belly laugh

 Laugh until tears from one end and pee from the other. That's what I got this morning. 

I've been killing curious about what some neighbors are up to behind their house. Where I lived in NY, you had to have a building permit for every damn little thing. Down here, maybe if you wanted a helipad, you might have to grease some palms. It seems like every other house has some kind of shed, shack, or granny pod behind the main house. I have a pool that takes up most of my backyard.

After dark, from my bed, I can see some very strange goings-on a few houses away. As soon as I borrowed Charlie's telescope - yes, I'm going that low - they doused the lights and fires. Away on vacation perhaps? The place is normally lit up like a gas station, but the past few nights, nothing. 

So, I thought I'd google the street and get the birds-eye view. I plugged in my own address first to orient my search and this image filled the screen. I laughed out loud and called Colin in for the spectacle. We both couldn't stop laughing.

In all its glory, Jim's '99 Ford pickup loaded down with a bunch of crap waiting to go to the dump. It was loaded like that for about two weeks, but only on the street for a day so the rest of us could come and go in the driveway. So, of course, the Google snooper drives by, snaps a picture, and uploads it. 

At least I don't have couches and washing machines on the front porch and meth labs in the back yard.

Not a week after this, the poor truck had a serious transmission issue and sat at the bottom of the driveway (blessedly empty) until Jake produced a cure. One of the last coherent concerns my husband had was that I should not sell the truck. No darling, it won't be me.