Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Today's Mood Is...

The neighbor drama continues. I have not mentioned this before (I don't think), but one of our next door neighbors (and I do mean next door here in the land of row homes), but for the last few months there has been some drama between them and us. Most of it has to do with parking. He (of the he and she) does not like to park under the tree on his property. Instead, he likes to back up as far as possible so he can be near his door but still not have his precious Honda pooped on. Fair enough. But I also like to park near my door, as does Wifey. So when we park our vehicles before he gets home, what does he do? He pulls back until his bumper is about a pubic hair's width from the car behind him (which is usually us). And the bastich is rather passive aggressive to boot. We have our grill on the front porch (you can't take ALL the redneck out of me). Twice he (or his OH-SO-LOVELY WIFE) has called the cops to complain that the smoke is blowing in his house. That would be a fair complaint except for two things.
1) It isn't illegal to grill on the front porch as long as you don't leave the propane tank attached when it isn't in use and you stay by it when you ARE using it (check on both accounts).
2) His complaint of the smoke (which really isn't much of a complaint. I don't burn things, and since I clean the grill well, it doesn't smoke much if at all) is moot, since if his front window is open, so is the back, and therefore if the grill is in the back yard, the exact same problem would happen. So WTF dude?
So after the second time that the cops come over and tell me that I am not doing anything wrong, the next day he comes over to tell me that Wifey keeps hitting his new car and she needs to watch herself. He's seen her do it. There is the slightest chance that I would give him the remotest level of credence if he had said something WHEN HE HAD ACTUALLY SEEN IT. But he waits until he is thwarted by the local constabulary to be a whiny little bitch about something that I do not believe for a second. So screw him.
Now last night Wifey was being dropped off by Killian, and Jerkass (yup, he just got an official BSR name, the lucky bastard) comes home and does the same thing, only parking behind her. He parked so close that Wifey couldn't even fit in between the cars, and had to walk around his car to get in the house (and it isn't like she is BSR size. I lucked out into one of those Fred Flintstone/Peter Griffin hot wives for fat guys deals. Screw you companion slotting ratios!). It made her laugh at the absurdity of it, which made him (he was obviously standing at the window watching her) come out and mumble some shit under his breath (including the word "bitch") before slamming his front door shut. Now, if Wifey had not told me the story while laughing about what an ass he is, he would have had a knock on his door sometime around 11PM yesterday.
I have been waiting patiently for him to come over today to start some shite, but so far Jerkass has been more Chicken Little than Mouthy McPoopypants (I am SOOOOO mature sometimes). So we will see how this plays out, but it has been on my mind all day, and that means I get to abuse you with my ramblings. Hee hee hee.

1 comment:

  1. Ain't no neighbors like Baltimore neighbors, dude. I have a similar problem...maybe worse? My neighbors are the worst sort of trailer trash...Dad's 42 years old, has a girlfriend 22 years old, who's on the methadon (note no 'e'), a daughter who's 21 and living with her son because his dad's locked up and she can't stand his ass essept he's a good guy and she did loveded him...and Dad's other son, 10 years old, who goes to school every day except for the days he doesn't feel like it or nobody makes him.

    Now daughter likes to sit out on her stoop (which is now black with grime. White Bawlmer mobble stoops turned ebon) and attract every knucklehead wearing a backwards baseball cap, a $10 gold necklace, a wifebeater, and shorts that stop below the knees. Or every skank with a tramp stamp and a stroller at 10.30 at night working their way through a pack of Newports. Their youthful voices waft up to my bedroom window, lulling me to sleep with "Bee itch! Shut the frck up! Who you callin' a Bee itch! I'ma knock urass back to Eurasia!"

    So, guess what? You can figure out who owns a property by going to And someone, probably someone with a law degree, wrote an anonymous letter detailing all this obnoxious behavior. I know for a fact the letter writer has asked for a year for the latenight stoop sitting to end, but that hasn't worked. The letter went to the landlord, and now his block is SO SO quiet...he sleeps like a baby.

    'course, he's been getting the evil eye from his neighbors...but so what?

    See you Wednesday-