I have a neighbor who lives two houses down from us. He owns a pack of dogs, and does not keep them confined in any way. As a result, they wander the neighborhood at night, getting into people’s yards and killing their pets. Our immediate neighbor has had several of his cats literally torn apart (my mom witnessed one of them being killed, and was unable to stop the dogs in time).

The dogs have come into our yard, and have killed most of our chickens. Last night, they killed Ethel, a hen that I had raised by hand.

Numerous calls to the Humane Society have done nothing. The neighbor himself was spoken to several times, and at first he said he would pen up his dogs, but didn’t. Now he won’t even take responsibility and gets all nasty, “How do you know they are my dogs?”

Because we live higher up the mountain than you, jackass, and can see you with them in your own goddamn yard.

Calls to the police only get us redirected to the Humane Society, a organization which has proved itself to be useless.

At this point I am open to suggestion. My next move is to go to the Humane Society personally on my next day off, and ask if there are any complaint forms I can file, and ask them the exact procedures concerning a pack of wild dogs in the neighborhood. Maybe with me in front of them and not on the phone, they will give me a better answer than, “We’ll look into it.”

I caught a centipede in the house today. It was crawling across the living room floor, and as soon as I saw it, grabbed a pair of scissors and trapped it between the blades.

Normally at this point, I take it outside and cut it into pieces until it is dead. But this one gave me a rotten feeling, an impression of malicious intent. It was black and shiny, and I could actually hear the clicking noise of its mandibles attacking the scissors. So I carried it over the sink, lit a match and set it on fire.

The fucker screamed.

Growing up, my dad taught me that if someone is trying to send negative energy at you, a sign of it is a centipede in your house. The way you can find out if it is a regular centipede or a cursed one is to set it on fire. If it screams, then it is a bad one. We’ve found numerous centipedes in the house before (hello, we live in a desert), and my dad has torched the really scary looking ones. But not one has ever made a sound.

This fucker screamed.

It wasn’t loud, but was still very distinctive. It was like a sharp squeek that lasted for nearly a second. It stopped, and the insect went still. Chicken skin ran up my arms, and I felt sick. I had no idea what to do–what was the protocal when you actually came accross a screaming centipede? I ended up taking it outside and lifting out a half-buried rock to make a hole. I dropped the centipede in and covered it with Hawaiian salt, then repaced the rock over everything.

Afterwards, I went to my dad’s shop and told him what happened. When I came to the part of the centipede’s scream, he became very still. He told me, “I was kind of expecting something like this.”

For the past several days, he went on to explain, he’d been feeling some bad vibes and his sleep has been broken and restless. He was wondering if someone was wishing evil on us. Dad was told by a close friend who is well versed in local mythology that if something negative comes at us, we have to tell it is not welcome.

Hell, yeah, it’s not welcome. My own sleep has had its share of weird dreams, but nothing too terrible. I wonder if the bad juju hasn’t bothered me as much because I had warded my window and door with salt when I first moved in. Hm. Might do that for the rest of the house.

Fuck. Goddamn screaming centipedes. Stay the hell out of my house.

I’ve come to the sad realization that I no longer have adventures. I get up, go to work, come home. On my time off, I might read, watch TV, or see a movie.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED?!

I have nothing interesting to say anymore. All I have is pathetic reminises of all the neat stuff I used to do. What the fuck.

The real bummer is I don’t believe that one can go out with the intent to have a crazy adventure (unless you’re in a road movie). Weird cool shit just sort of happens.

But there is something I can do. I can get off of my lazy ass, break out of my goddamn routine and friggen do something. Anything. Drive around the island. Talk to tourists. Eat at crappy little hole-in-the-walls that are about as far away from Taco Bell as you can get.

It’s time for an adventure. I’m going to Chinatown.

The other day, mom saw a strange car parked outside of my uncle’s studio. She thought it was my brother’s girlfriend’s, since she occasionally shows up driving her parent’s car.

This was not the case.

That same car was seen parked near the second gate, the temporary one dad had set up when we let those construction guys use our field to store some of their stuff. They drove away. Dad checked this gate and found that there was a way to bend the wire low enough for a car to drive over it. Sons of bitches drove their fucking car on to our goddamn property, and we did nothing because since the gates were still up we thought they were supposed to be there.

Well no more. Dad moved big honking rocks over to block the second gate so they can’t get in that way again. We are also thinking of augmenting our “NO TRESPASSING” signs with some visual deterrents. I suggested severed heads on sticks. Mom thought that was a great idea, especially if the heads were accompanied by a sign reading: “Trespassers will be decapitated.”

I love my mommy.

What a rip off. I watch the show, get into it, and then what. The crappiest dancers win. The best dancers, John O’Hurly and Charlotta were amazing, fun, and entertaining. And they didn’t get it.

HELLO, the dancer who won has a show on that very network. Is this not a conflict of interest or what? She danced badly throughout the whole series, and really played up the “underdog” thing. She said in an earlier episode, “I never win anything.” Was it a setup from the start? Probably.

During the last dance, she screwed up multiple times, once even stopping to watch her partner and get back in step. And then the judges give her a perfect score! For the first time ever they give out tens, and for a dance that sucked ass.

My dad was yelling at the screen, “Juice! Juice!” I agree. The show was freaking juiced.

Oh, and the parting shot? The winner, Kelly Monaco, tells the host, “I’m going to Disneyland!” Disneyland is the parent company of ABC. Gimme a break. Had to have one more endoresment, huh?

So what does this teach us, kids? That true talent and hard work are worthless if you expect a fair contest. At least on network television.

I guess I should have known that.