Love Your Neighbor

because you don't have mine.

So yesterday, in the spirit of Christmas, the girls and I took some homemade treats over to Keith. When he saw us coming, he ran inside and shut the door.

The girls insisted on knocking, anyway.
Keith (obviously) did not answer the door.
I suggested we play, "secret Santa", and Keith could find the treats later, as a surprise.

Reese looked in the window next to the door. "Why isn't he coming to the door? I can see him, right there."

"Uhhhh....maybe he (hates us) is busy? Maybe he didn't hear us? Come on, he'll find the goodies later. Let's go."

"He's looking right at me...."
We left the treats on the doorstep, and left.

Aaron found them on our driveway, this morning.

Humbled.

I just caught Henry mowing our lawn.

When the husband leaves town

See Aaron leave town for the weekend.
See Kasey come over with a rope and the Jeep.
See Meg and Kasey tie ugly bushes in the front yard to the Jeep.
See Creepy Neighbor Keith come outside to give us the staredown with his stink eye.
See Kasey hit the gas!






See Meg squeal with delight.

Good thing I wasn't naked.

Gather 'round, friends, it's time for a sing-along!
wahoo!

This story would be so much more entertaining with Duran Duran's Girls on Film playing in the background.

But we'll settle for Popcorn Popping.
Join me, will you?





"Oh, IIIIIIIII looked out the window and what did I see?




Ross with his camera, taking pictures of...me???"

Could it be?
Let's take a closer look, shall we?
A-ha! Busted!
Look at that, Rossi...you aren't the only one who knows how to zoom in.

Ew, right?

Granted, he was probably taking photos of the birds or the snow...but it should be noted that I took this photo from INSIDE my house. And before I took this picture, he was facing straight forward, staring right at me. I even waved through the window after I took the picture, and he waved back.

How neighborly.

Ross and Naked Marge are now PapaROSSi and Naked Marge.

I feel like I need one of those crazy Sarah Palin fences, now.

Henry the Hoarder and a Vote.

The new occupant of Carl and Barb's old house is Henry.
When he moved in, it took over a week of NONSTOP movers, and full sized moving semis.

Henry has a lot of crap.
Literally. I've been inside the house. There is crap on the floor and there are bugs everywhere.
Henry is a Hoarder.

For real. A REAL hoarder. The kind that gets buried under piles of their own crap and they die and no one finds them for weeks.

Carl and Barb would DIE if they saw what has happened to their home.
I'm aware that I have a ton of crap in my garage and that my yard/landscaping needs to be kept up better. But at least I don't leave my crap filled garage door open 24/7!

Henry! Are you kidding me?! Close the door! I hate looking out my front window and looking at everything that everyone everywhere has ever thrown away piled up in your garage!

And, it's not just the garage. Henry doesn't run his A/C, and instead, leaves his front door and the door to his house from the garage open all day. He even props the screens open.

What the heck? Is he not aware that screens do not prevent a breeze from blowing. Screens are merely there to SCREEN the sight of your crap from my view. Let the screen do it's job, Henry.

On Sunday night, Henry shows up at our front door, holding his hands against his chest. The wife beater that he has been wearing (for at least a week from the looks of it.) was covered in blood. HALF of a bloody thumb has in his messy grasp. Sweaty Henry was shaking and said, "Oh I did a number on this one. I need ya ta take me to the hospital."

Aaron went down the hall to grab his shoes and keys, and settle the kids down while I grabbed an old towel and an ice back and ran outside barefoot to aid Henry...who didn't look so hot.

He'd cut himself with a circular saw.
He showed me the cut.
His thumb was BLACK. Henry had bled all over pretty much everything in the area (pile of garbage) where he'd been building a wooden shelf to store some of his garbage.

He said, "the house is sort of a mess, but I'm gonna need you to go in there and get my cell phone, my billfold from the pocket of the trousers on my bed."

I took a deep breath and we went inside.
I know you are thinking, Meg! You terrible person! Who cares if his house is messy?! He could lose his thumb! What's wrong with you?

But LISTEN, people.

This is not your ordinary messy house.
I do not use the word hoarder lightly, ok?
I knew that going in there meant hoping that there was a path left clear for me to walk on so I didn't step on any of his treasures.
It's like that episode of Friends, where Ross dates the girl with the messy apartment, and tried to describe it to Joey:

Ross: You know how you throw your jacket on a chair at the end of the day?
Joey: Yeah...
Ross: Well, like that, only that instead of a chair it's a pile of garbage. And instead of a jacket it's a pile of garbage. And instead of the end of the day it's the end of time, and garbage is all that has survived.

Actually, it's a lot like that.
I really didn't want to go back in there. But of course I did, because who wouldn't do that for someone...especially someone in pain.
I knew that Henry had lost a lot of blood and had probably bled all over the area he'd been using the saw, and then left a bloody trail through the house while he figured out what to do, and that I'd be walking through that biohazard.

and remember...

I. WAS. BAREFOOT.

I crossed my fingers, took a deep breath, and went inside with a hope that any disease living on what used to be the carpets of Henry's house had been eaten away by the penicillin growing on a moldy piece of food that had been left out.

Henry was really starting to fall apart at this point. His sentences were broken, he was stumbling around a lot and forgetting things suddenly, and I could tell he was in shock. I hollered to Aaron to grab a towel from the house (to wrap around Henry when he got in the car.).

We began the search for the phone. With incomplete instructions from poor Henry, I made it to the bedroom, and located the billfold and the cell phone. We headed out of the house and Henry stopped on the front step edge. He went white and just stared into space. I was really worried he was going to pass out, but he was non responsive when I asked him if he was ok. I told him to sit down and then he just looked at me and held his wounded hand tight.

"HENRY. You need to answer me. Are you ok?"
no answer.
"HENRY you need to sit down. I'm going to help you sit down."

"mmmm......uhhhh..."

I think this was the first time he'd left his house in awhile. He was freaking out. But he wouldn't MOVE. He was just swaying on the step and I knew that if he tipped over, I would not be able to break his fall. Aaron had just pulled the car to the front.
I decided to go TV Cop on him and get in his face.

HENRY! YOU LISTEN TO ME. You are going to pass out. You need to get into the car. Now.
Can you walk?

"I....uh...."
TV Cop Meg wasn't working, so I went with Mean Mom Meg instead.

"YES OR NO, Henry. Are. you. alright? YES or NO. I need an answer now or I am going to help you sit down right here on this step." In a normal situation, the lack of ability to give an answer would be considered a no. But in this case, I couldn't tell how much of it was just Henry's typical bizarre antics, or if he was wigging out due to his accident.

"uhhhhh....uh..."

"I'm going to count to three. ONE."
"I can. I think I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Now let's go get in the car." Ha! counting to three. works every time.

We helped Henry into the front passenger seat of the Civic. Aaron looked over at the wound and then immediately looked away. I just said, "you're going to be fine, Henry" and he said, "We can make it to the VA." Aaron said, "UH, VA? Is that the same place as the closest hospital?"

"No. I don't have any insurance. VA. You better go fast." Then he gave me instructions to go back inside, find the keys to the Buick (parked in the driveway, also full of crap) retrieve the so I could lock up his house and use the garage door opener to get out.

The VA is in Fayetteville, 45 minutes away from our house.
They passed like 5 hospitals on the way there. Poor Henry.

The only report I've gotten so far is that Henry's thumb was salvageable, but we don't really know. He came home the next day, but we haven't seen him. He had Aaron call his friend to come get him, then he was taken back to be stitched up.

So while they are en route to el hospital, I am putting 3 kids to bed....two of which have a LOT of questions about Henry.
What happened to his thumb? Was he playing with scissors? Did he use the sharp knife? Did he touch the saw tools? Why was he so stinky? Why did he have blood? Why is his house messy? Why did Dad drive him?

I did my best to answer them. But as I scrubbed the first 3 layers of skin off the bottom of my feet using scalding hot water, I had plenty of questions and thoughts of my own.

What drives people to become hoarders?
What does Henry even eat if he never leaves the house?
What was all that crap on his bed?
I wonder if those boxes of rotten strawberries that were there the last time I went inside his house are still by the back door? I bet they are, but they're covered in more garbage.

Hmmm....I wonder IF those strawberries are still there.
Naw. They're not there.
Are they there?
I'm supposed to find keys in that place? That puts a new perspective on the "needle in a haystack" saying.

Marge's broken arm, Marge's broken ribs, Marge's bruised tailbone and cracked hip, Marge's chipped tooth.
Carl's 1st stroke, Carl's truck accident
Disarming Ross
Henry's severed thumb.

Yup. We're officially neighborhood geriatric caretakers.

So here's where your opinion comes in.
You're going over to a house that is so messy, that no one believes you when you try to describe it. Instead, they'll just look at you like you are a terrible person for wishing you'd put on some shoes before going inside.

Vote: This situation is happening to you. You are headed over to "find the keys". Do you take your camera inside when you go back over?

Yes or No?

I did.

Things that are Total Crap.

I put up 40 ft of fence with my Dad today along the property that neighbors Keith. (aka the jerk...to catch up on our past experiences with him, click the "on being a good neighbor" tag)
We were careful to make sure that the ENTIRE fence is 2 inches INSIDE of the property line. The fence is 100% on our property JUST so there will be no problems.

We decided that one fence section was too long (13 ft between posts), so tonight around 8pm, I went out to dig a hole to add a post in the middle and create two 6 ft segments of fence.

at 8:45 Mrs. Keith opened her garage and said, "it's THEM. Over THERE. WHAT are they doing now?" to Keith. I kept digging (behind my fence).
She came over minutes later and said, "ARE YOU DEAF?"

Ok. At this point, I have two options.
option #1 = be nice
option #2 = don't be nice

I went for option #1.5 = defensive.

Me: Uh. No.

Mrs. Keith: There's clanking in my bedroom.

Me: I'm sorry. I am almost done.

Mrs. Keith: I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning. I have to work.

Me: I am almost done.
(let it be stated here that there WAS originally a hole near this location at one point, but it was "mysteriously filled in" at our last episode with Keith.

Mrs. Keith: I said I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning, and you are CLANKING in my bedroom!

Me: I understand. I have to wake up early, too. My baby gets up at 5:30.

Mrs Keith: Are you DENSE? I said I have a JOB. Do you know what that means? You can do this tomorrow, you have no life and no responsibility and you are only out here to cause trouble.

Me: Don't call me dense. I have a job, too.

Mrs Keith: YOU. DO. NOT! (this is where she goes psycho) You do not work! You don't know how to work!

Me: (Did she seriously just tell me that I don't know how to work? There are so many things wrong with this conversation I don't know where to begin.)
Ok listen. I am only out here tonight because I received a letter from the POA that YOU had complained about our boat being in our driveway, and that we have until May 5th, that's TO-DAY, to move it. Well, the boat goes right here, so I am finishing the fence so I can move my boat and make you happy.
ALSO, I am only DIGGING by HAND right now because the hole we dug months ago was mysteriously filled back in by YOUR "land surveyor". I am almost done.

Mrs. Keith: How am I going to get it through your thick head that you need to stop right now? You start smarting off to me when all I did was come over here and politely ask you to be quiet.

Me: Polite? Seriously? I am ALMOST DONE.

Mrs. Keith: WHEN will you be done?

Me: When this hole is 18 inches deep again.

enter Aaron...who uses a tone of voice that immediately tells me he prefers option #2.

Aaron: What's the problem out here?

enter Keith: My wife is trying to sleep and SHE (points at me) is smarting off to her.

Mrs Keith then told a ridiculous version of what had just happened.

I told her she was lying, but it didn't matter because I was going to stop "clanking" with my shovel and go inside.

Mrs Keith: "I'm calling the police. They'll take care of this."

Aaron: Take care of what? She is done. What are they going to do? Make her stop extra?

Mr and Mrs Keith simultaneously yelled, at one point Keith's mumbling (yes. dentures) got bad and Mrs. Keith told her she can't understand him. We just stood there shocked that this whole conversation was even happening. How did it escalate to this point? How did this get so crazy?
They just kept yelling, telling us that the POA had called and ticketed THEM for their ghetto railroad ties that they lined their yard with (to make a pseudo curb and prevent anyone from parking in front of their house. FYI We have never complained, though we should have when Keith went nuts and made verbal threats to "straighten me out when my husband is not around." a couple years ago.). THEN Keith started crying while he was yelling, and got all shakey and Mrs. Keith calmed him down while she bitterly spat out things like, "we have NEVER done anything to YOU, EVER! You two have caused nothing but problems for us since you moved here. We are good neighbors and you are horrible people! (that last line came out with so much hatred, I swear her breath was green). Your fence is on our property and we are good Christians and decided to just let it go and not complain."

Aaron jumped in here insisting that Keith doesn't even know WHERE his property line is, since it is clearly marked and not even touching within 2 inches of the fence.
Then Mrs. Keith yelled: "Why can't you just be good Christians and leave us alone?!"

{Uh, yeah. We're trying to leave you alone. Hence, the FREAKIN FENCE between our properties!!! Just let me build the dang fence, lady!!!! }

Aaron: Ok. We're done. Go to bed.

and that was that.

Do you feel like you're in Jr. High? Madness!!!

The fence cannot be complete soon enough.
Either that, or I am just going to have to move.

1756 sq ft house for sale in beautiful Bella Vista.
It comes with the worst neighbors in America.

Festivus is not over until you pin me, George.

Badly.

What are those, you ask?

They are the HOLES that Keith and Mrs. Keith FILLED BACK IN!

We also received notice from the village architectural committee that there has been a complaint from a neighbor about the boat in our driveway, and to avoid a fine, we need to move it out of public view as soon as possible.

Dear Keith,
It. Is. On.

OH. MY. GOSH.

If you're checking my blog for the first time today, you'll want to scroll down and read the previous post first.

This morning was teaching preschool, and we took a quick walk outside (brr! it didn't last long) to gather acorns for a math/counting/sorting activity.

Keith was outside with a crew of 4 guys and a big truck.

THEY WERE MAPPING OUT THE PROPERTY LINE.

{What? You don't trust that I am capable of running a straight line between two pins? You think I'm trying to cheat you out of a few inches of side yard? You want to get all the leaves out of the ravine in the woods and put them on my side of the line? Will that really make you feel better? Wowzers.}

After school I went outside to check out what they'd been up to, and there are NEW STAKES in the ground!

FYI...Aaron went ahead and finished digging the remaining fence post holes by himself in the freezing rain. He is a rock star. The crazy intense manual labor nearly killed him, but I know he is proud of his awesome hard work, and all the money he saved by doing it himself.

But as of this afternoon...
There are new stakes marked right between all of our holes.

What are they doing? Just rechecking the property lines? Making sure our holes are lined up? Why then the NEW stakes every 8 feet?

Are they Putting up their OWN fence? Excellent. (Saves me 300 bucks to not have to do that portion).
Also...the stakes don't just go up to the side of the house....they go ALL THE WAY UP TO THE ROAD IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSES.

Between our FRONT yards, too?
yes!

Who does that?
(and call me petty, but...front yard privacy fences violate the POA regulations for a fence permit. I would know, it took weeks to get our permit approved by the POA)

I have a feeling this is going to go badly.

Is badly even a word?
It is now. And it's what's about to happen.

To be continued.

On Being a Good Neighbor

On Saturday I was blowing and raking leaves for about 2 hours to clear a path to bring the auger through to dig the fence post holes. While I was at it, I thought I would do a good deed, and blow my grouchy neighbor Keith's backyard leaves as well.

Just a reminder, Keith is the next door neighbor we speak little of, because it is always bad news when he is involved. He puts up "no parking" signs across his yard when I have garage sales. He cremated his Shi Tzu, and once, I threw a baby shower, and he came over screaming that someone was parked on his lawn, and then harassed all of my guests when they left. Oh wait..that has happened TWICE. Loser.

Anyway, today I decided to be a nice neighbor and blow their backyard leaves into the woods behind both of our homes. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

WRONG.

"Mrs. Keith" came outside and screamed at me that I am not a Christian and I need to keep the leaves in my yard.

HUH?

I turned off the leaf blower to realize that she was not screaming because of the noise of the blower...she was just, well, just screaming.

Holy Drama Batman.

I told her I was actually blowing ALL the leaves FOR her, (which was obvious, since I was nearly done and her yard looked great, while mine was still under 2 feet of leaves) like as a service, but that I'd be happy to stop if she wished.

Mrs. Keith: You're going to blow ALL of them?
Meg: I had planned to, until you started yelling.

Mrs. Keith: I didn't know that. If you'll blow ALL of the leaves in my yard, then keep going.

Meg: {seriously?! no sorry I bit your head off?} I'm working on it.

Mrs. Keith: Wait. What are you DOING anyway?
Meg: We are putting up a 6 foot privacy fence around the perimeter of our yard.

Mrs. Keith: Oh well we will enjoy that very much.

Meg: Excellent. Feel free to let us know if you'd like to contribute.

Mrs. Keith: Contribute? To what?

Meg: Contribute. FINANCIALLY. To the fence you are going to enjoy so much. Let us know anytime if you'd like to contribute to the cost.

She got in her car and drove away without another word.
Yeah. That's what I thought.

If you don't want to help PAY for the fence, then you can just shut up.

...until I am done blowing all of your leaves.
...and then you can tell me thank you and we can be civil neighbors.

On Being a Good Neighbor

Dear Keith aka Creepy Guy Who Lives Next Door To Me:

I'd appreciate it if you did NOT harass guests as they leave my home after a party. They have every right to park on the street in front of your house. The railroad ties that you now have lining the perimeter of your yard (in a mediocre attempt to fashion a pseudo-"curb") are not only sitting on village-owned property, but they are also unattractive and will do way more damage to your precious "lawn" (well manicured weeds...just like every other lawn in the village) than the cars that were parked there for an hour the other night.

In addition, in case you didn't notice when your gums receded and all of your teeth fell out...SMOKING is BAD for you.
AND it makes our yard stink.
So does the poop from your Shi Tzu's, please clean up after them.

And the next time you present me with a verbal threat to "straighten my butt out" when "that husband of [mine] is not around" I WILL be calling the police to document a written report.

Have a nice day,
Meg

PS-People who pay $5oo to have their dogs CREMATED and then put into an urn above the fireplace are suckers. Those folks from "Angel Ashes" (or wherever it was) probably said,"Sayonara" to Zippy when they flung her in the woods across the street...right after they walked around your house, dumped all your ash trays in a box, slapped a pink collar on it and sent you the bill.