Ghetto Chicken

I think it's official. My happy little neighborhood is now my happy little ghetto. Now, maybe you're thinking I shouldn't be so taken aback by this. Maybe you're thinking, "Hey Angie! Remember that one time some drunken fool ran his car into your mailbox sending obliterated bits of black metal and a little red flag flying across your yard? And the neighbor's yard? And part of the street? And remember that time the hoodlums used the paint on Matt's truck for target practice until they got up enough skill to take out it's back window? Or what about that time someone broke into your next-door neighbor's house and stole all his stuff? Or that time there was a suspected homicide at the house around the corner?"

Yes. I obviously should've put two and two together sometime ago. But I didn't. Until now. And here's what put it all into perspective for me. Chicken. I don't often shop at the happy grocery store around the corner from my house. It's possible I might be a bit persnickity about some food items, so I spend a lot of time at the big store on the south side of town where they sell Stacy's Cinnamon Sugar Pita Chips.

Anyway, I was not buying pita chips on Ghetto Revelation Day, so I ran into the aforementioned store right by my house to pick up one of those rotisserie chickens for dinner. Not as good as pita chips, but tasty nonetheless. Now, after I've paid and am reaching for my chicken, the checker guy grabs it up and says, "Hold on Ma'am. Don't want you to set off the alarm." And he starts rubbing my chicken (it's in a container) around in frantic circles on the checkout counter. What?? Seriously! My chicken had a security device stuck on the bottom...you know, like when you buy a piece of high-dollar electronic equipment and they have to deactivate the security tag before you leave so you don't get tackled by an employee on the way out the door. My chicken! My CHICKEN! I'm living in the midst of chicken thieves! THAT, my friends, is ghetto. But on a much less stressful note, the fam and I were able to escape the Chicken Ghetto for a short while last week and spend the 4th with our families. I LOVE the 4th! It just doesn't get any better than sticky-sweet little boys, parades, slip-n-slides, hot dogs and cold beer!!

Here's G singing Lee Greenwood's 'God Bless the USA'. I think he was trying to ensure the people across the canyon could hear him as well.

Me snuggling my budding vocalist

The boys, Daddy, Papa, the neighbor, and Papa's festive Jeep in the LRC Parade

Cutie pie

Tough guys at Grandma and Grandpa's

I have a several shot series of each of the boys slipping and sliding (Action mode on the camera ROCKS!) but I thought it best not to bore you with allllll the pics since you've already suffered through the chicken story

Playing football w/ the boys...tradition at Grandma and Papa's