The new neighbors are nice-ish. They don’t talk to us, we don’t talk to them, it’s all good. And even though there seems to be a lot of them (teenage girl has about 6 friends over often, 20-something guy has a handful of friends over, and older couple- assuming parents- 20-something guy seems to have a wife and a baby and a toddler), we’re not really sure who all actually lives there, and who just visits a lot. Thankfully, someone in that house seems to be 3rd shift so we hardly ever hear them after whoever leaves soon after we come home.

This story is not about them, however. I’m just happy to have neighbors that we can live with. No, this isn’t about the Jamaican family that used to live across from us either, who would have loud wailing chants at midnight during full moons (and once on Friday the 13th). This is a story about a relatively normal neighbor across the way.

There was a bird. An insomniac bird. Possibly an insomniac bird with turrets. This bird, for God-only-knows-why would wake up about 9 pm and sing incessantly until about 4am, at which point all the other birds would wake up. Oddly, however, all the other birds combined managed to not be as loud as this one bird. Seriously, we hear big rigs and trains going by our house that this bird drowned out.

Several times we considered killing it. Sometimes we considered asking the landlord to rip out its favorite tree. One night, our sort-of-normal neighbor was out having a smoke just as we came home. We did the fake half-smile-just-in-case-he-notices-us-and-we-have-to-be-polite thing. But he didn’t notice us. Instead, he sauntered over to the tree and stared at it for a moment. And then suddenly shook the hell out of that tree! We, of course, started laughing and got out of the van.

Not-so-normal-neighbor sees us, shakes his head, and says “Bloody bird. I shut him up before and he’s already back at it! I may have to shoot him.” (sounded a lot funnier with his accent and body language).

First, a co-worker quit. He’s one of those jerk-on-the-outside-teddy-bear-on-the-inside types (and no bringing up the fact that I hate teddy bears!). Since I knew he was quitting as soon as he had a good job lined up, and I know that he’s the one that steals my Pepperidge Farms Milano double chocolate cookies (I know because he brazenly steals and eats them IN FRONT OF ME), I prepared and bought a second package of Milanos and hid them in one of my drawers under a pile of old grocery bags.

So, this after noon he tells me that today was his last day working there, and I jump up and grab the bag out of the drawer and hand them to him. He gives me the “what’s the crazy lady doing?” look until I explain that I’ve been holding onto them until I knew he was going and they’re a parting gift. Would you believe that this big, mean, Sicilian pirate from Philly comes over and hugs me before he left? Awwwww.

So, after work I hit the grocery store. End up striking up a conversation with the two people behind the deli counter. THEN I end up somehow crossing paths with the same couple over and over and over… And yes, I know that that’s common. What’s not common is that the other person/people turn out to be friendly and joke about it with you. So, I’m getting near the end of the store, the couple passes me again and then suddenly stop and grin at me. The wife looks at me and says “Well, we have to go home now, so have a good evening!”. *lol* There was a bit more banter involving weekends, Christmas, New Years, etc, and then they were on their way.

So I’m already late finishing up the groceries and get in line. Next thing you know, I end up chatting to the cashier. We end up so deep in conversation that actually walked with me to the door still talking! I kid you not! In fact, she started to go back to her station several times, and then come back to tell me something else. *lol* All in all, groceries took about 45 minutes longer than usual, but I had a blast!

Now, any time that I can ship out during normal post office hours is a good thing, since the local multi-shipping place charges a hefty surcharge for the convenience of staying open past normal work hours. *gasp* Open when real people aren’t at work? Who’da thunk?

Anyway. The closest post office is a small counter in the back of a gift shop in the shopping center of a “rich people” golf course rental community. It’s mostly retirees, and so even when there’s a line, there’s generally plenty of patience and often even friendliness, which is a pleasant change from other post offices.

So imagine my shock when I arrived to find myself 7th in line! At first I thought I had merely stumbled into the only rush hour of the month, until I heard the conversation up at the counter.

“But she no need the stamp. She just need envelope and stamp. Give me refund!”

“I can’t do that, we don’t refund postage. Besides, it’s two months old.”

This was repeated for about 10 minutes, while I, and one other woman stifled our giggles, and the rest waited patiently. This was occasionally interspersed with “I can’t argue with you all day, there are customers waiting to be served.” and “I am customer too! She no need this stamp…”

After that, two people got out of line, and several minutes later than that, one woman from the line finally went up, tapped the woman on the shoulder and said “She’s not going to change her mind- you might as well just go to the downtown post office and ask for your refund there”. Then she asked how much the stamp was for- you could tell that she was intending to just give the woman the money until the complainer told her it was over $16.

It took 15-20 minutes until the combination of the woman from the line, and a guy from the pharmacy finally convinced her that the refund could not be given there, and that if she wanted a refund she’d have to take it up with the main PO in the area.

Perhaps you just had to be there, but I wanted to document this so that I can use it in one of my novels.

He lent it to his son to use, who somehow threw wild parties without us ever hearing anything even though the floors seemed to be made of paper. We only know this because one day hubby saw workmen mucking out (I’m serious) several inches of rotting food. Apparently between our shared pipes, all of the garbage disposal contents backed up for weeks and then spewed out of his sink. Nasty.

Once they got it cleaned up, a new chinese restaurant opened up within walking distance of our apartment. Everyone that worked there moved into the apartment below us. I’m not kidding. We always saw 8 or so people in that apartment nearly every night, and often it wasn’t the same ones. Every night, around 1 am, we’d hear the sound of pounding feet, like someone running, then a pause and a thump. Over, and over, and over…. Every night. Eventually we figured out that it was the little girl (maybe 7 or so?), running down the hall and then jumping. We think they were teaching her martial arts or something.

When we moved in here, we were quite pleased. We got an end unit town home, and the couple on the other side of us only had 1 quiet teenage son. Nice people. A little obsessed with the Eagles, but no one’s perfect. Eventually something happened and there was only a depressed man somewhere in his late 30′s early 40′s. Then, no one.

And now, we have a dozen or so teens. I’m serious. I don’t think the oldest of them is even 20. It wasn’t so bad at first. Just loads of cigarette smoke filling our house every day (we’re still not sure how, but we’re assuming the vents). Then they got a puppy (against lease rules), but it was cute as heck, so we put up with the barking.

Eventually the office heard about the puppy and it disappeared. But that was followed by loud music. At 11am. 3pm. 1am. and occasionally 3am. Sometimes at 7 and 8 am. And anywhere in between. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that it’s lousy music… and the same d&mn song over, and over, and over… it doesn’t change.

Now, tonight, I just spent 1 1/2 hours listening to their band practice. And, with their other music, it sucks. Seriously. It’s bad. Their singer should be shot. And can anyone tell me why someone in a freaking townhouse would have a band practice that includes microphone and speaker? At 10pm to 11:30pm? Hello? Anyone with a brain here?

We complained to management about the music after it prevented hubby and I from getting enough rest before having to go into work, and they kept it down for a few weeks. But now that we’re back from vacation, they’re just living it up over there.

I really don’t want to be the b!tch next door, but for Pete’s sake, this has to stop!

So now that band practice is over, I’ve put on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone…. with the volume turned up almost the whole way, and with our Bose speakers on. Oh yeah baby, I’m really feelin’ this movie! No. I mean, I’m feeling this movie!

At this volume, I think the neighbors now know that they can be heard through the wall. If their loudness continues, then they’re just being brats. If it stops, then I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that they thought “a slab of concrete between the walls” was the same thing as soundproof.

“I’m looking for a driven, reliable, honest,resourseful, and agressive
associate.I have a have an comission and base pay soliciting opening for my team. i need some thats going to push when needed. Team player attitude is
needed,competitiveness is also nessesary!”

And the thing is- the whole ad just screams “MLM” at me.

The driver hanging out of his window with hands thrust wide (as you would find at the end of a song in a musical) and his passenger hanging out of his window, gripping the car roof with one hand and the other sticking straight up. I laughed. Hard.

I remember those days, and I’m jealous.

I grew up in Pennsylvania, and my maternal grandparents were out in Oklahoma. When I was very young, my dad usually drove straight through to get there, but stopped at a hotel on the way back. When I was a little older and had friends travel with me, we stopped at a hotel each way.

One such trip, my parents decided to only stop early so my friend and I could use the pool and take a nap. Since it was only for a few hours they picked the cheapest motel with a pool that they could find.

My friend and I had only hung out at the pool for a few minutes, when a policeman came out and told us to clear the pool area. Um, ok. We went back to the room and peeked out through the window.

Cops. A bunch of them. They were standing around a few feet from our room and looking up at a room slightly to the side and on the next floor. We began freaking out, imagining that whoever the cops had cornered would somehow pretend to go along quietly, then break loose and into our room.

It took the cops about 45 minutes to get the guy down and to clear out of the area. We all tried to relax, but after an hour or so gave up, piled into the van and finished the trip. We never found out what all of the fuss was about, but we figured it wasn’t a good situation since there were so many cops, and they all remained on the ground. I remember that later my father had gone out while the cops were out there, and found out that there was a woman with him- who seemed mostly confused.

The end result is that no one in my family has ever stayed at a cheap motel since.

So today we met up at a Starbucks and got (wonderful) feta and spinach stuffed pretzels and the coffee of our choice (always a Caramel Mocha for me) and sat down to chat. While we were sitting, there a motorcycle pulled up and the man took off his helmet and walked inside. We didn’t pay much attention. A few minutes later, a second motorcycle pulled up, and the man didn’t take off his helmet. Girl #1 (I’m not mentioning names here) remarked that the helmet made the guy look like a stormtrooper. I agreed, and then we noticed that the guy didn’t take off his helmet before heading towards the door. Girl #1 mentioned this. The first guy (who apparently had sat down at the table directly behind us) spoke up and said “he will. Just as soon as he gets in here.” Now Girl #1 is embarrassed and trying to save face, while I’m laughing. Before we could turn around, the second guy walks in, still helmeted, and heads to the table behind us. That’s right, the table that the first biker was sitting at. The first biker looks at the helmeted biker and tells him how Girl #1 said that the helmet made guy #2 look like a stormtrooper.

At this point I’m all but on the floor laughing, Girl #1 has turned so red you could have set her on a street corner and used her at a stop sign, and we’ve all lost track of girl #2. Guy #2 is apparently quite tall and we were sitting, so he walks over (still helmeted) and literally looms over Girl #1. My mouth is actually hanging open waiting to hear what he’s going to say.

After a brief pause, I hear “*deep breath* I am not your father”.