You Can't Escape the Crazy

I often laugh when reading Melissa's posts, especially when it comes to tales of her old neighborhood, and her hope that her new neighborhood will not have such quirks, because, after all, it is perfect. Her hopes are similar to what mine were when we moved into our new home. We no longer had to deal with the landlord who had kidnapped a prostitute and pistol-whipped her boyfriend over drug money, and we left behind the neighbors with the late 20-something son who was unemployed, yet drove a really expensive SUV, and lived in the basement of the house with his pregnant girlfriend and their constantly barking boxer puppy.

We now live in what I would deem a perfect neighborhood. Our days are filled with the laughter of the neighborhood children frolicking through the streets and the chirping of birds that we can actually hear because there is no traffic. But, we still have crazy neighbors, they're just a different kind of crazy and I'm willing to bet they're almost more dangerous because they are the silently crazy neighbors.

For example, we have the family kitty-corner from us with the daughter who is a teenage mom. Parents don't like baby's daddy, so they won't let him in their house. Imagine my surprise when the serenity of our street was broken by sirens recently and I watched an episode of COPS unfold before my very eyes. Baby's daddy is no longer allowed on their property. The result: The displaced teenage couple sit on the very edge of our property and smoke cigarettes and bitch about her parents while our dog barks constantly at them until they get up and leave, which is usually about 2 hours later. Now, the thought has occurred to me that perhaps I should just let the dog out and scare the shit out of both of them; however, my concern is that in the midst of the chaos that would cause, one of them would get hurt and would, of course, sue us. Then they wouldn't have to sit on the edge of our property to avoid her parents, they could just move in to our house because they would own it.

Our other neighbors across the street are seemingly the Cleavers. Dad is a hard working man who supports his family and trucks his son to football and baseball - hell, he even coaches the team. Mom just went back to work part-time after staying home for 8 years to raise the littles; after she drops them both off at Catholic school each morning, she goes to the hospital for the day and returns just in time to pick them up so they never need to be cared for by someone else. When you walk in to their house, they have sun catchers in the window that say "Praise Jesus" with rainbows and clouds and their house is meticulously cleaned - I don't know how she does it. But when you really pay attention you start to note things :: dad is outside, shirtless, in his cut off denim shorts, frantically using the leaf blower to remove dust and debris from his driveway at 7:30 in the morning :: mom who exercises frantically to maintain her perfect figure, even though she is rocking a permed mullet and tube socks :: dad who spends a week packing the trailer for a family camping trip, because he knows the exact dimensions of every piece of equipment, which is strategically placed within said trailer so that it will all fit. "No, that is not how it goes, it goes cooler, then stove, then inflatable pontoon boat, then chairs. That's the only way it will fit."

We have the friendly couple down the street with the two, obnoxious little dogs but no children, who feel like it is their duty to monitor the speeds of the cars going in and out of our neighborhood, which I appreciate, very, very much. Last week though, as I came around the corner, going a full 10 MPH under the speed limit, I was verbally accosted by one of them and it just so happened that she had just cleaned up her dog's poo.......guess what came flying at the windshield of my car? That's right, a yellow bag full of dog shit. Because she never actually came up to my car, I'm guessing she doesn't realize that it was me, but I'm waiting for the right time to say something about that one.

So, see, I've determined that it doesn't really matter where you move, or how seemingly perfect your surrounding might be; you can't escape the crazy. Or, maybe it's just me. A friend of mine said recently "You really just attract these people." I hope Melissa has better luck in her new neighborhood than I have, although I am willing to bet that in no time at all, we will be getting wonderfully sarcastic stories of how crazy her new neighborhood actually is; as sick as I am, I look forward to it.