Monday, May 27, 2013

The police have better things to do on Memorial Day weekend...

"Jen, were them your parents?" - Big James

Why yes, Big Jabba the Hut James, them were my parents. Ah, the saga continues with the Hillbilly Neighbors. I wish the inane questions were the least of my worries.

Yesterday was a beautiful weather day. A perfect spring day. I returned home after running a marathon the day before and was both exhilarated and exhausted. My mood turned to down right pissed off thanks to the Hillbillies.

At first I thought they weren't home so I changed clothing quickly and set out to mow my yard (did I mention I had just run a marathon the day before? My back was killing me! That's how desperate I was to mow the lawn in peace.) when suddenly I hear, "F**k you, you little bi*ch." Yes, Booby Brian was at it with Little James again.

These two were in a knock down drag out fight in my front yard. Yes, in my front yard.

They screamed "bi*ch"at each other several times before I stuck my head out the window, arms on hips, a "WTF" look on my face. Finally, Jabba James came to break it up.

I had HAD it. Home five minutes and suddenly these two are going at it in front of my house.

I did what any rational person would do. My bags were still packed from my weekend away, so I locked up the house to flee. I just couldn't take it.

As I was locking up the front door, Jabba said, "Sorry about the chaos."

I did not respond.

He then said, "Don't worry, someone already called the police."

My response, "Um. I didn't call the police."

Jabba said, "No. we did."

Are you flipping kidding me? You called the police on your own 13 year olds?

He went on, "Yeah, James is outta control."

Maybe your parenting, or lack thereof, is outta control, pal! You are such horrible parents you can't handle them yourselves? Perhaps you shouldn't be parents then. Not to mention, I heard the fight because it happened ON MY LAWN and it sure as hell sounded like Booby Brian started the whole thing.

I turned my back to walk away and poor little toddler girl said, "Hey Jen, where are you going?"

I turned back, looked Jabba square in the face and said, "Away from here."

With that, I took off as fast as my Jeep would go.

This explains why the police were there about two months ago. My guess is mom and dad can't handle the kids so they call the police. 'Cause that's great use of my taxpayer dollars when crimes are happening in our own neighborhood and 'cause that's what good parents do, right?

Upon my return today, the Hillbilly House, duct tape in the front bedroom window and all (that's new) looked quiet. It was raining so I thought I would have some peace and quiet but no, no peace. As soon as Little James spotted me (Yes, he is home and acting like nothing ever happened so I guess he didn't get hauled off to the clink.) he emerged from the house and decided to hang outside in the rain and ask me if I would be interested in buying any baseball cards because he's trying to sell 250 of them.

Oh, and now here we are in real time - Booby Brian just emerged to tell me they have new chairs on their porch courtesy of grandma and grandpa. Goody. I did notice those and let out an audible sigh when unlocking my front door today. My friend and I were just commenting how it is nice they don't have front porch chairs so it is one less place for them to lounge (I love my front porch. My wi-fi works out there. I have Adirondack chairs with pillows and an outdoor rug. And flowers, lots of flowers.) but now I'm losing my front porch. I guess I lost it anyway with the fighting in my front yard and all.

$1,500 for a privacy fence sounds like a bargain right now. I'm calling Lowes in the morning. At least I can reclaim my backyard in about four weeks.









Sunday, May 19, 2013

Wood chips, dandelions and Booby Brian: an update on the Hillbilly Neighbors

"Where'd you get them wood chips?" - Booby Brian

That's how another Saturday here in paradise started. Well, sort of. I had already run 8 miles, shopped at the urban market, walked the dog and made a grocery store run but it was 10:30 in the morning and the Hillbilly Neighbors were just stirring.

Big James, Little James, Booby Brian and the little toddler all had to come and see what I was doing as I was mulching my flower bed. After I told them where they too can find these magical "wood chips" (mulch) they stood and stared at me with their mouths agape. Perhaps it was because my answer was not "Wal-Mart." I have a feeling these people love them some Wal-Mart.

Anyway, our conversation ended when Big James announced, "Come on kids, let's go get ice cream." At 10:30 in the morning. 10:30. Now, I'm a huge fan of ice cream, but, 10:30 AM, really? No wonder you and your children are all obese.

I went on to mow the lawn. My lawn mower is one of those Brady Bunch no motor deals. It works for my small yard but the blade is very dull and needs to be sharpened (and yes, this is the mower the Hillbillies wanted to borrow.) so I have to cut the lawn twice a week to try to keep up with it. The Hillbillies recently went on a Craigslist shopping spree (They must have discovered you can buy more on Craigslist than dogs.) and came home with not one but two lawnmowers - one with a motor and one just like mine. Gee whiz. Big James spotted me and, just like he did two times earlier this week, whipped out his non power lawnmower and started cutting. Now, here's the issue. The lawn is not a lawn, it is a field of weeds. There's not much to cut. And why he had to cut the weeds for the third time this week was beyond me. But apparently three times wasn't enough because about two hours later as I was working in my yard I heard the roar of the power mower and - bam! - Big James was at it again, shirtless this time (My eyes! My eyes! His nickname should be Booby and Belly James. Or Jabba the Hut.) pushing around the power mower, folds of glistening blubber flapping in the breeze. Seriously?

Sure, I'd rather have neighbors who over cut than don't cut but, really? The issue is they are growing a freaking dandelion field so every time they "mow" the "lawn" dandelion seeds fly all over my currently dandelion free lawn.

They basically annoyed me all day by continually trying to talk to me and by yelling at one another (The low light was certainly when Booby Brian called Little James both a "pu**y" and a "fa**ot" because that's classy and appropriate.), but I persevered. After all, the weather is finally beautiful and these hicks are not going to keep me indoors. At one point I caught a break when, post fight with Little James, Booby Brian accosted the lawn care crew cleaning up at a house on the other side of the street. He even managed to acquire a leaf blower at one point. This was both funny and disturbing.

Today my parents came to visit and help me with some outdoor projects, so I braced for the onslaught of questions and pathetic attempts at conversation. I asked them to prepare and gave them simple but important instructions, "Don't engage."

However, there was never an "engagement" attempt. Why? I think my mom is a Hillbilly repellent. Seriously, they took one look at her and steered clear all day. My mom is incredibly sweet and looks like your average nice mom. She was also wearing Ralph Lauren and all her jewelery. Perhaps that was a tell-tale sign? Forget it, these people have never heard of Ralph Lauren. Maybe it was just a vibe. My mom is wonderful but she's not a fan of Hillbillies (Gee, wonder if she passed that along to any of her children?). For example, when I went to kindergarten, she informed me I should NOT befriend any kids who live in apartments (we lived in 'burb). I didn't really understand why, but in my short years in public school I steered clear of any kids of apartments...and, of course, when I went to Catholic school everyone lived in a proper neighborhood but I digress...

Sure enough, once mom and dad left the clan was back to their antics.

That's that. My mom is going to have to move in with me and permanently stay on guard on my front stoop. When I told her that she laughed and suggested a life size cut out. This could work too. In the interim, I'm stuck with these bozos.

And, by the way, about an hour ago Booby Brian busted out the power lawn mower. For real. Fifth time this week, third time this weekend. These people need some help.







Sunday, May 5, 2013

Big James, Little James and Booby Brian (a letter to my Hillbilly Neighbors

Note: This is a letter to my Hillbilly Neighbors. Please refer to my January 1 post for a primer. 

Dear Hillbilly Neighbors,

You and your "like six" (apparently you can't count because I've never seen more than five at your home at any given time) children are starting to wear on me. I'm thrilled for you that you saved your ducets from your third shift GED or high school diploma required job to move from Kentwood Estates (ever notice how most trailer parks are called something "estates?") to the west side of GR and next door to me. Thrilled. You moved your "like six" kids from one bad school district to an equally bad school district, but, whatevs.

When your kids told me you regularly eat "shit on a shingle" for dinner I tried to laugh, though the mental image had me gagging. When your son Maverick (yes, Maverick, as in, "Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a fly by.") shoveled snow from your sidewalk on to mine I was slightly irritated.  But then you all just had to take it to the next level.

For example, that time you killed your puppy. Yes, that poor puppy you bought on Craigslist (don't get me started on people who BUY dogs.) who is now buried up against my fence. That one. Because "like six" kids isn't enough,  you decided to buy a puppy. One that needs to be housebroken and trained in all things. You bitched about its constant crying (which I could hear inside my house - if I lived in your home I would cry constantly too.) and neediness, despite the fact that it was the sweetest little thing and would lay quietly in the arms of Little James. I went away for a few days on business, and came home to find Little James knocking at my door with a different dog in tow. Little James was anxious to tell me how the puppy apparently hanged himself off your raised deck. Frankly, I don't know if I believe the story but, regardless, the dog is dead. And your poor "parenting" skills are to blame. What a waste.

Then there's Booby Brian. I call him Booby Brian because he is about 13 and is so morbidly obese he has breasts. Yes, breasts. However, what really offends me about Booby Brian is his propensity to point his flip camera phone toward my house and, presumably, tape me. Yep, when I caught Booby Brian not once, but twice, with his camera phone pointed in my window I had HAD it. When I tried to talk to you about this, you told me he is "EI" (I think YOU are emotionally impaired.) and that none of your kids have the capability to record video on their phones because you removed that feature. Really, well you must think I'm an idiot, especially when Little James showed me video footage of the now dead puppy on his phone less than a week after you told me none of your kids could use their phones for photos or videos.

Speaking of Little James, I've asked him to stop coming over and ringing my doorbell when he gets home from school. He doesn't get it so please help me out here. As I've explained, I have a hectic work schedule. If I am in my home and it is before 5 p.m. on a weekday, guess what, I am working. I'm likely on the phone and don't need my doorbell ringing and dog barking.

Also, using your kids to ask me for favors is not appreciated. You know, when you made Little James ask to borrow my rake a month ago I obliged and simply asked him to return it. The next day I found it laying in the middle of your backyard. Four days later, when Little James came by for his regular visit, I had to ask him to return it. No "thank you for letting us borrow it" or anything, he just put it over the fence.

So, when you sent Little James over on Thursday at 2:58 pm, two minutes before my 3 p.m. conference call on my first day home from work travel in seven days, I will admit I was not friendly. When he asked if you could borrow my lawn mower I was taken aback, especially since Booby Brian worked the block this winter trying to drum up business for his summer lawn cutting service (with what lawn mower? Mine?).  So yes, my answer was, "You know, I have to get on a conferene call in two minutes." and I closed the door. I then hid in my house the rest of the evening to avoid you. But you didn't stop there. On Saturday morning I pulled in my driveway after running 20 miles. I was sore, sweaty, exhausted and before I could get out of my car I was highly irritated when I heard Booby Brian say, "Kock knock." I stopped, one shoe on, one shoe off, water belt in hand, staring at him. When he asked, "Can we borrow your lawn mower?" I stood there and stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally saying, "I just ran 20 miles and need to get in my house." In other words, leave me the hell alone, kid.

Here's the thing, Hillbilly Neighbors, if I had never gotten my rake back it wouldn't have been the end of the world but I know you would have kept it since I had to ask for it back. The rake  was a great test case for future requests (which I just KNEW you would have...). So, no, I'm not lending you my lawn mower. I don't want to have to ask for it back.

While we're on the topic of things I don't want, let me add some requests. First, for the love, please tell your kids to stop ringing my doorbell on weekday afternoons to talk to me about nothing. I don't have time and I don't care. Second, when I'm trying to sit peacefully on my front porch/in my back yard, don't try to strike up a conversation with me about your hillbilly hobbies. I don't watch NASCAR, I don't listen to country music and I don't eat "shit on a shingle." Finally, I really don't want your kids looking in my windows. Is this too much to ask? Perhaps this was a fun kid activity in Kentwood Estates, but it doesn't fly here on the west side.

This is likely the first of many (and I mean many) open letters I will send your way this summer.

Sincerely,

Your irritated neighbor