Slingin' That Neighborhood Rock

          Some of those who follow this blog know about my suburbanite neighbors. For those who don't, they're a kind, caring, always smiling group of men and women who come from all walks of racial diversity... ranging from 'alabaster' to 'egg shell' to 'off white.' And so long as you fit within that suburban color wheel, you're best friends for life.

They all have fake, cheesy smiles exactly like this, and always seem to be waving to people, even if no one's around

          So what does that mean for me? It means that life ain't easy, being a black suburban teenager... especially when I'm white and almost 30.

          This is me on most days: an unemployed writer who hasn't had to be anywhere in almost 2 years and considers this his 'unemployment uniform.' You can often find me locked inside my house, minding my own business, either writing novels on my laptop or attempting gainful employment.

          So why am I such a menace to the neighborhood? Because my wife and her family are Mexican, which makes me "brown by association."

          And my brother-in-law, who has his own Internet marketing business, likes to come around sometimes and show off his new 6-figure toys.

            (Try wiping that image from your brain)
            So the rumor around the neighborhood is that we're all drug dealers. I mean, how else could Mexicans have more money than white people? And so, even though none of this money is my own, the newest rumor is that I'm the one making those drugs, and oh yes, they have proof. It's hilarious to hear through the grapevine how the most mundane things clearly make me the newest member of this Mexican drug cartel.

Like, buying a new car battery (mine dies at least once every 6 months; "Everlast" my ass!).

My nosy neighbors don't see it that way, though!

As a drug dealer, I figure I should have scars, an eyepatch, and gold teeth. It's only fitting.

Or how about buying allergy medicine? My wife has severe allergies and it seems I have to buy her more almost once a week.

How my nosy neighbors see it:

With just one Claritin D, I can keep the neighborhood kids hooked for a full week!

Hell, I bet they even judge me when I'm grocery shopping.

How my nosy neighbors see it:

That's a catchy slogan. I should trademark that!

I also have a wife who comes and goes at all times of day.

But the neighbors don't see a brown woman coming and going that way...

And this, of course, is just more of their narrowminded bullshit. Besides, I've tried begging her for a Bill Cosby, and she still won't cave in. :(

So even though I'm your typical reclusive writer, who only lets his pale skin see the sunlight when he has to run tiny errands, the neighbors see me as the neighborhood drug factory. For my overactive imagination, it's highly amusing. And for business, well, it's really irritating... because how hard is it to sell crack-cocaine to children when there's all these meth rumors floating about?

(Don't worry, they love buying "Uncle Bryan's Smokeable Candy" from their hero, Lamborghini Batman)

Cheers,
Bryan

Music: Andrew Jackson Jihad
Beer: Fat Tire