Sub-Urban Living

So. I live in a slightly transitional area. Not quite urban, not quite suburban. Sadly, not rural at all. What this means is I have a neighborhood watch group and a liquor store on the corner. I have easy access to public transportation and street parking in front of my house.

Well, the parking. Now that is a story. It's important to know that my block is suburban enough so that I know everyone's business through the gossip grapevine. And, everyone knows mine. Which mainly involves trying to figure out which one of the neighbors I am related to. I look nothing like my Aunt's girlfriend and even less like my Aunt. Also there is that I lock myself out of my house wearing only a robe and I never wash my car. Gossip is powerful. Not powerful enough to convince me to clean my car. But powerful.

So, the latest news is the guy on the other side of my Aunt's house. He is an outgoing guy, friendly enough. I forget his name. Which is okay, because my understanding is that he refers to me as 'the girl in the yellow house'. For the record, my house is green. So, friendly guy that can't bother learning my name or my house color stopped by my GREEN house a few months ago to get me to sign a petition that allowed him to create a handicap parking space. Fine. Then he paved over his yard so he didn't have to deal with grass. Fine. I don't like the look of concrete lawns, but unless you have an effective grey water system in place I don't like the idea of you watering your lawn all the time either.

The other day, while sitting on the porch sharing a sandwich with the tiny dogs, I noticed some construction going on at the friendly guy's house. On closer inspection, I noticed he was putting in a driveway next to his house. Fine. Oh wait. He now has one spot designated handicap parking and just took away another parking spot to create a driveway. This is going to create some issues.

The thing you should know about the sub-urban slightly transitional areas is that people are really, really, really particular about their parking. When I lived in San Francisco, I considered it a success to get within twenty city blocks of my apartment. And usually I only got that space because of some street cleaning sign I forgot to look at. In the suburbs, you park directly in front of your house. You feel entitled, you feel ownership. If you have a driveway, then the spot in front of your house, is in case your friends stop by. It is never to be used by your neighbors or your neighbor's friends or those f*ing out of towners that clog the street on crab feed days. I hate those people.

So, my sleepy block of homeowners are faced with two less parking spots. And people are talking. Things are about to get animated around here.