An Open Letter to Kate Casey

Dear (Long Lost Friend from Peirce Middle School, Publicist Extraodinaire, Lady-Who-Is- Funnier-Than-Harvey-Levin, and drumroll….Mother to 3 kids under 4yrs old) Kate Casey:

I hear your neighbors aren’t so neighborly and you just may want to further ferment this disaster cocktail.  Chime me in!

The absolute easiest way to do this would to husband swap.  For a small fee, I could package up my  mouthy little instigating bundle of love and Fed Ex him to sunny Newport Beach.  In return, I don’t really want your husband.  (Sorry Dan, it’s not you, it’s me.) Just send a housekeeper, maintenance man driver!  Let’s be real, with the Army Sergeant gone, no one here cares about clean floors or weeds.  I want a driver!  I need a driver!  Driving is really not my forte, just check the sides of the garage opening where I park.  I request a really enchanting one who pours me Chenin Blanc on the way to the bus stop and tells me how I smolder.  That would be mostly appreciated.

As fun as this social experiment sounds, I really would miss my husband, right(?) so, alternatively I will just throw out suggestions that will have that nasty neighbor apoplectic in no time.  (Not that we do this, but perhaps this is why we only know 4 families on our side of the neighborhood?!?)

*     Leave kid tricycles, bicycles, skateboards, Barbie jeeps, broken mini trampolines, etc. strewn about your yard. In perpetuity.  Bonus points if constricted pouches of Capri Sun Roarin’ Waters (no artifical ingredients!) spill out of the vehicles.  Sometimes, if the sun hits them at just the right silvery angle, one can be blinded.

*     Who ever thought those innocent packets of side walk chalk in the Target dollar bins could cause an Armageddon?  When broken pieces are left all about, instant permanent dye pulverization occurs at the mercy of minivan tires.  Is it the rain or the transfer that is the catalyst?  Because your undisciplined children have either chucked chalk over the gates onto their circular driveway, or cylinders have rolled down yours.  Add rain- florescent green, pink and orange dyed powder streaked on beige carpets. Icky.

*     Animal fecal matter will always help your cause.  The bigger the better.  Although you may not think our teacup chihuahuas, albiet 4 times normal size, could offend- their output is relentless.  Any sort of humidity just creates a cloud of stinky poo around our house like the Halo of the Archangel Gabriel.

*  Run a summer long, ALLEGEDLY unpermitted construction project in your backyard that includes a monstrosity of a fireplace that the township supervisor in the county in the next state can see.  Be sure the workmen arrive in a timely fashion each morning, preferably before 7 am and jackhammer your flagstone away with the angst previously only thought to occur between Miley Cyrus and her id.

*    FreeBird Composting.  Over here on the East coast, we may not be willing to strap our newborns to Sycamore trees in protest, but we are climbing our ladder to Crunchytown.  We chuck all potential deer food over the fence line.  Rotten pumpkins, worm infested tomatoes, slimy carrots.  We reserve the driveway for stale bread not up to par to qualify for Gina Bellina homeade breadcrumbs. There is a reason the street to our left is called “Crow’s Nest”.

*     Make sure all male members of your home, regardless of age, never use a toilet for urination, but cover every conceivable lush area of green grass that surround your yard. Be sure they do this in daylight for all to see.  It helps if you distract them with chatter, so their pee sprinkles about like an untamed water hose.

*  Extreme holiday decorating.  I am not just talking about your average Christmas shenanigans.  That’s too easy.  Pull out all the stops for “other” holidays.  Holidays that people don’t expect you to blow hundreds of dollars on your electric bill for your assortment of florescent inflatable cartoon religious dieties.  Halloween is the perfect time to hit.  Besides the obvious, like blinking black lights, skull sidewalk lighting and a constant stream of witch cackle coming from your outdoor sound system – the ghoulishly screetching inflatables seem to brighten the smiles of our very own neighbors these days…

BV61147IYAAYVia.jpg-largeWe’d call the above inflatable a “starter kit” for your descent into madness.  Godspeed!


3 thoughts on “An Open Letter to Kate Casey

  1. Sparky says:

    I wish we were neighbors…constant free entertainment!

  2. Sara Bayliss says:


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