The day we moved in, our neighbor--CN, for crazy neighbor--came over, told us about the crime in the area (not much, but he made sure we were wary of THOSE PEOPLE), asked us what we thought about those ho-mo-sexuals in the military, and wandered off. We thought, great. Just great.
There have been various incidents over the past year. There's the memorable time we found him looking in our windows, grinning at us, and then knocking on the windows, or all the times he's just ridden over our front yard on his motorcycle. Wet grass or no, he's like a dog, marking his territory, but with his bike. A few weeks ago, I got home from bar class and studying all day to have him ambush me--literally coming from around the bushes--and ask, "WHY AREN'T YOU STUDYING?!?"
Up until today, my personal favorite has been his dog saga. He bought a yappy little thing, and it came complete with a Napolean complex, read to use its teeth. Since his fence was knocked down by a storm, he would just drop the dog in our back yard and leave it there all day. It whined, it barked, it cried, it was desperate. It dug lots of holes. He asked us to babysit the dog while he went away for a month. Finally, the thing got taken back to from wence it came.
Mais, there is always another day. Today, for example.
He is convinced that the land surveys show that he is the owner of part of our (our landlord's) property. So he intends to dig a giant hole in our front yard to help with drainage of his driveway. In our front yard. Giant hole. On Friday.
Has he called the property manager? The landlords? Nope, just thought he'd let us know. He's doing it in two days.
Oh, Mr. Rogers, it's a beautiful day in our neighborhood. Won't you come be my neighbor?
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