both hands
because it takes both hands to do it right, baby

Shut the hell up and go away already!!

April 01, 2004
I really can’t express how much I hate my neighbors. Actually, how all living beings in our house hate our neighbors (husband, dogs, cats, and birds). It’s 5:45pm on an average Thursday evening, and the headache I began getting at work earlier has now blossomed under a steady diet of loud off road vehicles being driven up and down our street at high speeds. Before you ask if I live on a dirt road in the middle of the desert, let me answer you—no, I don’t. But I do live in a suburb in what used to be a rural part of San Diego, and it’s on the way out to the desert, where all my stinkin’ neighbors go on the weekend (it’s a lot more peaceful then). If you are not familiar with these “Desert Rat” spawns of Satan, let me describe: They’re the guys that wore those obnoxious “Big Johnson” T-Shirts in high school. They went to “The River” in the off-desert season. They drive trucks with 6 tires and decals on the back window reading things like “Dodge--Eatin’ Fords and Shittin’ Chevys!” And now that very truck is parked, towing a giant “toy” trailer, across my driveway, making it extremely difficult to park my own small car. What the hell is that about?

Why do I put up with it? you may ask. We have a (damned expensive) homeowners association made to prevent this sort of thing. Our curbs are painted red to keep people from parking anywhere but their own driveway. My simple answer is: because we are outnumbered. When we moved in we had no idea we were required to own at least one 3-Wheeled vehicle. I must have missed that clause when we signed the papers.

There’s also the question of just how I tell my freaky, often drunk, off roadin’ next door neighbor to shut the hell up and get his giant-ass trailer off my driveway. Was his story told to us shortly after we moved in about how he chopped up a neighbor’s dog (!!!) with an axe true? (Reason: it growled at his mother) I don’t want to find out. Nor do I want to have to check the backyard for dog food laced with arsenic anytime Jeffrey or Matchbox needs to pee. But I fear that my sanity is starting to suffer from the constant noise.

He mentioned last year that they would be moving “next year”. How soon do you think that will be? Tomorrow? The day after? ‘Cause I’m getting tired of waiting.

6:27 p.m. :: 0 comments so far ::
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