block party

There is an auction in the neighbourhood this weekend and I am insisting that we have a huge costume block party and make our potential new neighbours feel welcome.

I have been practicing my yodeling and my mental math. I have been watching the educational kids shows and honing my skills. I have also gone to the mall to practice my “single feature or clothing article identification” abilities.  This is important so you identify who you are barking at when auctioning.  So now I can yodel numbers and say things like “sold to the woman with the big zit in the middle of her forehead” or “the man with his pants up under his arm pits,” all at the same time. My husband said no-one does that, they have numbers that they flash at the auctioneer but I pointed out we are not high tech here in countryville.  We still refer to strangers by a distinguishing feature or article of clothing.  When we get to know them we make up stupid nicknames.  Most of the nicknames we keep to ourselves but when we first meet them they are “the guy with the missing teeth” or ” the woman with the pink eye.”  I was going to be polite and go with “the guy whose fly is undone,” or “the woman who is wearing white after labour day and may live to tell about it.”  Hubby stopped arguing with me after we reached the 8 minute mark of my giving him examples of how we do so refer to people by those things and why I believe small towns are reluctant to use paper to write down numbers and be taken down by the man and forced to become cold and impersonal like the big cities are.  When he is silent like that I know he knows, that I know I have won the argument hands down and there is no point in him saying anything more.  We just both know.  I let him lose graciously like that because I am always gracious.  I have to be.  I always win.

I am really hoping the realtor might want to get the neighbourhood involved and after the clown act I have arranged, and the man who can eat broken glass, and the tricks with the uncooperative cats we hate but are going to have them demo synchronized swimming anyway  … they might let me have a go at auctioning. I think I can get more money for them.

I like to be prepared for life’s opportunities.

If no-one is buying houses though I have a table with some doilies, some old tea cups and 3 teenagers I can put out to auction …. so no matter what … the day will be a success.

I have to go now and work on my costume.  It is sort of a Heidi/Maria (from the Sound of Music in the scene where she runs over the hills – sans panties and with the addition of a push up bra)/ professional realtor/ circus clown/friendly neighbour kind of costume.  My hubby insists on going as a ghost.  I wanted to see the costume to make sure it was appropriate, you know, but he said “no” … it would be a surprise.   When I don’t see him there, I will know how great his costume is.


Auctioneers do not like to share their megaphones.  They are not even happy or friendly people.  They just pretend to like you.  He never even clapped when the cats did their twirly dipsy doo in the pool or when the animal rescue people had to come and resuscitate them.   Also,  the neighbours evidently get no say in who “wins” an auction, which is really disappointing because there was this really nice lady who I thought would make a swell neighbour and I kept trying to get her to put her hand up to buy the place, but she had me arrested for assault.  She doesn’t realize what she missed out on having me for a neighbour.  Does she think that just any neighbour is going to put in that kind of effort for costumes and a fun afternoon for everyone?


Evidently armed gunmen were at the auction to protect us from the neighbour who threatened to kill us all … well ok not to protect us actually, but the bank’s people on account of bank people are worth much more than us but they were there and they might have accidentally protected us while protecting the bank dude.  And now the house is sitting empty cause she is suing the bank for not repossessing it properly AND I think she wants to threaten to shoot the judge.  I never knew auctions were so exciting.


33 days and no-one has died yet.  Well the cats MAY be dead, they disappeared one night, left behind the hair gel, their nose plugs and the flowers we hot glue gunned onto their heads when they did their synchronized swimming routine.  They wouldn’t leave those things behind willingly.  Perhaps this has turned into a hostage situation.