Rear Window

I have taken up where Jimmy Stewart left off. I sit on my couch next to the window for so many hours a day (with baby attached, if you know what I mean), that I have become the neighborhood snoop. I know what is going on in almost every house across the street. Three doors down, the boyfriend with the long, stringy rattail got kicked out, and there is a new very Abercrombie-looking boyfriend that has taken his place. This new boyfriend has a fiery temper and threw out their friend with the neck brace in a string of f-bombs that would make a sailor blush. Neckbrace walked down the street and rounded the corner, never to return again. (I was waiting for him to come back an hour later and start digging a hole in the garden, just like in the movie. Didn't happen.)

On to the next house... Jersey (thus named because I never saw him wear anything besides a football jersey), and his smoker girlfriend just moved out. The house was up for rent for 5 days before a new couple moved in. Their names are Muscleman and Trampy. Muscleman got his name because he has yet to appear wearing anything besides a ripped-off, too-tight T-shirt. (His muscles really aren't that big.) Trampy is a classic trailer-trash woman. She has bleach-blonde hair constantly pulled back in a ponytail, a cigarette always in hand, long, garishly painted fingernails, and always has on extremely tight jeans, with an over-sized sweatshirt. This couple has taken up the habit of hootin' and hollerin' in the middle of the night. Whenever I am in the nursery breastfeeding (again, next to the window) at 3AM, I am regularly greeted by a "Woooooo!" from across the street. It is one of those sounds that only a very drunk person makes.

I am discreet in my spy game, but if anyone ever caught me peeping through the slat of my window shades...