Why the loved ones can't go to Shorty's anymore...

My friend Barb calls young adults between 17-29 "loved ones." This started when her own son did what we all do while in college - drink, make an ass of himself, screw up classes, drink, get parking tickets, blah, blah, blah. For the record he has turned out incredibly well and is now a responsible happily-married father of a 3-week old son. Since she and I both work in higher ed we see a lot of "loved ones" in our offices after they have done one of the following:

• failed a class
• cheated on something
• lost eligibility
• lost a scholarship
• lost parental support
• is about to be removed from the class

It is an unfortunate truth that people have no ability to make consistence good decisions at this point in their lives. I do not claim to have skipped this phase -- on the contrary I am sure that the new neighbors are karma kicking me in the ass from my days in Tiffin. I accept it.

So obviously the boys next door do in fact fall into the "loved ones" category. The bad decision for this week -- herb. In the past week there has been a lot of herb in the air. I would like to say they keep it on the down low but obviously I can't.

Monday they smoked "little cigarettes" (Eric's term) on the front porch. Really? Dear lord. On Tuesday they moved to the back yard (better). However in the backyard they have access to objects that one on herb should avoid -- a grill, a lawnmower, and a skateboard. At this point I entered 911 into my speed dial. Barb says we have to take care of the "loved ones" because as dumb as they are they have mothers who would miss them. Luckily they also have a corn hole game out there and that seemed to amuse them more than the other items even if they do take it a bit too seriously. Soon the inevitable occurred -- some strange female showed up. I think she was new but it is hard to be certain. She was not boy 1's ex or the brunette that did the walk of shame to her car on Sunday afternoon, or any of the one's who have been pounding on the windows at ungodly hours. We dubbed her the "dope bitch" because she took over rolling "little cigarettes" on a lap desk. Try as I may to keep them inside, sooner or later, five dogs have to pee. My dogs, because they are so well trained, run directly to the fence and bark incessantly at neighbors. Apparently at this point it dawns on them that "little cigarettes" are illegal and they freeze like deer in headlights. I yell at the dogs who don't listen and then go inside to get treats because I don't relish the idea of dealing with petrified kids jamming to Miley Cirus. Hooray for dog treats.

Wednesday brings more corn hole and another random girl who was probably roped into the rolling gig. It also brings Neighborhood boys' friend -- he laughs like a female hyena and whoots a lot. When he pulls up to park in front of my lawn he is actually yelping. He continues to yelp all the way to the backyard and then yelps through corn hole. Corn hole breaks up early and girl leaves. I realize she is in fact young lady from walk of shame fame the previous weekend. The remaining corn holers end up on the front porch (which is not a big space) where they are giggling with their "little cigarette." Apparently the herb makes them forget that there are people sitting in the porch next to them because they begin to lay into the hyena about his sexual conquests -- poor Jesse and Amy being the latest. I figure you really have to be bad if the whores are calling you a whore. Hyena likes waitresses it seems and his pipe-laying through Toledo's establishments has begun to interfere with their lives. It ends with "Because of you, we can't even go to Shorty's!"