You Moving To Hawaii Is My Dream too!

Since I’ve been spending more time at home lately, I thought it was time for an update about the neighborhood. So here goes.

I’m starting to think Newman has abandoned us. Or retired. Or finally got that promotion to Hawaii. He hasn’t been around in a few weeks.

Coincidentally, we’ve gotten our mail every single day.

I’ve seen a few different mail carriers delivering our mail lately, but the one I see the most is a lady in a Jeep. As long as they actually deliver my mail (to me) and don’t tear up my mailbox, they’re already ahead of the curve.

Speaking of moving to Hawaii, our new neighbor is *halfway* there. It seems there’s one rental house left at the end of our street. And the person who recently moved in drives this car. (And the picture is so bad because I took it with my phone while driving by. I didn’t want to look like a freak.)

Yeah. I wish you could actually call the police on people for being tacky.

This is probably the strangest car I’ve ever seen in my life. Obviously there’s the color. Which is kind of unique to begin with. But when put on a Mercury Grand Marquis? Super bizarre. Also the lettering on the back window – not all that uncommon around here but I can barely read it…and it’s in English. It says “Benjamin,” which is just weird. Have you even known a Benjamin to drive a car like this? Or, if he was the type of guy to drive a car like this, would he actually go by his full name? No, I would expect him to be just “Ben.” Then there’s the trailer hitch on the back, which is hard to see in this picture. I can’t even describe how weird that is. There are marks on the driveway from where it’s scraped as he’s backed out.

I don’t even know what else to say about Benjamin’s green Marquis. So I’ll move on. I’m just glad I don’t know what the inside of that house looks like, because with that kind of taste in color, I’m honestly afraid.

The guy who lives next door at Party People’s house must’ve gotten a new job. Because lately a truck loaded with construction equipment and supplies pulling a trailer comes by their house in the mornings. He turns around in the cul-de-sac, pulls up in between their house and mine and honks. The other day when Caedmon actually slept late (until 8am), this guy pulled up and honked. My child was asleep. I nearly went through the window to strangle the guy. Seriously? Don’t pull up in front of my house and honk ever, but especially when my non-sleeping kid is actually asleep. Because that time in the morning? It’s precious. More precious than your buddy knowing you’re sitting outside his house. He has a window. Let him look out. Or call him. Or, I don’t know, set a time and ya’ll both adhere to it. Whatever the solution is, honking in front of my house in the morning is not it.

There’s also a guy who walks around our neighborhood almost daily. Sometimes twice. And it’s a free country. He’s allowed. But there are several things that make it a bit off-putting to me.

First, he’s probably in his 30’s, balding, with a beard and seems to be in decent shape. He’s not scraggly looking or anything like that – he looks well kept and you know, like he showers regularly and stuff. So he probably doesn’t live in his Mom’s basement. (Or spare bedroom. Houses in our neighborhood don’t have basements.)

Second, he walks the ‘hood when most people are at work. Like, mid-morning or early afternoon.

Third, he wears almost exactly the same thing every single day. Black track pants, black sweatshirt or long sleeve shirt. White sneakers. I can understand having your favorite workout clothes. But seriously, every day he wears black. All black. Except that sometimes the track pants have white stripes down the side. Sometimes the shirt has writing on it. So it’s not that he’s putting on the same “workout” clothes every day. It’s that his entire wardrobe must consist of all black.

Fourth, and quite possibly the strangest part, is that he’s not working out. He’s not power walking. He doesn’t have a dog with him. He’s leisurely strolling. As in, if I were pushing a stroller though the mall, I’d totally get miffed if I got stuck behind this guy. He’d get run over at Walmart. You remember the Tortoise and the Hare? The Tortoise would leave this guy in the dust.

I’ve been outside before when he’s walked by. He’s been polite enough. And it’s not that the guy himself is weird because honestly if I saw him jogging or walking a dog, I probably would think nothing of it. It’s the conglomeration of things that makes him weird.

I’ve wondered if I should report Slow Walker to the police. But what would I say? “Hey, there’s this guy who most likely lives in my neighborhood and walks extremely slowly down the sidewalk every day.”? They’d laugh and think I was the one who was weird.

I’ve thought about getting in the car and trying to figure out where he lives. But I’d have to wait a sweet forever after he walked by my house to hop in and drive around or else I’d look like a stalker. And then that makes me the neighborhood weirdo.

Which I might be, I just don’t want anyone else to know.

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.

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.