Today I submitted an article to a writer for a Stapleton blog website run by Forest City Developers (the developers of all of Stapleton.) The writer had initially contacted me to interview me for the blog, to get the perspective of a new resident in this new community in Stapleton. Later, after agreeing to be interviewed, he wrote me back and asked if I could just write the blog article for him. If I didn't respect his overt laziness so damn much, I'd have declined. But in the end I wrote the article. What could have been an amazing article about the rampant swinger infestation in Stapleton became a cheesy article, as one reader described it, written by a middle aged white man who wore last year's Bill Gates glasses. It was an accurate characterization. But, in an effort to seek redemption, I submit to you today, the blog article I wanted to write.
A Life Without Curtains: Perspectives of a Neighborhood Creeper
by: Denver Omlette
Once upon a time, I believed that I could live this almost lego-like carefree life in a high rise overlooking a grand city, with hot neighbors all around who would never stick around long enough to makes things weird. The transient life, without the dirtiness of just being homeless, or worse, a hippie, is really as close to perfection as one can get. So you can only imagine my dismay when a year after moving to Denver, I was stuck with the cliche of a mortgage, which is equivalent to having to pay rent to stay in prison. Yes, I bought a house.
I purchased a home in Stapleton, which like the Eye of Sauron, has a large tower where Stapleton Militia watch people with their sniper rifles, ready to take out anybody who's grass does not conform to the required 2.34 inches. The tower is a remnant from the old Denver airport. Who knows what ghoulish nightmares lie deep beneath its surface. But this post isn't about that. This post is about the ghoulish nightmares that live above the surface. Stapleton has a lot of diversity. By diversity, I mean there are a lot married white couples with 2-3 children and a dog, but sometimes the guy doesn't have a beard. It's most likely that guy moved from Indiana where they can't grow beards. Being of darker skinned descent in Stapleton is not without its perks. People assume that I'm a terrorist (like Miss America) and stay away from me at all costs. This is less convenient when I'm out trying to meet my new neighbors, which is a very specific goal of mine. As I've already told several of them, I want to get my name and face out there, so they don't accidentaly Trayvon me one day. Also, I'm trying to figure out which of these neighbors are the swingers I keep hearing about.
You see, Conservatory Green, is not conservative at all. (see what I did there?) In fact, there is, deep in the underbelly of the Stapleton Red Light District, an entire culture of swingers, swappers, slammers (what?), and other nefarious characters lurking in the back alleys. While nobody talks about it aloud, they have distinct signs to alert others of their persuasion to join the ranks of stranger orgies held late at night in one of the Mcmansions. Whether it's a polished rock on their front porch, or a cracked garage door in the back alley, they are everywhere, wanting to polish your rocks, and crack open your .....nevermind. In my quest to find out who these people are and observe their lives like I was watching Eyes Wide Shut, I think I may have accidentally become the neighborhood creeper. I'm the guy who slows down walking by your house to see what's going on. I'm not a pervert. I just want to see where you put your furniture and what kind of curtains you bought to keep me from looking in. I'm a casual observer, I'm not casing the joint.
In conclusion, my house is pretty good even though the 6:15 AM sunrise is blindingly hot and melts my face off every single time. Not that it matters since I have to wake up before God so I can catch the bus that smells like old meat downtown every morning to get to work. Oh well it's not the end of the world. At least i'm not waking up to the sound of my neighbors screwing. Which is ironic since I'm out here TRYING to find the swingers. Also, I'm afraid to leave my house at dusk because I'm pretty sure that's when the creepy neighbor girl turns into a vampire.
So yeah...that's what SHOULD go on that blog. Thank god you'll never see what I actually wrote. I guess how I really feel is somewhere in the middle.