Let me stop you right there, because I already know what you’re thinking:
Here we go with another letter from one of the old bats who lives in our neighborhood complaining about us. At least I can post it on Reddit later.
But you’re totally wrong.
See, I’m not much older than you.
In my day, we did exactly what you are doing now, because my day was only about five years ago.
Granted, we still spoke in mostly fully sentences and the only time you would hear us use the word gorge (or “gorg” as you spell it) was to describe the Grand Canyon or a giant plate of chili cheese fries, but I digress.
I know you probably think we are worlds apart because I’m a mom, but I’m not like other moms, I’m a cool mom.
And maybe you didn’t get that reference because Mean Girls came out when you were only ten years old but that’s alright, you get my drift.
Sure, you share the same turn-down-for-what mindset as my two year old and I go to bed at 9pm, but that’s neither here nor there.
The point of the matter is, I’m completely kick back and cool and maybe one day when I’m not 30+ weeks pregnant we can shotgun a beer together.
In the meantime, feel free to throw your beer cans over the back fence and I’ll help you recycle those bad boys.
Anything to help you guys have a better time.
Speaking of you having a good time, I’ve been noticing a lot of mid-week parties, which is cool.
Margarita Mondays, Tequilla Tuesdays, Whiskey Wednesday, etc.
You know what’s totally crazy though?
On a Tuesday night I’m usually trying to put my son to sleep when you are just waking up from a pre-party nap.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good Lorde song backtracking my son’s nighttime routine, I just don’t know how I feel about Uptown Funk at 2 am rattling my nightstand lamps.
So I was just wondering if you could, you know…
KEEP IT DOWN.
Just, keep it down.
Like, pipe the fuck down already you damn children.
You’re the only 20-something year olds that live in this entire neighborhood yet you act like you’re in the middle of greek row.
We have dog walking groups with 80-year old men, kids selling grapefruits in front of their house, and tree-lined streets.
You’re not at San Diego state, you go to frickin’ Whittier college and we don’t even live close enough to your school to justify your college style antics.
I deal with a tantruming toddler all day long while carrying an extra 20+ pounds of baby that makes my woo-haw hurt when I stand and just pray that my sciatica calms down long enough for me to finally get some sleep at the end of the day.
So when I am abruptly woken up by the screams of your youth and Nicki Minaj chanting, “hey mama mama mama” it feels like a direct taunting and I am not the woman you want to taunt.
I birth and raise children for a living:
DON’T MESS WITH ME!
I’m sorry guys.
That was just pregnancy talking, we’re still cool.
I’m sure you just didn’t realize how loud you were being on the weekdays and I hope we’re all on the same page now.
And hey, if you ever need to hide your weed, you can always use my son’s play set.
*I hate even having to put a disclaimer up, but some people are insane so here we go: This was a satirical post and was in no way meant to be taken seriously. Aka, I wouldn’t let someone store weed in my son’s play set so calm down.*