All Clampetty

It's 2:48 a.m..

And I have new neighbors.

I think I mentioned previously that I did not like the new neighbors. I was doing a fine job of ignoring them. They have a dog sprinkler made out of a wood cutout. You know. Cutesy lawn ornaments that you pick out at flea markets. They never close their windows . . . so I hear everything if I am outside. So I have avoided going outside. To the detriment of my lawn.

I met one of them once. She mentioned that she lived with another woman and that they were divorced. She then proceed to walk over to her friend and say "I met the neighbor", a little too proudly, like she had won at Monopoly or something. There are children coming and going. Haven't pinned down which actually live there.

Tonight I kept hearing clunking. Strange sounds. Breaking into things sounds. And then there was yelling. And more yelling. And then really angry loud, as if in my backyard, yelling. Which is when I jumped out of bed.

Now being related to my mother, "the director of homeland security", I realize now that the action I am about to describe was very, very stupid. Which is why I am wide awake, sitting at my computer with my phone next to my hand. I may not sleep tonight. And the healthy stuff is off . . . life is too short not to consume splenda. I know that now.

I pulled on a pair of pants. I found my mag light . . . which is actually my father's mag light. 4 d cell. Good for clunking. I drop the mag light on the coffee table while going for the phone. CRASH. Find phone. Find flashlight. Hope nothing is broken on coffee table. Make sure flashlight still works. Go out front door. Follow sounds while dialing 911.

My stupid new neighbor is having a fight with her boyfriend. The boyfriend is about 50 . . . she is in her forties. "Everything all right? Do I need to call 911?" Everything is fine here. "Well, no, everything is not fine. Did you know it's 3 o'clock in the morning sir?" Something about she won't move her car so I can get to my damn truck and leave. My finger twitches at the phone. She is telling me that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. It's three in the morning and I'm standing on your driveway with my head bashing flashlight and the phone dialed to 911. NOT OKAY. "Are you intoxicated, sir?" Both parties then overly assure me . . . too much . . . that he is not the least bit intoxicated. He is furious, pacing.

So I see the solution as simple. Move your damn car so the man can leave. Seems simple enough to me. But I can see that the woman has some sort of agenda. Abandonment issues, control issues, something not right . . . I sense that she likes that this man has been wound up enough to be screaming at her and waking the neighbors. And that makes me really not like her. And I walk away. I sit on my porch. My phone is switched to the police non-emergency number . . . and yes, I have that in my phone. Because I have crazy neighbors. And I live on a crazy street.

As I sit and think about whether or not to call in a noise complaint, I realize that I do not want to start a war with this one. Because she may be crazier than I am. And I do not need any more crazy. And soon I will be gone all day. So I go in the house and make sure all the doors are locked. And will sleep with the phone next to me.

Gotta love living next to a rental.