Frustration

I’ve been regaling Facebook with tales of my battle with my neighbors. My neighborhood is on a busy street and we’re packed pretty close together – I can stand on my porch and throw a rock into the three surrounding homes yards most likely, or pretty damn close anyway.

My back fence neighbors are pretty decent other than they had that dilapidated garage – which praise the higher powers has been repaired. My neighbors on the right are amazing – quiet, keep to themselves. Other than snow blowing my drive way and bringing up my garbage cans when the service runs after I’ve gone to work, warning my kids to lock their bikes in the garage so they don’t get stolen. . . In other words, real neighbors.

It’s the assholes on the left that irk me.

I’ve had a really long day and I could really write a decent blog post about this whole situation. . . But I’m gonna sum it all up and get to my point because my very soul is tired today and I just need to vent about this particular moment and go to bed.

It’s been slowly escalating over the two years we’ve been here, starting with their kids playing basketball late at night. They must have gotten a nice stereo for their garage because over the summer very loud music began to accompany the basketball playing.

I’m a music fan and there’s not much I don’t like.

Unless it’s dark out and I’m trying to wind myself and my children down for the evening. Despite it being summer break when this situation really began to get out of hand, we still had to be up early. Not everyone can sleep in, folks. Have some respect. I could spit out my bedroom window and hit your driveway. C’mon.

Okay. So we’ve got hooligans playing basketball at 10pm with Bruno Mars screaming “Don’t Believe me, just watch!” And I’m feeling it in my soul cause I’m thinking of all the ways Mr. Mars is describing my exact mood. . .

And then the mother fucker gets a motorcycle.

Really.

I have no issue with motorcycles or their riders. In fact I often admire both machine and rider to be honest.

But when its revving in a driveway two feet from your bedroom window at 1am it’s not so hot.

When it shakes the pictures on your walls, it’s not even remotely fun.

I could deal with the occasional little party or whatever they had during the summer. I’m a property manager. I get the whole neighbors in close proximity bit. I don’t like to complain about shit because they have a right to use their yard and enjoy it as much as I do mine.

But the bike was too much.

Start it and drive off. Shit, let it warm up for a few and then drive off. That’s cool.

But don’t sit there and rev it just to hear the engine at 8am. For 45 minutes. And then turn it off and walk back into your house after I’m good and fucking awake on a Sunday morning. When I get one day to sleep in approximately every 3 weeks and this was it.

Sigh.

So I’ve tried to ask them to chill out. Didn’t work. I’ve called the police. That worked for a couple weeks. But just the sight of any one of the occupants makes my face curl up in disgust. I want new neighbors now, please. Mine are broken.

It’s been a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. Dads birthday is Saturday so I know I’m extra sensitive and shit but it’s also just been a helluva week. Tonight I spent 2 hours on the phone trying to figure out who was in charge of replacing my sons tablet – the manufacturer, my phone carrier, or insurance. Two hours, guys. And when I went outside to smoke a cigarette to calm my boiling blood over the clusterfuck that was – still on the phone, mind you – my lovely neighbor hopped on his bike and began blaring Pantera.

At 8pm. And its 30° here in Ohio.

I like Pantera and all but

. . .

Come the fuck on, guy.

I spent two hours on the phone and spoke to six different people to figure out Chases tablet situation. I really don’t want to sit on hold with the police department to report your dumb ass.

So the bike turns off after, I don’t know, half an hour. But then he’s in his garage blaring Simple Man and Tears in Heaven . . . Two of dads favorites, wouldn’t ya know it. . . I can hear the words and feel the bass. . .

Why those songs, today?

Sigh.

Maybe I’m just being over sensitive. He is inside his garage after all. . .

Wheres my silver lining today?