Victory struck in the trash can wars this morning when the neighbors got sloppy and started crashing around outside. I hopped out of bed and tore back the curtain to make sure our remaining can wasn’t being carted off on the back of someone’s truck. Lo and behold THERE WERE THE NEIGHBORS, scurrying around with their garage door open, revealing a row of trash cans – unused and in their garage – with my house number on it.

I stood there in my pajamas with my mouth hanging open.


The guy outside must’ve heard me yell because he jumped in his car on the double and hollered something to the wife who got the google eyes, quickly shutting the garage door before running around to join him.

For over a year I’ve repeatedly replaced mysteriously vanishing trash cans, wondering if the UFOs were getting them. It got so bad I actually started to feel like we were being targeted, followed by a brief convo with self that maybe I needed the pills, only to find out I was right all along? Oh hell no.

This is war bitches.