Since I’m on a rant-page (get it, get it…at least I haven’t completely lost my sense of humor), I thought I would share with you a letter I want to post on the front door of this  outrageous and disgusting mess of a house.  This house is “that” house and–in varying degrees–every neighborhood has at least one.  Because some jackass has to drive down the property values.  He has made some progress because there were five cars plus an RV sitting in front of the house and the big mound of dirt is an addition because he did some foundation work.   It’s only more gorgeous from the side because the cedar siding is singed and smoke damaged where the old man tried to set himself on fire with a cigarette and his oxygen (or so says the rumor mill).    This house lives down the street from me and it backs to the jogging path, so when I’m on a relaxing walk I get to see the piles of junk and trash masquerading as landscaping in a backyard which would make the most avowed hoarder shudder and recoil in horror. God knows how many critters are living in the trash.   After several years of turning my head, I’ve lost my patience. The  man who lives there  is  known in the ‘hood as: “The Armenian Donut Man.”  Rumor has it he isn’t the friendliest neighborly neighbor in the world which is why I’ve reconsidered posting this letter on the house.  But I really don’t need the evil eye cast on my house so I’m begrudgingly forgoing guerilla tactics and will call the city code enforcers. I also considered organizing the neighbors into an angry mob, complete with pitchforks and torches to descend on his house one Saturday night.  We would shout at him until he came to the door and then we would make our demands known in big shouty voices along with thinly veiled threats to “burn him out” if he didn’t comply. I am on a Western style justice tear this week, aren’t I?  What’s next, a land grab?  Y’know…there is that house on a quiet cul-de-sac with those cutehead carriage house style doors.  I like that house and it’s on a nice street, I could just appear in their yard, trade them some guns and booze plus–because I don’t want them to be homeless– ”give” them a house someplace else.  Hey! I could give them Armenian Donut Man’s house.  Stay tuned for exciting conclusion of  that hair-brained scheme but meanwhile here is the letter I want to post on Donut Man’s house.  I’ve also considered putting a sign in his yard: “Honk if you think I live like a pig”  But if he happens to be Muslim, that’s going too far.  I might be an Angry White Woman but I’m not a xenophobe.    I also realized last week when I shouted, through the closed window of a moving car, at someone on the front porch to “Clean up your m-fing house MF!!”, it was time to do something relatively constructive to assuage my ire.   

Dear Neighbor,

I’m sick of driving by here almost daily and seeing wrecked cars sitting on your front yard, the dead grass and the peeling paint on a façade being held up by makeshift braces.  Fortunately, you don’t have trash and junk sitting on the front yard like you do in the back.  Frankly sir, your house is a Hell hole and you don’t deserve the privilege to live in this neighborhood.  You belong in a junkyard or a slum.

You should be ashamed of yourself, letting this house fall into such a terrible state.  Where is your self-respect?  Your house is a blight on an otherwise nice neighborhood.  The rest of us take special care to keep up our property.  It’s called Pride of Ownership.  Even the rental houses are better kept. 

Is this how respectable people live in Armenia?   Is it a tradition in your home country to live like a pig?  Because if this is an Armenian tradition, I will learn to appreciate the nuance and ambiance a beater Land Rover and junk Toyota give our street.  I looked at pictures of Armenia and it’s a pretty place, with tidy cities and villages.  Junk, wrecked cars, piles of trash and dead shrubs don’t appear in any of the images which has led me to believe living in filth isn’t revered.

I can’t imagine the sacrifice it took moving to this country and the hard work it took to grow a business.   Which makes the condition of your home even more shameful.  If you are no longer able to take care of this property and your family is supposed to be caring for it their neglect is bringing shame onto your entire family.  Is this the legacy you want remembered?  I trust not.