Got My Mind On My Move And My Move On My Mind

I'm violating my own "I don't recycle posts" rule because this one has to do with moving.  Also?  It still cracks me up.  Plus a lot of you didn't start reading this blog until this summer, so maybe it's new to you.

This is from last January and it has to do with when the folks next door moved.  I'm not putting up all the other posts that give this one proper context but the shorthand version is there's a good reason why my second book had the subtitle Who Are All These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me?

Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The idiots next door are gone.

For a while, I contemplated if I was being unfair calling them idiots.  Honestly, I never got to know them and it's not like I ever had the opportunity to administer an IQ test or examine their SAT scores.  (And like I, Miss-400-on-the-math-portion-and-seriously-how-did-I-even-get-into-college-with-that-score?, had any room to talk.) 

Maybe the folks next door had good reasons for covering their broken windows with garbage bags rather than panes of glass? 

I began to wonder if the family wasn't really pragmatic and I had no business laughing myself into a pant-wetting asthma attack when their son decided to trim up their diseased tree, wearing a scuba mask and snorkel instead of safety glasses.  And surely there was a good reason they chose not to cut the whole stupid tree down before its rotting trunk collapsed and crushed my garage, right?

Perhaps there were solid, smart environmental motives prompting them to forgo shoveling and simply pour salt directly from the shaker on their sidewalk after every storm?

Could it be they had a higher purpose in mind and they deliberately chose to never mow their backyard, and thus attract all those rats?  (Technically, I can't say they never, ever cut their lawn because that one time I did see them attack their five-foot weeds with a pair of kitchen scissors.)  Speaking of yards, maybe they intended to give back all my empty garden pots that blew over the fence last year and just hadn't had the chance?

It occurred to me that maybe, MAYBE my quick-to-judge-self was being a bit too hard on them.  Maybe they weren't idiots.  Maybe it was just me being a jerk.  (Wouldn't be the first time.)

And then I watched them move.

* * *

November 27 - I'm sitting in my office upstairs when I hear commotion outside.  It's different than the usual garbage-pirate-pushing-a-stolen-cart-full-of-scrap-metal down the street, so I peep out the window and see two burly men forcing a For Sale sign into the frozen ground next door.

My screams of joy can be heard as far as Iowa.

November 28 to December 7 - I log onto their realtor's website almost every hour hoping to catch a glimpse of what's behind their blanket-and-towel covered windows.  I don't find their listing, but do run across a number of other neighborhood properties and I'm horrified/fascinated at how much people are charging for the privilege of owning a house here.  Although, I guess if you want to buy a bag of weed locally or desire to know what traffic on the expressway is like by simply looking out the window, then my street is ideal.

December 8 - SCORE!  The listing goes live!  However, there are no photos, just a description saying the property needs to be gut-rehabbed, like, yesterday.  Pfft, I KNEW that.  Also, the place is already under contract even though all the other homes on this street have been on the market for over a year, most likely because the next door asking price was between three and five HUNDRED THOUSAND less than neighborhood comps.

December 9 - Speculation about the buyers begins and Fletch gets a lot of annoying phone calls at work.

"Who do you think bought the place next door?"

* * *

"What if I sell another book and I have to live next door to a construction site?"

* * *

"Do you think they'll just burn the place to the ground and start over?"

* * *

"What if the assholes who re-did the place down the street are hired to do the rehab and they leave a propane torch on again and almost poison us like they did the neighbors' baby?"

* * *

"What if they DON'T rehab it?  What if a slumlord bought it and turns the place into two low-income apartments and a bunch of loud people sit outside on the stoop and yell at each other every day?  I realize I said the new owners can't get worse than the current crop of idiots, but that's not true.  It can ALWAYS get worse."

* * *

"What if the new owners are a bunch of uptight Yuppies and they think we're the trashy neighbors?"

* * *

Not coincidentally, Fletch starts letting all my calls go to voice mail.

December 14 - A Realtor-type guy pulls up in front of the house next door.  In the past week, wind has caused part of the For Sale sign to come unhooked from its chain on the post.  Naturally, the neighbors have re-secured the flapping piece of metal with an old tube sock.  Um, that's one way to reduce. reuse, recycle, I guess.  The Realtor clenches his jaw before tossing the sign in the back of his SUV.  Does this mean the deal is done?

December 16, 10:00 AM - I wake up to eight inches of snow and the most glorious sight in the entire world - a UHaul truck parked across the street!  I make Fletch get out of bed early so we can sit on the couch, drink coffee, and see what kind of crap the neighbors move out of their house.

I sip and gloat for about five minutes when I realize the people next door are having to trudge through my unshoveled sidewalk to cross the street to get to their truck.  It's one thing to sit and mock them, but if I actively participate in making this move harder on them, then it's ME who is the jerk.  I throw on my winter gear and head out to shovel. 

While I'm working, the kid comes out with a Playskool My First Shovel and begins to clear his own path with his twee little tool.  Since my car is in front of their house, I ask the kid if it would be easier for them if I move it up a couple of houses, thus leaving the equivalent of four car lengths open in front of their place.  He says yes, so I do, and then because I'm not a jerk, I offer to salt their walk.  I don't salt their stairs because they haven't shoveled them yet.  I return indoors to my coffee and quiet snark.

* * *

"Hey, they've been out there a while.  Why do you think they haven't shoveled their stairs?  And why haven't they moved their truck?  There's plenty of room."

* * *

"Seriously, why haven't they moved their truck yet?  They keep walking across an unplowed street with all their shit.  Wouldn't it be easier if they just parked in front?"

* * *

"OK, it's been THREE HOURS.  Surely if someone left with the UHaul's keys, they're back by now.  Every step they take on the street is through eight inches of snow."

* * *

"Now the kid has some friends over there and they're having a snowball fight.  KIDS!  Get back to work!  You're paying for that truck by the hour!"

* * *

"There's the mom and the dad and four open spaces.  Surely one of them has the keys - use them!  It's been FIVE HOURS.  Why are they not moving their truck?  And why do they refuse to shovel their stairs?"

* * *

At some point during the afternoon, Fletch and the dogs slink off to a less yell-y part of the house, yet I can't pull myself away.

* * *

"Stop throwing snowballs, Dad, you're getting the loading ramp all wet!  And kid, you're a sixteen year old boy - you can carry more than a wicker basket and a roll of paper towels!  While you're at it, MOVE THE FUCKING TRUCK!"

* * *

"Why would they turn the truck's headlights on and then walk away for an hour?  Why?  WHY?"

* * *

"The lights are STILL ON.  And no, I'm not going over to tell them.  They keep passing in front of the truck - at some point, you'd think they'd notice.  Jesus Christ, these people are like the goddamned pandas they talked about on Fight Club who are too goddamned dumb to reproduce and save their own species."

* * *

"OK, fine, if I'm driving you crazy, I'll stop spying and go to the ATM and to Target.  But I'm taking my car and I swear to God, if they're gone when I get back, I'm parking in the space they had and FORCING them to move their stupid asshole truck closer to their stupid asshole house."

* * *

I'm coming back from the ATM and I'm stopped at a red light at Elston and Fullerton.  When it's my turn to go, I'm about to cross northbound.  Before I get the chance, I see a big UHaul truck come careening westbound against the light.  All the truck's occupants are screaming and flailing their arms like the Team America distress call.

Of course it's them.  Of course it fucking is.

* * *

"It's 1:30 AM and they're still moving shit.  Doesn't that kid have school tomorrow?  Now they can't get up the ramp because it's too icy.  YOU KNOW WHAT?  THAT'S WHY YOU DON'T THROW SNOWBALLS."

* * *

December 17 - I think they're gone.  They leave their ancient foil-covered screen door open and flapping in the wind.  If it breaks, will they have more tube socks to fix it?  Or will it matter?  The banging finally starts to bother Fletch and he goes over to shut it.  He says the stairs are covered with dirt, as though someone had hauled out bags and bags of potting soil.  There weren't any in the backyard, so the dirt must have come from the basement.  Weird. 

Fletch says the second he touches their door, the hair on the back of his neck stands up and he gets a vision of basement shelves lined with Mason jars, filled with human hands.  He runs back to our house and bolts the door behind him.   

December 18 - The truck is back.  They're still moving. 

December 18 - Still moving, still using the truck.

December 19 - Still moving.

December 20 - Still moving.

December 21 - Couldn't they have hired movers for the cost of renting a UHaul for six days?

December 22 - I wake up to more banging.  This time it sounds as though they're tearing the banister off the staircase on the other side of the wall.  The banging continues all day and at dusk, we see the neighbors haul out a huge stack of unfinished 2x4s and put them in their trunk.  Fletch comments, "There's not going to be a wire, toilet seat, or light bulb left in that place."

December 24 - The truck is finally gone and we haven't seen it/them for a couple of days.  In the garbage, there are a bunch of ten year old computer monitors.  The backs have been pried off and circuitry removed.  "Why would they pull that stuff out?" I ask Fletch.  He replies, "My guess is to keep the black helicopters away." 

December 25 - "Honey, look, they're moving today.  You can't move today.  It's Christmas.  You're either supposed to celebrate and open presents and stuff yourself on prime rib or get Chinese food and go to a movie.  You can't move today, no matter how stupid you are.  You just... can't."

I begin to feel bad.  For whatever reason, they're still moving today and it has to suck.  Moving is hard enough as is, especially when the process is drawn-out.  But today's it's got to be a special kind of hell because it's freezing and it's dreary and surely they have ten million other things they'd rather be doing.

Something odd begins to happen in my chest.  (In Whoville they say the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day.)  As I watch them rubbing their hands together in the cold between trips to the car and wrapping their scarves more tightly around their necks, I suddenly kind of don't want to mock them any more. 

I kind of want to, I don't know, maybe be...  nice.

Thoughtful.  Helpful.  Sweet.

Like, maybe... I could bring them cookies or hot chocolate or something.  You know, be the kind of neighbor that's more concerned with human decency than selling exploitative stories. 

This could be my moment to redeem myself.

I'm in the kitchen, yanking down a box of powdered Dutch chocolate and pulling out a pitcher of heavy cream when Fletch calls me back to the living room.

"Hey," he says, gesturing towards the huddled gray figures out front, "aren't those all your pots that they're loading into their car right now?"

I take a deep breath and pause for a long time before I say, "Merry Christmas, you assholes.  Maybe your new neighbors can make you cocoa."

* * *

Now it's mid-January and I haven't seen them for weeks. 

It's over.

The new owners have placed a giant dumpster in the backyard as they prepare to rehab.  Contractors have been in and out and officials with clipborads have been crawling all over the place.  What's most interesting to me is the first order of business next door was to completely cut down the rotten old tree looming over my garage.

I don't know who owns the place next door now.

But I'm pretty sure I like them.

* * *

Update from 10/21 - They've been doing construction next door for the past ten months.  Loudly.  I like them a whole lot less.

The idiots next door are gone.

For a while, I contemplated if I was being unfair calling them idiots.  Honestly, I never got to know them and it's not like I ever had the opportunity to administer an IQ test or examine their SAT scores.  (And like I, Miss-400-on-the-math-portion-and-seriously-how-did-I-even-get-into-college-with-that-score?, had any room to talk.) 

Maybe the folks next door had good reasons for covering their broken windows with garbage bags rather than panes of glass? 

I began to wonder if the family wasn't really pragmatic and I had no business laughing myself into a pant-wetting asthma attack when their son decided to trim up their diseased tree, wearing a scuba mask and snorkel instead of safety glasses.  And surely there was a good reason they chose not to cut the whole stupid tree down before its rotting trunk collapsed and crushed my garage, right?

Perhaps there were solid, smart environmental motives prompting them to forgo shoveling and simply pour salt directly from the shaker on their sidewalk after every storm?

Could it be they had a higher purpose in mind and they deliberately chose to never mow their backyard, and thus attract all those rats?  (Technically, I can't say they never, ever cut their lawn because that one time I did see them attack their five-foot weeds with a pair of kitchen scissors.)  Speaking of yards, maybe they intended to give back all my empty garden pots that blew over the fence last year and just hadn't had the chance?

It occurred to me that maybe, MAYBE my quick-to-judge-self was being a bit too hard on them.  Maybe they weren't idiots.  Maybe it was just me being a jerk.  (Wouldn't be the first time.)

And then I watched them move.

* * *

November 27 - I'm sitting in my office upstairs when I hear commotion outside.  It's different than the usual garbage-pirate-pushing-a-stolen-cart-full-of-scrap-metal down the street, so I peep out the window and see two burly men forcing a For Sale sign into the frozen ground next door.

My screams of joy can be heard as far as Iowa.

November 28 to December 7 - I log onto their realtor's website almost every hour hoping to catch a glimpse of what's behind their blanket-and-towel covered windows.  I don't find their listing, but do run across a number of other neighborhood properties and I'm horrified/fascinated at how much people are charging for the privilege of owning a house here.  Although, I guess if you want to buy a bag of weed locally or desire to know what traffic on the expressway is like by simply looking out the window, then my street is ideal.

December 8 - SCORE!  The listing goes live!  However, there are no photos, just a description saying the property needs to be gut-rehabbed, like, yesterday.  Pfft, I KNEW that.  Also, the place is already under contract even though all the other homes on this street have been on the market for over a year, most likely because the next door asking price was between three and five HUNDRED THOUSAND less than neighborhood comps.

December 9 - Speculation about the buyers begins and Fletch gets a lot of annoying phone calls at work.

"Who do you think bought the place next door?"

* * *

"What if I sell another book and I have to live next door to a construction site?"

* * *

"Do you think they'll just burn the place to the ground and start over?"

* * *

"What if the assholes who re-did the place down the street are hired to do the rehab and they leave a propane torch on again and almost poison us like they did the neighbors' baby?"

* * *

"What if they DON'T rehab it?  What if a slumlord bought it and turns the place into two low-income apartments and a bunch of loud people sit outside on the stoop and yell at each other every day?  I realize I said the new owners can't get worse than the current crop of idiots, but that's not true.  It can ALWAYS get worse."

* * *

"What if the new owners are a bunch of uptight Yuppies and they think we're the trashy neighbors?"

* * *

Not coincidentally, Fletch starts letting all my calls go to voice mail.

December 14 - A Realtor-type guy pulls up in front of the house next door.  In the past week, wind has caused part of the For Sale sign to come unhooked from its chain on the post.  Naturally, the neighbors have re-secured the flapping piece of metal with an old tube sock.  Um, that's one way to reduce. reuse, recycle, I guess.  The Realtor clenches his jaw before tossing the sign in the back of his SUV.  Does this mean the deal is done?

December 16, 10:00 AM - I wake up to eight inches of snow and the most glorious sight in the entire world - a UHaul truck parked across the street!  I make Fletch get out of bed early so we can sit on the couch, drink coffee, and see what kind of crap the neighbors move out of their house.

I sip and gloat for about five minutes when I realize the people next door are having to trudge through my unshoveled sidewalk to cross the street to get to their truck.  It's one thing to sit and mock them, but if I actively participate in making this move harder on them, then it's ME who is the jerk.  I throw on my winter gear and head out to shovel. 

While I'm working, the kid comes out with a Playskool My First Shovel and begins to clear his own path with his twee little tool.  Since my car is in front of their house, I ask the kid if it would be easier for them if I move it up a couple of houses, thus leaving the equivalent of four car lengths open in front of their place.  He says yes, so I do, and then because I'm not a jerk, I offer to salt their walk.  I don't salt their stairs because they haven't shoveled them yet.  I return indoors to my coffee and quiet snark.

* * *

"Hey, they've been out there a while.  Why do you think they haven't shoveled their stairs?  And why haven't they moved their truck?  There's plenty of room."

* * *

"Seriously, why haven't they moved their truck yet?  They keep walking across an unplowed street with all their shit.  Wouldn't it be easier if they just parked in front?"

* * *

"OK, it's been THREE HOURS.  Surely if someone left with the UHaul's keys, they're back by now.  Every step they take on the street is through eight inches of snow."

* * *

"Now the kid has some friends over there and they're having a snowball fight.  KIDS!  Get back to work!  You're paying for that truck by the hour!"

* * *

"There's the mom and the dad and four open spaces.  Surely one of them has the keys - use them!  It's been FIVE HOURS.  Why are they not moving their truck?  And why do they refuse to shovel their stairs?"

* * *

At some point during the afternoon, Fletch and the dogs slink off to a less yell-y part of the house, yet I can't pull myself away.

* * *

"Stop throwing snowballs, Dad, you're getting the loading ramp all wet!  And kid, you're a sixteen year old boy - you can carry more than a wicker basket and a roll of paper towels!  While you're at it, MOVE THE FUCKING TRUCK!"

* * *

"Why would they turn the truck's headlights on and then walk away for an hour?  Why?  WHY?"

* * *

"The lights are STILL ON.  And no, I'm not going over to tell them.  They keep passing in front of the truck - at some point, you'd think they'd notice.  Jesus Christ, these people are like the goddamned pandas they talked about on Fight Club who are too goddamned dumb to reproduce and save their own species."

* * *

"OK, fine, if I'm driving you crazy, I'll stop spying and go to the ATM and to Target.  But I'm taking my car and I swear to God, if they're gone when I get back, I'm parking in the space they had and FORCING them to move their stupid asshole truck closer to their stupid asshole house."

* * *

I'm coming back from the ATM and I'm stopped at a red light at Elston and Fullerton.  When it's my turn to go, I'm about to cross northbound.  Before I get the chance, I see a big UHaul truck come careening westbound against the light.  All the truck's occupants are screaming and flailing their arms like the Team America distress call.

Of course it's them.  Of course it fucking is.

* * *

"It's 1:30 AM and they're still moving shit.  Doesn't that kid have school tomorrow?  Now they can't get up the ramp because it's too icy.  YOU KNOW WHAT?  THAT'S WHY YOU DON'T THROW SNOWBALLS."

* * *

December 17 - I think they're gone.  They leave their ancient foil-covered screen door open and flapping in the wind.  If it breaks, will they have more tube socks to fix it?  Or will it matter?  The banging finally starts to bother Fletch and he goes over to shut it.  He says the stairs are covered with dirt, as though someone had hauled out bags and bags of potting soil.  There weren't any in the backyard, so the dirt must have come from the basement.  Weird. 

Fletch says the second he touches their door, the hair on the back of his neck stands up and he gets a vision of basement shelves lined with Mason jars, filled with human hands.  He runs back to our house and bolts the door behind him.   

December 18 - The truck is back.  They're still moving. 

December 18 - Still moving, still using the truck.

December 19 - Still moving.

December 20 - Still moving.

December 21 - Couldn't they have hired movers for the cost of renting a UHaul for six days?

December 22 - I wake up to more banging.  This time it sounds as though they're tearing the banister off the staircase on the other side of the wall.  The banging continues all day and at dusk, we see the neighbors haul out a huge stack of unfinished 2x4s and put them in their trunk.  Fletch comments, "There's not going to be a wire, toilet seat, or light bulb left in that place."

December 24 - The truck is finally gone and we haven't seen it/them for a couple of days.  In the garbage, there are a bunch of ten year old computer monitors.  The backs have been pried off and circuitry removed.  "Why would they pull that stuff out?" I ask Fletch.  He replies, "My guess is to keep the black helicopters away." 

December 25 - "Honey, look, they're moving today.  You can't move today.  It's Christmas.  You're either supposed to celebrate and open presents and stuff yourself on prime rib or get Chinese food and go to a movie.  You can't move today, no matter how stupid you are.  You just... can't."

I begin to feel bad.  For whatever reason, they're still moving today and it has to suck.  Moving is hard enough as is, especially when the process is drawn-out.  But today's it's got to be a special kind of hell because it's freezing and it's dreary and surely they have ten million other things they'd rather be doing.

Something odd begins to happen in my chest.  (In Whoville they say the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day.)  As I watch them rubbing their hands together in the cold between trips to the car and wrapping their scarves more tightly around their necks, I suddenly kind of don't want to mock them any more. 

I kind of want to, I don't know, maybe be...  nice.

Thoughtful.  Helpful.  Sweet.

Like, maybe... I could bring them cookies or hot chocolate or something.  You know, be the kind of neighbor that's more concerned with human decency than selling exploitative stories. 

This could be my moment to redeem myself.

I'm in the kitchen, yanking down a box of powdered Dutch chocolate and pulling out a pitcher of heavy cream when Fletch calls me back to the living room.

"Hey," he says, gesturing towards the huddled gray figures out front, "aren't those all your pots that they're loading into their car right now?"

I take a deep breath and pause for a long time before I say, "Merry Christmas, you assholes.  Maybe your new neighbors can make you cocoa."

* * *

Now it's mid-January and I haven't seen them for weeks. 

It's over.

The new owners have placed a giant dumpster in the backyard as they prepare to rehab.  Contractors have been in and out and officials with clipborads have been crawling all over the place.  What's most interesting to me is the first order of business next door was to completely cut down the rotten old tree looming over my garage.

I don't know who owns the place next door now.

But I'm pretty sure I like them.

* * *

Update from 10/21 - They've been doing construction next door for the past ten months.  Loudly.  I like them a whole lot less.

Comments

[Melly]

I live in Iowa! We heard your screams of joy!

*LOL*

[Lynn]

I am one of the new readers of your blogs - so thanks - that was hilarious!

Loved the dirty shirty party pictures - I'm always looking for a new party theme.

[Terry]

I have really great neighbors all 'round me, now. They have made first-time home-ownership easier for me, and we even do hokey street activities. Of course, when I lived in an apartment I had the nosey, schizo/psycho neighbor from hell and a landlady who vacuumed her garage.

[Wendy]

I think they were growing pot in your pots

[Kellee]

I just remembered a funny move story which happened to our family when I was growing up.

We lived in an old farmhouse on 6 acres, but decided to build a new home on the property and sell the farmhouse and 1 acre. Said new home was built and ready to move into. My parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided to have the 1 acre fenced in, I guess to better show exactly what land was with the farmhouse.

If you can picture it, we had a driveway which went from over by the new house to behind the old one, and the fence was built across this drive, with no gate or opening in the fence.

So when it came time to move, we of course hired movers for the large items, even though technically we were moving next door. Here is where it gets into silly, if not downright stupid territory!

These mental giants proceeded to take the kitchen table apart in the kitchen, take the pieces out to the truck, PUT IT BACK TOGETHER and load it on the truck! After the truck was full, they proceeded to drive the truck next door (which would have been tons easier had the driveway between the two had not been blocked by a fence!!!). They then disassembled the table, took it in the house and re-assembled it once more!

I guess in hindsight, the true doofuses (doofi) were my parents, who should have either left the driveway unfenced or at least with a gate. I am thinking the movers were pretty smart after all, since they were getting paid by the hour!!!

[Heid]

Donkey Punch....never heard of it, so I googled it, and, just so you know Jen, your dirty shirt party post came up 7th down the list :P

[Denise]

Great re-post...moving stories are always good for a laugh!

[Jen T]

If you need help moving, may I recommend the genuises my husband and I saw last weekend? Two guys in a pick-up truck were moving a fridge, which seemed normal enough until we saw that instead of using pesky tie-down straps, or any other type of restraining device to secure the large appliance, they'd recruited friend #3 to stand in the back of the truck and hold it in place. As they were driving down the road. In a hurry. At least he had one leg braced against the rear window to keep himself steady. I wanted to stay to observe the inevitably funny outcome of this experiment, but my husband, a police officer, said no way he was going to be first on the scene of a man vs. fridge crushing. And I wonder why he refers to stupid people as 'job security'...

[Cori from KC]

Ah, a classic. Thanks for the laugh.

[Rene]

Looks like the the guys are drawn toward to the girl with the spitters are quitters shirt like moths are drawn to light.

[Jen Ochej]

Hilarious post, Jen! I laughed out loud, well, pretty much through the whole thing. A great diversion from midterm week.... thanks! :)

[Sarah]

What's the deal with neighbors anyways?? Right now I have neighbors who, for some reason, REFUSE to close their pool for the winter. We live in New ENgland. People closed their pools almost 2 MONTHS AGO. I have to stare at a glowing green mess every freaking day because, of course, ALL my windows in the back face their house..Including my kitchen. So many leaves at the bottom of their pool you could RAKE it. I swear, if it's not closed my Halloween, I'm throwing glow sticks in it to create a whole "witches brew" theme...I mean, what are they thinking?? Are they going to use it for a hot tub this winter? So far I haven't seen any portable heaters or jet system arrive from Ebay. Neighborhood polar bear swim?? Mini ice skating rink? This is why I started "Pool Watch 2008" on my website! (www.mamainstilettos.com)

ps..AND they wear ear muffs while doing yard work. My husband says they are "noise silencers" but I don't agree. Why do you need "noise silencers" if you do yard work on the average of 1 hour every other week? And they make the pre- son wear them too. Poor kid is headed to nerdville without a choice. At LEAST give the kid a choice!

[Tracie]

I laughed at this the first time and the karma wheel came around and bit me in the behind. I know have the neighbors from Hell living next to me. Harley races at 1:00 am, living room furniture on the front porch, people actually living in the garage (the unfinished garage in Phoenix in summer), trash cans always on the curb, cars parked in front of my driveway, cigarette butts all in my landscaping, and some strange red and blue ropes holding up a tree are just a few of their fine qualities. This is in a neighborhood with a very strict HOA. The fines have to be approaching the national debt. I guess that is why they have a yard sale every single Sunday. I am about to buy the stuff so I will not have to look at it anymore!

[invernessie]

Love the move story. I have a move scheduled for the near future, my hope is it is much less eventful (and less monitored! ;-) ).

[Jennifer]

I have to say that I have had my share of strange neighbors as well including but not limited to the freak next door that thinks that he is Superman (I'm not even close to kidding-- his car has it all over the sides with his license plate being KalEl and his son's name is Clark and that is not even the half of it) and the neighbor two houses down that own no furniture besides a bed and a computer-- in a three bedroom house. I don't know how this lady entertains herself but I know I could not. Of course all of these people made living across the hall from an apartment full of mormon missionaries seem tame. But what can you do?

[Jenn]

Still funny. Thanks for the recycle...now where's my tube sock???

[Leslie]

You captured 10 college kids attention for fifteen minutes each, well done. My computer battery hates you ;)

[Kelsey]

Oh you give me hope that I CAN GET INTO COLLEGE! I got a 440 on the SAT math section the first time and I'm still waiting for scores for the second time..I should get them Thursday!

I hate construction. The people next door to me just tore down their house to make a "West Indies style" home..seriousy, wtf is a "West Indies style" home!? My house shook for 3 days, now they just wake me up at 6:45 AM on SATURDAYS. I may just kill them.

You want to do a book reading next week!? I'm coming to Chicago for the weekend and I want to hear you read the book in person!!! Plus you're my inspiration to write my own book and all...

[Two Martinis In]

Haha....this is hilarious. (I big heart your books!)

[Kim]

Great post! I had never read it before, but I'm glad someone else has had problems with neighbors.

Just be glad yours didn't borrow your favorite dinner platter you received as a wedding from your now dead Grandmother. Because they would have left it in pieces upon your front porch with an "I'm sorry about the broken platter" note attached. Classy.

[Gina]

Jen, this is way off topic but I thought you might find this interesting:

http://badrap-blog.blogspot.com/

[goodfather]

Nice re-cycle! I haven't been reading your blog long enough to have seen this twice, so for me it was BRAND NEW. And hilarious.

[Ev]

I am really looking forward to your next book.

[Kellee]

Sounds like they might be related to the fine quality folks my grandmother had to have evicted from a home she owned. These "winners" (note heavy sarcasm) were receiving every type of public "ass"istance known to man due to the fact that she claimed it for herself & the kids and he worked construction and was paid under the table.

And did any of this go toward keeping the rent current - hell to the no! I lost count of how many times my grandmother took them to court, each time they staved off actual eviction by only paying the minimal amount due, promising to get current, then falling behind again (the adult world equivalent of a child sticking out their tongue behind and adult's back!). Finally even the court had had enough and an eviction date was set.

Of course they waited to the last possible moment to begin their exodus, and of course the female of the pair (note I don't say "wife" but I never did know if they were married or not, they could have been) happened to be in the hospital with some malady or other, so instead of the actual couple doing the moving it was friends of theirs (more paragons of society). My grandmother came up to the house (she lived in the next block down, and at the time hubby & I lived in a small house at the rear of the property) to make sure, since it wasn't the actual residents who were doing the moving, that they didn't take anything that didn't belong to them (stove, fridge, etc) which of course they tried to do!

AND they ended up calling the police on my 70-something grandmother saying she was threateneing THEM!!!!! All she had done was let them know that the appliances needed to stay in the house.

After they were FINALLY gone, we discovered their final gift - they had removed every light bulb, cabinet knob, etc. In addition to this, we discovered moldy rotted furniture in the basement, AND - wait for it - dirty diapers left in various locations including stuffed in the heating vents!

This is one reason I would NEVER be a landlord!

BTW Jen - LOVE the new kitchen! Keep Fletch far far away!!! The windows present a challenge, but I concur with some of the other posters - I say it's your house, go natural if ya want! If ya doesn't want to see boobs or booty, don't be lookin in mah winders! You never know, you might attract some new fans!!!

[Shelly]

That is an awesome story, but my favorite story about your neighbors is the one where they were looking for their key under your car using their cigarette lighter for illumination. That one is priceless.

[thebestredhead]

Love the re-post! I'm about to move soon, and that has to be the scariest move ever! I thought 8 hours was a long move...
Also, love the update - sad that rat infested freaks were technically better neighbours!

[Jen on the Edge]

Every time I read this (and I admit that I read it more than once the first time around), it gets better and better.

[Sarah Elizabeth]

That story is hilarious.

And Team America...I love that movie. BAKALAKADAKA STREET!

[Jill]

Seriously sister - you are so funny! And thanks for the re-post b/c I'm a newbie to the site (well, since this was written) and I DESPARATELY (sp?) needed a good laugh today!
Thanks!!

[Karina in T.O]

Still just as damn good the second time around!

Noise, really pisses me off, and 10 months later, I'm sure I wouldn't be half as nice as you.

But lucky for you, you'll be rid of them soon no? Once you get to move to your lovely new abode?

[Shawna]

I'm in the library at school and just got the evil "shut-the-fuck-up-it's-a-LIBRARY-for-christ's-sake" look from all three librarians because I was laughing so hard.
well done.

[Emily]

Wow.... you could have written a book about Annoying Rat Family's move!

[sue Treiber]

heh

[Dutchess of Kickball]

I wouldn't be surprised if they stole the copper piping to resell for big bucks.

[Corinne]

Thanks for the re-post...I'm one of those people who didn't become a fan until this summer. This story, like all of them, was so entertaining, I could envision myself in your window, watching the neighbors while mocking. You are a gifted storyteller!