Across the street is no man's land

First thing’s first…

The British have always had a different take on how to respond to adversity. They are, how should I say… plucky. I am going to quote from a blog of someone living in London.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

An open letter

to the terrorist cunts who tried to kill me today:Fuck you. You missed me. Better luck next time.

No, I do not condone the use of the c-word, but I must admire the spirit shown. Puts a tear in my eye.

On a side note: I bet Madrid is pissed, one of the main reasons they did not get the 2012 Olympics is the train bombing

Anyway… back to the matters at hand.

Our neighbors across the street are not lesbians. At least that is the first thing they tell anyone upon meeting them.

Okay a little background information: we live in a lesbian community. Sadly, some of the stereotypes are true… there are many a truck, a plethora of flannel, tons of pets, and more than a few power-tools in the neighborhood. I heard once that my neighborhood had the highest ratio of people identifying themselves as lesbians.

Our neighbors, however, are most definitely not lesbians. Just talk to them about anything and they will let you know that they are, in fact, middle aged heterosexual females who happen to be living together in the same house in a lesbian neighborhood with multiple pets, a goodly set of flannel shirts, and at least on table saw. Did I mention heterosexual, because that is what they are. Not lesbian. At all. Nope, they like the men-folk. They will tell you all about how boy crazy they are, if you speak to them about anything.

Me: Great weather we are having here! I am so glad that it has gotten a bit cooler, those 90+ days are tiring.
Either one of them: I like men.

Since they have moved into that house a little more than a year ago (we miss the previous owners greatly) the police have been by at least twice and there has been a fire truck called as well. Their excuse is that they will do anything to meet men. It is pitiful, methinks they dost protest too much.

To recap:

British humor is a dry sense of humor typically tempered by insanity.
The Brits are some resilient mother fuckers.
Madrid is Olympically challenged.
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like a duck… I call it a duck.