewhere, between that fateful day and the due-date, it got misplaced and fell out of my head entirely. On Monday when I sat down to open mail and pay bills, I had the angry scarlet letter from the Village, stating that if I didn't pay it like REALLY REALLY SOON they were going to shut off my water. I left work 15mn early to be sure to get my check in before the office closed for the day. Crisis averted.

But not.

On Wednesday, my husband Dave, who has been working night shifts this week, came home bleary-eyed and cranky to a shut-off notice hanging on our front door. Our check was neatly paper clipped to it with a note saying that since our payment was late, they would only accept cash. If cash was not in hand by 11 a.m. on Thursday, our water would be shut off. Dave called the village and left a message complaining (since they clearly had no problem using one of our checks to pay for vehicle stickers the same day, and since I'd have to take off work to deliver the cash during their hours).

When I got home from work, I saw the notice, and, not knowing Dave had called them since he was sleeping, called the Village to complain as well. I explained that I understood their policy but thought they were being a little exceedingly difficult about the whole thing, and asked them not to turn off my water before I could get the cash to them first thing in the morning. I may have ranted on a little, dished out a little sass, but I was super polite.

Thursday morning I ran to the bank, got to the Village Hall, and explained my situation at the front desk. Everything was going fine, until the receptionist took a look at my name on my account. Her lips pursed, her eyebrows furled, and her eyes peered at me all squinty-like with that look that shouts "I'm totally judging you right now."

I continued my kill her with kindness approach but I got no warmth in return. Odd.

I ran home again to meet a contractor who was supposed to arrive to mudjack my front porch. (Which somehow sounds dirty and involves injecting concrete in to a hole.) I had just gotten out of my car and was making chit-chat with my neighbor when a squad car pulled up in my driveway like a bat out of hell.

He got out of the cruiser with his hand on his walkie talkie holster like he was ready to draw it and aim it at me. "Mrs. Parry? I need to speak with you privately, please."

Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, I went all cold and sweaty and immediately felt like I used to being called to the Principal's office. Or that one time I got arrested for trying to buy pot in Ford Heights, even though it turned out to be mint leaves.

The policeman, who I embarrassingly note is the same guy who's been called to my house for a party that was too loud, a fireworks incident, and a "controlled burn" brush-fire incident, (ok it sounds like we're maniacs but I swear we're not!!!), informs me that he's here to talk to myself and my husband about a complaint made against us.

By the clerk at the Village of Homewood Public Works.

She, apparently, felt really threatened since we both called her, and since I also came in this morning (albeit to pay the bill.) She was really "freaked out" that I knew her name and used it on the message I left for her (it said her name on the voicemail as well as on the shutoff notice) and in this day in age of people bursting through doors wielding guns she just didn't feel safe without having us given a stern warning to have no further contact with her.

SERIOUSLY? SEEEEERIOUSLY?

Ok, I know what you're thinking. This makes no sense. Surely we had to be complete psychopaths on the messages we left to warrant this kind of reaction. I wish I could tell you that were true, because it would make my brain hurt way less than it does now from trying to wrap it around this situation.

Granted, my husband is British. And I suppose anything he says could be misconstrued as smarmy, insulting, or villain-like, just because of his accent. I get that.

Also, if I'm going to be fair and fully disclose everything, apparently he used the words "bloody hell" and "shite". But...a visit from the police? A warning?

The officer, had me call Dave on his cell phone so he could extend the warning to him as well. Apparently, the clerk graciously decided to let us slide rather than attempt to press charges. (Yes, seriously.) In all fairness, he seemed pretty embarrassed to be standing there. Like he should be wearing an "I graduated the academy and all I got was this lousy voicemail complaint" tshirt.

Or maybe that was just fear on his face. Because this here crazy bitch warrants police action. I am a....

(and I think the best part of this entire blog is my awesome photoshopping. hahahahaah.)

Awkardest of all awkward - the first post.

I used to post the odd blog on MySpace from time to time. Somehow, posting the occasional random story I felt was worthy of sharing felt less... ***LOOK AT ME!!!*** than starting an actual blog. But keeping a blog there would require people (including myself) actually participating in MySpace these days, and I'm pretty sure the only people left there are bands, 15 year-olds, and Eastern Europeans. I could be wrong*.
*Don't tell me if I am though, cuz I'm spread out way too thin, what with actual work, checking people's Facebook statuses, their uploaded photos, and silently loving the glorious fact that the mean girl in junior high has really ugly babies to add one more thing back into my schedule of internet procrastination.

Are there rules of etiquette for a first blog? Like, do I outline what you should expect from me?

Well here's the thing. It's all a bit hazy at the moment, and I'm counting on it taking shape as I go forward. It will either do that or lay abandoned for a year until I don't remember my password. I see that seems to be a common problem amongst bloggers, since every URL title I tried to come up with seemed to already be taken by someone who had never actually posted a blog or been back to their site since coming up with a title.

What I do know is, I don't pretend to be interesting enough to have lots of things that people will want to read about. But interesting things do tend to HAPPEN to or at least be observed by me. Since junior high, people have told me I should write a book. True to my slacker form, I'll just settle for a blog instead.

Also, feel free to leave lots of comments, but I'm totally going to delete the bad ones, just like on YouTube where the occasional obnoxious kid who speaks in text lingo tells me that I'm a horrible mother because I have a video of my son throwing a temper tantrum and me laughing at him. Either I delete your crappy comment, or we will argue until I force you to like me. Just pretending it never happened will be a lot more comfortable for both of us.

Finally, I can't say I don't foresee offending people. If you're one of them, sorry bout it. But if you cool off and step away from the situation, I'm sure that you'll realize you kinda deserved it.