Ever since I made the transition from the big city to this cowtown after my retirement from teaching, I expected to be absolved from ever having to yell after another snot-nosed, disobedient piece of shit. Then I met my new frat boy neighbors who live by two mottos: “Saturdays are for the boys” and “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” Guess I was mistaken in thinking that this town, whose majority population is between the ages of 18-22, would be the perfect place to seek peace and quiet far away from young adults.
Where did I go wrong?
Back in my day, college meant working hard to pay off your $450 tuition to meet a good man while still managing to excel in school despite doing nothing. We drank and partied and snorted the white lightning, but those were the 60s – how dare you kids continue to be so rowdy. It blows my mind that you hooligans manage to party all weekend long and still return to ace your liberal arts brainwash Biology of lord knows what and Psychology of the Dog exams.
Oh, and the other families are wondering how they’re expected to raise wholesome children in this college town with all of you “turnt” college students stumbling through the streets instead of stepping up and setting a good example for their kids. Don’t get me started on them.
It seems that after being confined to whatever Huskies is and hanging out with that Ted fella all winter, you hoodlums are itching with spring fever and it amuses me to see that you got one sad little teasing 70° day of what you were asking for last week. Suddenly, with the apparent blessing of the UConn daycare, aka the police department, you kids were throwing on basketball jerseys and tube tops and gathering all of your illegal substances into one backyard. A backyard that my backyard happens to be nary a football field away from. To that I say, not in my backyard, buckos.
I’m 68 with four kids, so I know the appeal of day drinking is obvious but c’mon, it can’t wait until the weekend? Or how about wait until it’s hot to have nice, calm American-made BBQs. We might live in the arctic but warmer days will come. Give your livers a break from the weekends and stop skipping your classes.
What am I supposed to tell my kids when they go outside to play hopscotch and see you on the horizon, a gaggle of drunk white girls screaming to Kodak Camera or whatever loud enough to keep our ears ringing for the rest of the day and a drunk hairy man asleep in my kiddie pool full of beer cans. We just really don’t know who you kids think you are with your DJs in the backyard and sober drivers making sure the kids get there and home safely. Back in our day we weren’t such pussies about things, just saying.
Thank you for turning my quiet retirement into alcohol fueled misery by merely existing outside. As day party season approaches, I’m dreading the slip ‘n slides, empty beer cans, and the same 5 hip-hop songs blasting day in and day out. The least you can do next time is put me on the list you guys apparently check to let people in.
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