Honey and the Honey Pot

It's a beautifully bizarre day in the neighborhood....

So yesterday I come home from work to find that our next door neighbor, who is opting to take 2 months off and renovate (as in "rip out all the windows and many of the walls" renovate) his house all by himself so the noise can last as long as possible, has decided he needs a Port-a-Potty next to the giant dumpster. On his front lawn. Right next to our driveway. In direct line with our kitchen window, since it makes for such an appetizing view. We might be lucky enough to own a home in Santa Barbara, but that also means we own, as the deed officially says, "+ or - 0 acres." We're pretty sure it's plus. But it gets closer to minus knowing our neighbor is crapping alongside our driveway.

I know, I know, own a house, and you're instantly the old man shaking his cane and shouting, "Get off my lawn you damn kids!"

Luckily, our neighbor across the street kindly brought out the randy young man in me. Our dogs opted to bark like the maniacs they can be, all worked up about her dogs, and when I look out the front window to see what was the matter, she's drying off her SUV--I guess she just got it washed or something. But she's doing it in 6 inch high platform flip-flops, a little cover-up skirt and a string bikini top. It's as if Jessica Simpson has parked the General Lee across the street and decided to film a video. Of course there's a kicker though--my neighbor does her little performance while holding her 6-month-old baby tucked under one arm.

The real world is a bitch.