Our neighborhood

seems to be in a constant state of construction. We live on a fairly quiet street in a very small town, so you'd think that sitting outside would be an enjoyable experience. Right now I am listening to no less than 5 different types of power tools, a lawnmower, a leaf blower, and a fucking annoying barking dog that is going to take a dirt nap if he doesn't shut the fuck up soon. It sucks. I can smell paint or stain or something, the old man w/ the yard bordering ours is out watching his son mow the lawn and bellowing instructions at him, the dudes working on the house across the street are chattering to each other in a language I don't understand - but somehow it all sounds crude and vulgar - and the mean gray cat next door is yowling.
See people? This is why I was inside, minding my own business.
There are 2 houses across the street from us, multi-families - the Dirt Houses, we call them. The people who live there are always ALWAYS outside on the front stoop, smoking, drinking cheap beer out of cans, and throwing some sort of ball around in the street, shirtless, barefoot, and dirty. The guy who lives there that is seriously always out there has been shirtless and barefoot since March, no joke. Seems like a nice enough guy, I suppose... but don't they have to go to work at some point?
Anyway, it's strange - the rest of the neighborhood is nice and well kept and tidy, until you come to the Dirt Houses. Apparently in the eighties the 2 houses were occupied by Hells Angels, and the cops refused to come up to this neighborhood b/c it was too dangerous. This is coming from the Dirt Grandmother though, so who knows how true it is - she was well into her third paper bag when the story was told so it may be a bit embelished.
What a boring blog. Sorry.