I would like to start by saying thank you to the neighborhood for not forcing us to call the cops for the first six weeks of living there.  You have impressed us greatly despite having pretty much everything going against you: a strip club, drugs in the alley, countless liquor stores and more than your share of Punk Ass Kids.  So here’s to you, Petworth for NOT totally freaking us out until last night.

OK, we weren’t really freaked out so much as we finally reached our breaking point.  Let me begin at the beginning.  I managed to leave the office at 5 yesterday witht he plan of FINALLY going to get my toes done at that salon across the street.  Literally it is across the street, roughly 50 steps from my front door and yet somehow I have managed to not go there for about four weeks in a row now.  Partially this is because I knew what kind of place it was and since I didn’t want my hair braided or relaxed and nor did I know I single other customer or stylist, I would be horribly out of place.  That and I’m the only white girl for miles.  Yesterday was my day though.  I opened the door to the little salon and stepped in expecting the worst.  It wasn’t bad.  Don’t get me wrong, I was being stared at by every soul in the place, but no one seemed disturbed by my presence, just a little taken aback perhaps.  I asked if anyone had time for a pedicure and the woman (who was not sitting at the reception desk, incidentally and I wasn’t clear if she actually worked there in the first place) told me they didn’t do pedicures.  Really?  The website said you did and there are bottles of nail polish here…

Dejected, I returned home where Matt and I decided we would celebrate (more on that later) by making the glorious Key Lime Pie Shots.  So off I headed to the corner store a block over where we previously found the whipped cream.  Evidently the store closes at like 4pm on Tuesdays, so no luck there.  Matt hadn’t tried the CVS before (you would be surprised at how difficult it is to find whipped cream in these bodegas) so I headed down the other way to try my luck there.  As I approached I noticed yellow tape, “Hmm,” I thought, “they must be redoing the sidewalk, I wonder if there is a side entrance…”  As I got closer though, I realized it was crime scene tape and the sidewalk was totally fine.  Shit had apparently gone down.  This morning, thanks to the 4D police tweetstream I discovered there was an armed (gun) robbery.  Dejected once again, I headed to Jefferson Liquors not expecting whipped cream, but instead compensating with a six pack of summer wheat beer.  Good enough.


It was a disappointing afternoon, but we weren’t completely discouraged so we enjoyed some dinner on the grill (do not eat chicken hot dogs, ew) and a couple of margaritas before heading to bed for the night.  And this is where it all fell apart, because we had gotten pretty used to living two doors down from a strip club, but there is only so much a person can take at 1:42am.  We have learned that the club closes at 1:30 (or maybe that’s just last call and at that point, why stay, because it’s not for the girls) and shortly thereafter there is some ruckus that lasts only about 5 minutes while people buy their last round of crack, say their goodbyes and/or wrap up a domestic dispute int he middle of the street and head home for the night.  It gets pretty loud, but historically it doesn’t last long enough for us to get annoyed enough to get up and either a. yell at them or b. tell on them.  Last night was totally different though.  I don’t know if they were serving sambuca there yesterday or what, but people were angry.  Like livid with one another.  And some jackass was either messing with someone’s car alarm or screwing around with his own.  I have never heard such noises: a cross between a dying heffer, a cat in heat and, well, car alarm.  The entire scene lasted around half an hour (it could have actually only been ten minutes, but in this situation, time literally slows down, especially if you want to go to sleep) and included screaming bitches (it couldn’t have been any other type of person) obnoxious laughter and general noisiness combined with background music from someone’s car and the dreaded car alarm insanity.  I briefly considered leaning out the window and screaming at them to STFU, it’s goddamned TUESDAY, but decided against it as there were almost certainly 10-15 people with guns and/or flamethrowers out there.  The only solace I take in the entire incident was the moment when Matt finally woke up (that guy will sleep through WWIII) flailing his arms toward the alarm clock at the sound of a particularly obnoxious moment with the car alarm.

I snapped of course and made him go downstairs to call the cops.  We made it so long, but after that evening I think we had both just had enough.  We are those people. The white ones.