He’s Back…

It’s been a while since I’ve had a Newman story. I’m sure you thought he’d retired or something. I wish. He continues to provide us with the same level of spectacular barely passable mail service on a daily basis. He’s nothing if not consistent.

I finally got around to ordering our family photos. I know, we had them taken the first of October. But it took forever to decide which ones we wanted, then I wanted to order Christmas photos at the same time, and you know how it goes. Anyway, I finally ordered them and the place that printed them decided to send my large 16x20 separate from my other pictures.

It shipped two days before the others. My smaller photos arrived last week. And I’ve still been waiting for my large photo. And waiting. And waiting. The maddening thing is that when I “tracked” it using the USPS site, it told me it was sitting in a facility about 15 minutes from my house…since last week. At least I knew it hadn’t fallen down between the seats in Newman’s truck.

(Didn’t know about that one? We once got a magazine dated September…in January. Yeah, it took him that long to find it. It was in stellar condition, too.)

I was about to get a bit impatient. We are not supposed to have packages left by our postal carrier. He’s supposed to ring the doorbell and if we’re not home, leave a slip for me to pick the package up at the Post Office. Newman has never quite figured that out, and as the local division of our government service seems to have issues with, you know, service, I was getting nervous that it would arrive when I’m not home.

And then today, I went to check the mail. And this is what I found.

Clearly a 16x20 photo is not going to fit in my mailbox. But Newman was not about to get out of his truck and walk himself up to my door. From the other houses in my neighborhood, you can tell that my door is far, far away from my mailbox.

And as I got closer, I got a little more aggravated.

Here’s the photo of my family that I frantically found outfits for, took amid the rumble of hundreds of motorcycles, debated and agonized over which one to get, and finally placed an order with Husband’s hard-earned money, then waited weeks for it to arrive. And it was hanging out of my mailbox. For who knows how long. Because Newman can’t be bothered to be held to a schedule.

But I have to give him credit. Newman did take some security measures.

In the form of a rubber band. I sure am glad he had that rubber band. Who knows what would’ve happened to my precious photo if he’d not had one of those things.

(If he’d broken yet another mailbox in the process, I would’ve lost my ever-loving mind. Just sayin’.)

But at least I have my family picture. It was unharmed in the process of delivery. When I get it mounted and framed, I’ll feel much better.

Get Ready, Because I’ve Been Savin’ Up

Dear Party People,

Yes, that was us that called the cops on you the other night. And the next time you decide to sit in your driveway with music thumping so loudly it rattles my windows, I’ll do it again.

Seriously? You have an entire house and back yard. You might try spending your time somewhere other than the driveway.

Oh, and the next time your buddy drives up and honks at 6:45 a.m. and wakes up my son to take you wherever it is that people go that early in the morning, I might just launch a brick at his car. So please ask him to never do that again for all our sake.

Dear Back Neighbors,

When you moved into NESN’s house last year, we thought our bad luck with crappy neighbors was over because you seemed, well, normal. And we’ve had a nice, complaint-free year until now. But I think it’s time to mow your back yard. All of it. Mowing just the chunk in the middle doesn’t count.

When the weeds get waist-high, it’s usually an indicator that the yard should be mowed – in its entirety. I have been holding off on calling the city, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. But if I see evidence of monstrous creatures living back there again, I’ll have no choice.

And your half-put-together trampoline you somehow managed to haul back there amid the jungle weeds a few weeks ago isn’t helping things either, m’kay?

Dear People Who Make Sunscreen,

Thanks for helping us out with our skin. I mean, if it weren’t for you, many of us would be wrinkly and riddled with sunspots and skin cancer. We would, however, be blissfully tan.

However, does it really have to stink? You’ve come a long way with sunscreen in the last few years, and most of it is quite tolerable smelling. But it still smells like sunscreen.

I don’t mind the smell so much when I’m actually wearing it. But after I’ve showered or given my kid a bath, or even washed the clothes we were wearing, I think the time to be smelling sunscreen is over. Gone. Little boys’ clean heads are supposed to smell like shampoo and baby wash, not icky sunscreen.

But if you could make a sunscreen that smells like a clean kid, you’d clean up. Literally.

Dear Newman,

I know the postal service was recently debating scaling back our mail delivery to just five days a week. And it seems that you have decided to take the initiative and go ahead with the plan regardless of what the rest of the USPS has decided to do. The problem is we don’t know which day it is we won’t be getting our mail, so if you could just pick a day, that would help. Thanks.

Dear Summer TV Schedule,

Oh, how I love thee. Let me count the ways! Reality TV reigns, the cable network series are back with a vengeance, and I get to check out some re-runs of shows I missed or were just so good I need to see again (hello, Big Bang Theory).

Sure, I miss my regular shows, but the special things you bring make it all worth while. And I certainly hope no one needs me three nights a week July – September, because, well, Big Brother 11. I think that’s saying enough right there.

My DVR may burn up this summer, but with the exorbitant price the cable company is charging me for its use, they can afford to replace it with a smile on their face.

Love to you all,

Superchikk

Another One Bites The Dust

We've had our share of mail woes since we moved into this house about four and a half years ago.

Let's recap, shall we?

Mailbox #1: Newman broke the door so it would barely stay closed. Then it was run over by a three-year-old. New post and mailbox. The pretty, expensive kind that matched all the others on our street.

Mailbox #2: About a week after the shiny new post and mailbox was installed, the flag was broken off by an unknown assailant. And then not too long after the flag went down (literally), Newman proceeded to break the door completely off. New mailbox.

Mailbox #3: This time, I bought the cheapest mailbox I could find at Lowe's and mounted it on our pretty, expensive post.

And since the cheap-o mailbox went up, things have been pretty ok. I mean, besides not getting our mail/getting other people's mail. Newman even recently made a ginormous stride in the right direction by bringing a package to the door. I know, right?

Back to our story...

As is our custom, when C got up from his nap on Saturday, he and I went outside to get the mail. And I immediately knew we didn't get any mail that day.

Because this is what I saw.

Now, since Orange Truck People moved long ago, I'm pretty certain it wasn't a three-year-old this time.

Unfortunately, whoever hit our mailbox this time wasn't responsible (or sober) enough to own up to it.

We suspect it was one of Party People's usually not-so-sober partying friends, but there's really no way to prove it, and we were even told such by the police department when I called to see if it would do any good to file a report.

This was no love tap, either. When OTK #2 rolled the truck down the hill and hit our mailbox, it broke. But it wasn't the victim of a violent collision. This poor mailbox took quite a blow. We're talking a full-on hit and run.

Now, since this will be our third post and fourth mailbox in the four and a half years we've lived in this house, I was really tempted to do it up nicely. You know, something made from concrete or possibly surrounded by giant boulders or land mines.

Instead, I purchased a $30 mailbox kit at Wal-Mart, which usually has everything a person could ever want. But the problem is that you have to actually dig a hole and put concrete in it.

That's no good - for many reasons, but the main one being that when our house was constructed, the guys who poured the curb and sidewalk were a little sloppy with the concrete and there is only a thin layer of dirt and grass covering large amounts of cement in the general mailbox area.

So since Husband's not the "handy" type and I'm not the "hard labor" type, we decided to find another alternative.

Since we'd been without mail for several days, we decided enough was enough. Last night C, Husband and I made a trip to Lowe's. And bless the poor guys who work the hardware section, we wore them out. They helped us find a post, mailbox, and all the little hardware stuff we needed to install everything.

We came away with quite possibly the ugliest mailbox setup known to man. But at this point, I don't really care.

Today, Husband and his friend G (who is the handy type) borrowed some tools and began the installation process.

While they were out working on the post, Newman was making his rounds. He actually handed the mail to Husband. You don't even know.

They told Newman our mailbox had been hit yet again and we'd have the new one up by tomorrow. Newman's comment: "There'll be more. Get used to it."

Great. Just what I needed to hear.

I Should've Taken A Photo For Proof

Something just happened at my house over which my mouth is still agape.

I saw Newman.

Doing his job.

Newman, instead of cramming an over sized package into my mailbox (as has been done on more than one occasion), actually got out of his car, brought the mail to my door, and rang the doorbell.

I was picking the mail up from the doorstep as he was getting back into his vehicle. I waved and yelled, "Thank you!"

I don't think he heard me. And I thought about running down the sidewalk so he would be sure to know that I appreciated his effort. But I thought that might look a little desperate and overzealous.

Because only a freak who obsesses about their mail delivery would do something like that.

It may never happen again. The getting out of his car to do his job part, I mean. I am cherishing every flyer and junk postcard today. I may even frame something in remembrance.

NNNewman

I haven't said much lately about our mailman. I was trying to stick to the old saying, "If you can't say something nice...."

After the broken mailbox (which I finally got out there and replaced), things have just continued to go downhill.

For some reason, Newman seems to have trouble closing this mailbox. Maybe it's because when he tries to violently slam it shut (maybe that's how my OTHER mailbox got broken?), it doesn't exactly stick. The thing's made of plastic, so you have to actually close it. But at least he hasn't torn it up yet.

And we constantly get someone else's mail now. At first, it was the next door neighbor's. No biggie - I just walked it over and dropped it in her box.

And then it started happening all the time. And I wouldn't notice it until I got back in the house, which meant I had to pick C back up and schlep over to the neighbor's to deliver their mail. You know, what Newman gets paid to do.

But it gets better. We started getting some guy's mail who doesn't even live in our neighborhood. Yeah, that's right. Some guy that lives down the highway a bit was missing his mail because it was being delivered to our house. Stellar, Newman. Just stellar.

So, being the me that I am, I filed a complaint with the USPS.

Oh yes I did.

And someone called me. They wanted more details about our "mis-delivered" mail. Then we got a letter. In the letter was a giant red sticker they wanted me to put on my mailbox, reminding Newman to check the mail before he puts it in the box.

Um, isn't that what he's supposed to do ANYWAY?

I didn't put the sticker on. Sorry, I don't really feel like I should have to remind him to do his job. If he'd like to put his own little reminder sticker on, more power to him.

Plus, I feel like that's just asking for it. Like the nerd who tucks his shirt into his tightie-whities. He's just asking for a wedgie. There's no need to put a target like that on my back. Or my mailbox.

Things got better for a while. And by "a while," I mean about three days.

And then we started getting that same random guy's mail again. Only this time it was two ENORMOUS packages that Newman had to wedge into our mailbox.

Hello?! It's not even my mail and it took more effort to jam it into the box than it would've to check and see if it was even mine. Genius.

So what did I do? I wrote a nice little Post-It note on those packages, jammed them back in the box, and left them for Newman to pick up the next day.

And then I promptly got back on the internet and sent in another complaint.

I received an email stating that I would receive a call from my local Post Office within the next business day.

Yeah, that was over a week ago. No call. But also no more random guy's mail. Which is good. I'm happy. But don't even be bringing that guy's mail back to my house.

Because then I might have to put down the lipstick and get some junk taken care of.

Neighborhood Update

It's been a while since I last updated you on the happenings in our neighborhood. In truth, it's because things have been pretty quiet. But here's a quick rundown.

As you know, Non-English Speaking Neighbor moved out, leaving their property to be overtaken by the jungle that was their yard. The city came and mowed a few times, knocking the grass back to a manageable height. Their house is still vacant. There is a fluorescent sign on the window, stating the house was "winterized" by the city, meaning they shut off the water and drained the hot water heater. I think there have been three different realtor signs in the yard over the past several months. I must say, it's been very nice not having to worry about the kids climbing over the fence, throwing rocks and trash at the dog, dealing with their loud parties and general mayhem. I'm not sure I really want anyone to move in back there. That's why today, I was dismayed to find out the house is under contract, and saw signs of life over there. I hope they're good neighbors.

Orange Truck Guy and family moved out. I kind of miss seeing OT Kids playing outside, but take comfort in the fact that there's no giant, noisy, orange truck constantly parked in front of my house. Their house was vacant for a while, then the Party People moved in. They had their first party the night they moved in. The beer bottles that migrate over into our yard after a party get kicked back over into their yard...I'm not quite sure how that happens. Amazingly, they seem to be quiet partiers. At least they haven't been noisy enough for us to feel the need to call the cops on them yet. One note of interest, however. They have an orange car. What are the chances?

Razorback Guy left us too. He's moved closer to where he works, taking his fence-running puppy dog with him. Argus misses Dixie. I miss her too, because she used to exercise Argus by getting him to run up and down the fence while she sat at one end and waited for him to run to the other end and come back. It's pretty quiet over there now. And Argus is pretty bored.


We do have a little excitement going on in the neighborhood. Some new folks moved into the house behind OT Guy's (now Party People's) house, next to NESN's house. They have kids. And a trampoline. I'm sure you can guess how Argus feels about the situation. Our yards aren't very big, and I can guarantee that trampoline takes up probably 80% of their available backyard. The kids are out on the trampoline all the time, and they love playing with a ball while they're jumping. And you know what that means. Tiny yard + trampoline + ball = ball going into neighbor's yard. A lot. I've witnessed the kids climbing over into Party People's yard multiple times in order to retrieve their runaway toy. After all, they only have about 6 inches between the trampoline and the fence, so it can't be difficult. The first time they hop the fence into my yard, they are in for a little surprise in the form of an unhappy me or an unhappy dog. I'm not sure they'll like either. It's just that these kids are Middle School age, and they spend way too much time on the trampoline for their own good. Was that still cool when we were in 7th grade? Seriously. Go play some video games or something.

Our mail is still getting wet in the broken mailbox. Newman doesn't seem to mind shoving the mail into the back of the box in an effort to keep it in there. I can never mail anything out since the flag was broken just after we put up the blasted mailbox, and Newman doesn't pay enough attention to realize the envelope not addressed to me with a fresh stamp on it needs to be sent out. I have purchased a new mailbox, but it is sitting in the laundry room waiting to be installed. It's hard to get motivated to get out there and mess with it when I'm afraid as soon as I do something will happen to it. And this time, I bought a $12 mailbox. Obviously the expensive ones break fairly easily. So if I have to keep replacing them, I'm just going to go the cheap route.

That's really about it. I know you were hoping for more good stories about my crazy neighbors. Winter just seems to keep them inside, I suppose. I'm sure there will be more to report as the weather gets warmer, and hey, maybe I'll even put up the new mailbox.

More Mailbox Woes

With all the issues we've had with our mail, mailman, and mailbox, you'd think that we'd be able to catch a little slack. But noooooo.

I went to get the mail yesterday and found a black chunk of stuff on the ground. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was part of a hinge. A hinge that holds our mailbox door on. So I reached up to open the mailbox door and it came off in my hand. My first thought? Newman! Now, I'm not directly blaming our most competent mailman (can you feel the sarcasm here?) for breaking the mailbox. But he was the last one to touch it, and he most definitely had to carefully place the door back on the mailbox after depositing the day's mail inside. I knew Husband would not be happy. And he wasn't.

So today, I come home to find the door of the mailbox laying in the street. Apparently Newman didn't take as much care today as he did yesterday, the cat being out of the bag and all.

I'm not quite sure what we're going to do. The mailbox door is not repairable, unless we glue it back together with epoxy or something. The mailbox itself was special ordered after our last mailbox mishap. I'm not sure if another box will fit on the post. Hopefully we'll figure something out soon. It's supposed to rain later this week, and I despise wet mail.

Newman!

I'd begun to think that Newman had finally gotten his transfer to Hawaii. ("You moving to Hawaii is my dream too." - Jerry Seinfeld) The mail had been coming every single day for quite some time, and I couldn't imagine that he was responsible for such a feat. And then it happened.

I discovered that a very important piece of mail had never been delivered. Now, that's not a typical occurrence, but it has happened before. And while I realize it could've been chewed up by a machine in Timbuktu, it's more likely that it was delivered to one of my neighbors by mistake, which is what previously occurred. And then the mail started coming later and later in the day. I dismissed it, thinking that the busyness of the holiday season probably caused an abundance of mail to be delivered. But it's mid-January. The mail should be back to normal now, whatever that may be.

And then one day I came home to find my mail literally hanging out of the box. Husband had received a small package along with our mail, not very big, but obviously too big to fit into the mailbox. Unfortunately, Newman did not feel the same way and wedged the box into the mouth of the mail receptacle, with about 80% of it hanging out into the street. And it was delivered about four hours late. The next day was even worse. We didn't get any mail at all. It was what I like to call "junk mail day" - the day that the little free newspaper packed with flyers and coupons is delivered to everyone, whether they want it or not. We got nothing.

So the next day, I called the Post Office. When I told the lady we hadn't received our lovely unwanted boxholder mail (or any other mail) the day before, she was in disbelief. She said, "Are you sure it didn't just come late?" Um, duh. I think I would know if my mail came, even if it was late - especially since we checked it again at 8:30 that night. I assured her it never came, and notified her that a very important piece of mail had not been delivered recently. She didn't seem very happy, and looked up our route and carrier.

"Oh, I see what happened," she said. "Your regular carrier has been sick for a couple of days, and the sub we had called in sick yesterday too. So we had to get someone from here to run the route. I guess they just didn't get it all done." Hmm, I guess not. What happened to delivering the mail in sun, sleet, dark of night, and all that jazz? "He's back now, so it should be ok today, though. If you don't get any mail today, just call us back tomorrow." Um, ok. What service! Now I see where Newman gets it.

So I arrived home that evening to again find my mailbox crammed full, with stuff hanging out into the street. It was clearly two days' worth of mail, bundled in two separate bundles and shoved into the box. Now, I have the largest mailbox on the street due to our previous mailbox attack. I didn't see anyone else's mail hanging out of their box, just ours. How is it that we have that much more mail that everyone else on our street? I don't think we do, really. I think it was Newman's revenge.

Newman!