So we live next door to a cool old house (actually, cool old houses on either side of us). Unfortunately, one of the houses has RENTERS. Before I get all of the renter hate mail, let me 'splain (you know, like "LUUUCY, you have some 'splainin' to do...").

Renters are FINE, IF they treat the house like it's their own house and perform the regular home-owner duties. You know, like mowing your lawn and not shooting bottle rockets at someone else's dogs on July 4.

I think you get the picture.

There's an older woman that lives there with her son who

• has to be 30-something
• has no job (I know this because the mom told me)
• plays RAVE (house, party) music loud enough to shake the walls in my EXTREMELY WELL insulated house
• makes a twice-to-three times daily trek to the local bar down the street (I know this because my home office window faces their house and the road)

There are so many things wrong with this picture, but I'm only going to concentrate on ONE today: THE RAVE MUSIC.

Besides the fact that I loathe this kind of fast-paced, heavy-beat music, I just don't get it. It's apparent to me that this deadbeat, er, um, SON sits home sponging off his mother, doing X all day and alternating between the bar and his home RAVE DEN.

Is there a point to this posting? Yes.

I get up this morning at 5:45 a.m. (on a day that I didn't have to go into the store until later and I could've slept in...but I'm not bitter) and notice for the first time that this loser has BLINKING COLORED CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AROUND HIS BEDROOM WINDOW.

IN AUGUST.

If this doesn't scream rave/ecstasy den, then I don't know what does.

I think it also screams: YOU'RE WHITE TRASH AND PROBABLY SHOULDN'T BE RENTING HERE.

Again, I'm not bitter.

Maybe some day I will tell you about the beautiful dream house that we built only to have someone move across the street, build the same house, and burn off the front lawn only to replace it with tacky white landscaping gravel. (I SWEAR it's true).

My mamma once told me, "Just because you have money doesn't mean you have taste."

HM.

When first organizing the bookstore (before we opened), I was adamant about not carrying Harlequin romances, historical romances (you know, the Fabio long flowing hair guys on white horses - what BS, but I digress...), etc. Anyway, a friend of mine (you know which one you are) said, "You're making a HUGE mistake. Women around here read those." A few weeks after we were open, I gave in and started to carry a FEW (like TWENTY) historical romance. (Yes, you were right, I'll admit it).

I was reorganizing shelves today when it hit me, YET AGAIN, why I hate these novels. One of the author's names?

NINA BANGS

Look it up if you don't believe me.

'Nuff said.

You know all of those telemarketer calls you used to get at home before you put your name on the DNC list? Multiply that by 25 and that's what you deal with on a daily basis as a small business owner. I can feel your jealous insanity at the thought of what you are missing. I will gratefully share...

People trying to get you to use their merchant account for credit card processing is a daily battle. This morning I get this call:

THEM: "Can I speak to the owner?"
ME: "Speaking."
THEM: "Can you tell me who handles the merchant credit card processing?"
ME: "As the owner, who do you think would handle it?"
THEM: *silence*
THEM: *embarrassed laugher* "Yeah, I guess you're right..."
ME: *click*

There's a company that calls about twice per week. The guy starts out like he knows me, "HEY! How's it goin'?" (which annoys me endlessly). Then he goes on to say, "We're the people who put out all of those pens with business names. I'm sure you know us." Without fail I say, "No, I don't." (Every time, every single time I say that). Anyway, last week I told them not to call back. Refusing to let up, they instead mailed me an enticing little package with a really nice pen and my business name printed on it. Well, almost. Instead of THE they misprinted it THEY. So this nice item that was supposed to entice me to use their services reads THEY BOOK BLUES (instead of The Book Blues) - the dorks (or maybe I mean THEY dorks).

Can anyone say, HELLOOOOO SPELL CHECK?!??!