123Valerie Strikes Again

Unprecedented Self-Indulgence.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

It's Not My Asphault

I feel bad admitting this to even you, my pretties, but I don't like our neighbors.

Not the ones on left side or the ones with the Christmas tree—the ones across the walkway. Them.

It started the other day when I attempted to pull into my parking spot, which is right next to Mrs. Grumpyass's spot. For whatever reason, she had strewn her entire collection of personal crap all over my parking space.

Why? Why, kids? Why did she deposit her groceries and dry cleaning and a lawn chair in my parking spot? It looked like a mini-tornado had hit only in the 8 x 12 asphalt rectangle.

Some other stuff she left in the parking spot, drawn to scale:

I pulled halfway into the parking space so only my car's ass was hanging out into our narrow street. Still, drivers behind me were seething with impatience because they could not get around.

Furthermore, Mrs. Grumpyass scowled at me while she scampered around to retrieve her items, like I was the moron who decided to use my parking spot as a refugee camp for the fruits of her errands. She finally grabbed all of her bags and furniture and clothing, and I pulled into the spot.

Oh, ho, 123Valerie. Foiled again!

She had parked ON the white line, so I had to back up and try again, which thrilled, thrilled the motorists behind me.

Finally I situated my car. My arms overflowing with a briefcase, 1,000 Tupperware containers from clean-yo-shit-out-the-refrigerator day at work and a pair of shoes, I managed to open the door to the house. Wonder Dog Bean immediately dashed out and trotted over to Grumpyass's yard where she popped a squat at the exact moment Mr. Grumpyass was leaving the house. All he saw was a golden stream and Bean's shifty eyes. I stood on our stoop feeling his wrath.

"Bean," I called. "Beanie, come here. Come here. Come here!" I fruitlessly tried. Tupperware containers, obviously sensing the tension, tried to jump ship like little plastic pansies and spilled out of my grasp.

He simply sneered at me as we both watched Bean's ass hover over his lawn.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "She just ran out. I can't . . . She's usually so good. C'mon Beanie. Please."

She finally heard me and jogged over to our side of the lawn. Still, he just stood there watching. I rushed inside.

So, now I am paranoid that they hate me and have decided a pre-emptive strike of hating them right back is best. It's a shame, though, because I've recently started jogging with Bean at night, a whole other post in itself. I attempt to take up jogging about twice a year, just like I do with vegetarianism and playing the harmonica.

Anyway, my inability to commit aside, every night Mr. Grumpyass grills the most delicious-smelling meats—kebobs of some sort, is my guess. Probably lamb. Succulent, I'm sure.

I have a secret fantasy that one night, as I'm finishing up my run and round the corner, he'll lean over his fence and say, "You're getting much too thin. You deserve a kebob," and he'll thrust some spiced meat at me.

You know, a lot of my fantasies these days involve the thrusting of meat. Hi ho!

In the Comments section, tell me about your neighbors. The winner of the best/worst neighbor story gets to jog with me because I need all of the motivation I can get.


  • At 9:36 PM , Blogger brinki dink said...

    Mrs. Wilter = Hot
    Mean Neighbors = Not

  • At 11:07 PM , Blogger nolongermrsborell said...

    I am sorry you are having troble with your neighbors. I bet you are a great neighbor!! Love ya!!!

  • At 9:42 AM , Blogger Bat said...

    I had better NEVER get meat thrusted at me!

  • At 1:32 PM , Blogger Flat Coke and Flies said...

    Mr. Wonderful's neighbor enjoys watching me pushmow the lawn.


  • At 4:54 PM , Blogger Grampa said...

    Neighbors, huh? You think you've got problems? Cut and paste these bitches.





  • At 10:49 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    My only neighbor is a weekend alcoholic who, on move-in day, let himself into our house asking were the herb was. A little after that, he decided to drive his truck over our septic tank. Lots of fun, this one. Makes me a paranoid mess. Doesn't take much, though. ~ the girl who leaves anonymous comments


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