We've got this young couple living next door to our new house. At first they were really welcoming. But lately they've been bitching about the loud music and about how their newborn is trying to sleep. I don't get it. Why can't that little shit do his sleeping when I'm stuck at work all day?
When I get home from the office I just need to relax. That's why I keep a cooler full of iced Cheladas waiting for me on the back porch. So excuse me if I sprawl out on my lawn chair and get drunk while wearing my rattiest see-thru white bikini top, blasting my Kelly Clarkson CD and singing along. That should be okay to do on my own goddamn property!
I've had a couple of heated altercations with these folks, but lately they haven't said a word to me. Still, I hate them. The last time I saw the guy in his yard I convinced my cousin to spray at him with the garden hose in a flamboyant manner. He went inside and called the cops on us. The cop knew my cousin from high school, so he didn't really give a shit either way. He put it down to a lawn watering mishap.
To make matters worse, the neighbors on the other side of us are old, ornery, and practically deaf. They've been whining to anyone who will listen about our overgrown yard, and how every time their grandkids chase a ball onto our lawn they get poison oak all over their legs and rear ends. They've also been telling people that the little man-made pond in our back yard is nothing more than a breeding pool for mosquito eggs.
The last time those fools knocked on my door was to accuse our newly adopted and unfixed cat "Jager" of sneaking into their doggy door at night and spraying their microfiber sofa with musk. I was so angry about this outright lie that I didn't even bother to tell them about how Jager had gotten into a fight with their dog that morning and somehow managed to pluck one of his eyeballs out.
I'm also hearing rumors about this single dad down the block who's mad at me because I stomped out to the bus stop last Friday and told his son to stop talking to my son. I've had enough problems with my Brandon choosing art and reading over sports and girls. The last thing I need is him becoming buddies with a kid who uses a PBS tote as a book bag.
At least I've made friends with one person on my block. That would be Phyllis, who lives two doors down. She's retired, and likes to sit at the edge of her front yard all day on a cracked white plastic chair and chain smoke little cigars. She's funny as shit. She swears and shakes her fist at cars that aren't even speeding, and she always sexually harasses the UPS man.