Poppy Mom

I hate my town

St. Louis is a city of neighborhoods and suburbs. The neighborhood part, I can handle. Neighborhoods in the city are great. What I can't stand is the fact that, outside the city limits there are roughly 3,472 individual townships that comprise a good portion of the city, most of them with populations under 6,000. You get all the bad things about living in the city - traffic, noise, high prices, crumbling infrastructure, along with all the bad things of being in a small town - nosey neighbors, Barney Fife patrolling the streets with his one bullet tucked safely in his pocket, small-town politics.

I live in one of these little townships. Population, just over 4000. And tonight I got to witness the bi-weekly spectacle that is municipal court, thanks to the stupid trumped-up ticket initiated by my perpetually drunk neighbor. My good neighbor, Boy's Mom, had a ticket for the same charge. She appeared in court two weeks ago and pled not guilty. She had to reappear tonight for trial and I was summoned as a witness. How convenient, since tonight was my initial court date to pleed not fucking guilty.

I've never been to court. Ever. The closest I've ever come was when I've gotten the occasional speeding ticket and then I send an attorney. Well, all two times in my life when that's been applicable, I've sent an attorney. I had no idea what to expect tonight. In fact, I was in a bit of a panic this afternoon because Clara "Judge Wapner" Jane's lack-of-nap schedule hadn't allowed me a chance to take a shower and wash my hair. I managed to eek out a quicky hair-washing while she screamed at the side of the tub.

Turns out, I really had nothing to worry about, as my hair was easily the cleanest in the courtroom, although the judge was sporting a pompador a la Lee Mace from the world-famous Lee Mace's Ozark Opry.

Since I've never been in court, maybe you can answer me this: do judges usually wear large diamond-studded pinky rings on both hands?

Anyway, the last time I saw this much acid washed denim I was doing the Cabbage Patch to "Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car" in my high school cafeteria at the '88 Informal Spring Homecoming Dance. I figured that all that acid probably ate through the last of the denim sometime around 1994, but it turns out that in my little township, the acid never, ever destroys the denim. Must be because we're encased in a bubble of jet exhaust from the nearby international airport, which also causes extensive brain damage.

And here I had taken the time to bathe, wash my hair, put it in an updo, brush my teeth - with toothpaste, not gin, use deodorant - not gin, put on makeup, for God's sake, and wear real pants (not jeans) and a shirt with actual buttons on it. Shit. Half of my fellow defendents were wearing sweatpants. I can say without hesitation, doubt or vanity that I was the cleanest, best-dressed person in the room.

Since I was one of the last ones on the docket, I was treated to a parade of people in court for driving without a front license plate. Dude, there are some states where everyone drives without a front license plate! I wonder if those states have laws where they drag you to court if you have a license plate on the front of your car. If not, how do they make any money? There were also lots of tickets for people driving 32 in a 20 m.p.h zone. Amazing how they all hit 32 m.p.h. on the dot, ain't it?

When Lee Mace called my name, I pled not guilty and was sent to a corral to meet with the prosecutor. I got lucky in that he's a dog person and has owned hounds in the past. He's familiar with their noise. Basically, I'm on dog probation for a year. If we let our dogs out at night, we have to go with them, which we basically do, anyway. I expressed my concern about the drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff claiming that my dogs were barking at times when they're not even outside. He suggested that I speak with my councilperson, who can act as a mediator.

Sounds fair enough, right?

Here's where it gets completely fucked up.

I left the court room to pay my court costs. Not thrilled about that, but hell, it's over and done. Or so I thought.

I just got off the phone with Boy's Mom. Since our cases were so similar, I was relieved of my duties from testifying in Boy's Mom's case. The drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff was there for Boy's Mom's trial ... along with her pal, our councilman. Great. He's going to be a fair mediator, don't you think? The drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff dropped the charges against Boy's Mom.

After the trial, the drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff told Boy's Mom that she didn't have a problem with them, that she has a "vendetta" against me. Why? Because the day the charges were issued, the drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff's idiot son was shooting his paintball gun over the fence, into our backyard. I didn't see it, but Boy's Mom did, and she called the police. The drunken retarded redneck neighbor plaintiff is under the impression that I called the police, so she's "out to get" me.

Fuck.

I'm fucked. I share a fence with a fucking drunken psychopath who's now admitted she's out to get me.

My dogs are inside, and that's where they're going to stay. Privacy fence is going to be built this weekend. I'm so freaked out that I'm seriously considering looking into a restraining order. And for what? Because she thinks my dogs bark all night.

MY DOGS ARE IN THE MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE EVERY GODDAMN NIGHT, SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR BESIDE MY FUCKING BED!

Anyone wanna buy a house? Cheap?

Posted by Robin at March 1, 2005 06:47 PM | TrackBack