Tag Archives: butts

A neighborhood miracle

This is what the front of the neighbor's house looked like for most of the last 12 months.

Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! You love me, you really love me. I want to thank the universe for this incredible gift. I never thought this could happen to me. And there are so many others I want to thank. Thank you to the homeowner’s association, my landlord, and of course my wife for standing by me during the dark times. It was a struggle. And, I have to thank the neighbors. Without them none of this would have been possible. Everyone, please remember. Dreams can come true!

I may never win an Oscar, but who cares? I’ve already received a gift much more precious. As far as I can tell my work on this planet is now done.

What can I say about my neighbors that hasn’t already been said? Of course they are dim. They are obnoxious as hell. There were eight people living in that house, most of them not even on the lease, and a dog they never told the landlord about. (The dog was famous for poop in the backyard, which, of course, they never picked up.) They routinely paid their rent 20 days late. The man of the house was on “disability” leave from work (he fell down stairs on the job) but partied his ass off every single night. The place was busier than Grand Central Station with umpteen cars parked out on our narrow street 24/7 and people living in the driveway. That was their hangout where they’d drink, smoke, ignore their kids and eyeball us every time we went in and out of our house.

We knew their days were numbered but my brain never fully accepted that this day might come. Well, it actually happened.

The neighbors have moved out!

The view of the neighbor's house this morning. So that is what their garage door looks like!

However, they didn’t exactly go gently into that good night. I guess they couldn’t help but leave some spore behind as proof that they once existed here.

When I walked out on my driveway this morning, the garage area was naturally the first thing I examined. Miraculously the door was closed! I didn’t even know it could do that. The second thing I noticed was there were no cars! Not in the driveway and not on the curb. Wow. How extremely odd.

I did notice their trash cans were still out on the curb, though. Those poor abused cans had already been through so much, being stuffed overflowing week after week. Garbage pickup was yesterday morning so they should have been put away by now. And the neighbors were in their driveway last night so they could have taken care of that. Apparently they opted to leave them out. After all, why should they have to bother with them when they can be made to be someone else’s problem?

As as expert tracker (and a trapper) I looked for other signs of neighbor spore. I noticed they left the outside lights on. Nice. And for bonus points one of the bulbs was burned out. Double nice. I guess that will be the landlady’s problem.

What was that? Something on the roof caught my eye. I moved in closer to take a look. It was some sort of toy they left behind. Nice. Again, someone else’s problem now.

While there I noticed the front yard. The lawn was left in terrible condition. Big divots of wasteland left behind in a sea of yellowish dying grass. Nice.

I couldn’t resist taking a few photographs of what the house looks like empty. In my old age I’ll never ever need Viagra. I’ll just pull those suckers out to get in the mood…

Golly, Dim Neighbors!

This is where the neighbors live - in camping chairs in their driveway. They call it the Smoking Room.

Most people don’t have the luxury of choosing their neighbors. I’m no exception so I have douchebags next door.

I happen to live in a newer subdivision so wisely allowed by our city leaders. You might know the type. The single family dwelling lot sizes are smaller than the square footage in some people’s houses. (At under 5,000 sq. ft. I like to call them “postage stamps.”) The street is about three car-widths across and parking is allowed on both sides. (Yes, that means the street essentially becomes “one-way” when cars are parked on both sides.) And the houses are literally about 15′ apart. (I call this “Santa Claus development” because he could theoretically land and simply hop from rooftop to rooftop.) These houses pretty much don’t have luxury items like yards. Lastly, you can park two cars in the “two car” garage unless you do something stupid like put a box in the garage, then you can only fit one car.

As you might imagine, having asshole neighbors in a community like this bites the big one. Of course the worst neighbors in the entire development are located next to yours truly. It’s kind of funny how things work out like that.

I’m sure the landlord thought she was getting a good tenant. The man is a manager at one of the local banks. She probably liked the sound of that. It has the ring of responsibility to it, eh?

Let’s briefly recap some of what I might have shared about them before in a post entitled The neighbors days are numbered :

  • They are friends with our gerbil, party with him, and provide him with illegal drugs;
  • They routinely have excess garbage spilling out of their garbage cans, place cans too close to mine on garbage day;
  • They smoke outside all the time creating an omnipresent cloud of disgusting smell we have to navigate every time we come and go;
  • Cigarette butts are found all around their property;
  • They allow their crazy kids to run rampant and unsupervised;
  • They make a ton of noise such as loud banging noise, kids, and gunning their motorcycle engine for endless periods of time;
  • Their friends park on the curb, the grass strip, block our driveway, and park diagonal across the sidewalk;
  • They have friends over seemingly 24/7 with multiple vehicles always parked on our narrow streets;
  • They have kiddie pools and camping in their front yard with frightening regularity;
  • They are “driveway dwelling” folk, their garage door always left open showing their clutter, lounging in folding camping chairs and smoking throughout the day.

Like I said, however, the neighbors days are apparently numbered. I say “apparently” because even though the landlady has told them their lease will not be renewed (praise God!) I’m still not convinced they’ll actually leave. They seem like the sort to stick around and force physical eviction. My motto is “expect the worst and you won’t be surprised.”

Even though we are miserable next to them, we never complained to the landlord who happens to rent both houses.

So yeah, the landlady wants them gone and it has nothing to do with us. Sometimes good things can happen to good people. (I’m talking about me.)

We’ve learned a few extra tidbits about these people since I last wrote:

  • There are EIGHT human beings (allegedly) living in that three bedroom house, three adults and five kids;
  • In other news, some people living there have not been reported on the lease;
  • They won’t pick up dog poop in the backyard which frustrates the landlord’s gardener to no end;
  • In other news, they never asked for permission to have a dog at all;
  • They are damaging and abusing the front and back yards;
  • They routinely pay their rent 20 days late or more and the landlady has been too nice to charge the late fee;
  • One day the landlady went to the local bank to find the guy and discuss the late rent only to find out he was out on disability leave for falling down the bank’s stairs, meanwhile he’s been out living the life of a mondo party animal for months on end;
  • It was quiet last week; the family was vacationing at Disneyland giving us a little taste of what it’s like not to have asshole neighbors for an entire week.

The assholes are back and picked right back up on their douchebaggery without missing a beat. It’s business as usual next door — but only for 21 more days. They have to be out by the end of the month!

Of course I’m expecting nothing less than bigger douchebags to move in and replace them at that time, but who knows? I just might get surprised.

The smell of freedom

Freedom! Freedom!

Those of us in the United States consider it one of our most cherished rights. Freedom is something worth defending, something worth fighting for. Freedom is worth the ultimate sacrifice we can make.

In short, freedom is the ability to exercise free will to make choices and/or engage in behavior without duress or coercion. We recognize, however, that there should be some limits on freedom, namely that our right to free will doesn’t extend as far as hurting someone else or depriving them of their rights.

For example, my right to design, build and own cages doesn’t extend as far as locking another person in a cage without their consent.

I also can’t yell “fire” in a crowded movie theater. My right to free speech is trumped by the possible injury and danger to others. (Thankfully, though, it is still acceptable to yell “movie” in a crowded firehouse.)

Freedom is a great thing and I truly love and embrace the concept. On the other hand, freedom can sometimes be downright fugly.

For one thing, freedom means that if someone doesn’t like you, they can go on the internet (perhaps the orgiastic marketplace of ideas known as Craig’s List) and say some downright nasty things about you. Oh sweet delicious freedom! By the way, if you are ever curious about how truly vile and contemptible and just plain insane humans can get, go to Craig’s List sometime and check out the “Rants and Raves” section. Good clean fun to be sure! It will curl your hair! Speaking of people who should be in cages…

Or how about another quite popular expression of freedom? The smoking of cigarettes. Thank God for freedom, eh? As a non-smoker, what are the myriad of ways that this particular freedom enjoyed so much by others directly impacts me on a daily basis?

I wake up in the morning and find cigarette butts on my driveway. My wife and I don’t smoke. Where could this human flotsam possibly be coming from? I’m assured that my aunt and son (both smokers) aren’t responsible. If that’s true, then the answer must be that passerby using the sidewalk in front of our house like to fling their butts up my driveway. I guess I should be grateful they don’t like to smoke poop.

I drive to work, open the car door, and put my feet on the ground. I’m standing on more cigarette butts.

We go to a county park for a picnic. We set up our Coleman chairs to eat and enjoy some nature and watch wildlife in the river. Near our feet are a plethora of cigarette butts. We walk down to the river’s edge and find a fire pit. It’s full of butts. Incidentally, we paid our day use fee to use this park. We couldn’t use the garbage can, though, because it was overflowing. I took a peek and saw four Hungry Man microwave dinner boxes and a giant box of white rice. Methinks someone had a weird picnic or one of the locals is using the park’s garbage can rather than paying for their own garbage. That’s the way people roll around here.)

Anyway, when it comes to cigarette butts, I think might be starting to get the picture. They are ubiquitous and found everywhere I go starting with my very own driveway. There is nothing quite like stepping out of your own front door and being impacted negatively by your fellow man within five seconds. Just by setting foot outside of my door – and while still on my own property – my freedom and pursuit of happiness is seriously impacted. I’m curious – which one of the founding fathers is going to materialize and stick up for me?

I can’t walk into and out of my own home, a grocery store, restaurant, place of business, or even drive my car down the main street in my home town without being assaulted by the smell of everyone else enjoying their own freedom. Cigarette smoke is everywhere. And even in areas where smoking is not allowed these days, like restaurants, elevators, and the workplace, I still get physically assaulted by the odor of smoking that clings to certain people. It’s like having an ashtray rubbed in your face. (I’ve read some new studies that say second-hand stench may be dangerous just like second-hand smoking. The way some jackasses smell may go beyond mere offense. It might just be physically injurious to those around them.) Freedom!

I want to close out this post by telling two quick stories both relating to my freedom.

  1. I bought a 1,000 sq. ft. house setting on one-fifth of an acre. It actually had a very nice sized backyard. (It seems huge compared to my current lot which is a 5,000 sq. ft. postage stamp. That means you could fit almost nine of my current lots into my old lot. I call this sort of thing Santa Claus development because he could easily leap from rooftop to rooftop.) Ah, home ownership! Living the dream! What could be more uniquely American than that? I then went out to sit on my own patio in my own home and enjoy my own backyard. What do you think happened next? Yep. The neighbor’s lung waste toxins floated over and impacted me enjoying my own patio. Freedom!
  2. I may have mentioned before (ha!) that my new home is about 10 feet away from my neighbor’s house, who just happen to be the super-special jackasses of our neighborhood. They are constantly in front of their house smoking their guts out. As far as I can tell, next to parties and ignoring their kids, it is their favorite thing to do. Naturally all of that smell comes to our property to hang out. Our air conditioner recently broke so I opened the sliding glass door in the dining room and the window in my office to get a nice cross-breeze going. Can you guess what’s coming? Yep! The neighbor’s lung waste toxins fly right into my window like moths to a flame and those toxins physically attack me. My wife says if we keep that window open my office is going to smell like a Las Vegas casino. Freedom!

What is it about smoking that demands it is a “right” that has to travel most everywhere smokers go? I have the right to have sex in my bedroom, but that right doesn’t automatically extend to everywhere I go. I can’t legally get jiggy with it on the sidewalk or city-owned parking lots. Why does smoking have more rights than sex? Again, I can pee all I want in my own bathroom. But I can’t legally mark my territory everywhere I go, like on the sidewalk, in an alley, at the park, or on a beach. Why does a bodily function have less rights than smoking? What makes smoking the most special activity of all time? And even if kept to personal property, as I’ve clearly shown, it can still impact the mother fucking shit out of other people. Will this ever end?

I’m on the wrong planet. There was some major fuck up in Galactic Baby Assignment. I should have been sent to a planet where idiots don’t blow up their own lungs and shrapnel everyone around them with collateral black tar damage.

Where do I go to request a planetary transfer? I wish to immigrate.