Dear Mrsatroxi,

Who was it that said, “hell is other people”?

We live in a pretty good neighborhood. Not great, not friendly, but that’s ok, I’m not really friendly myself. And it was quiet, and I honestly like living here. But recently some new folks moved in next door. And they were ok at first. But it has very quickly gone downhill, and this evening I decided that I really, really, really want a nice, very very high fence. With pointy jagged-ey things on top. And maybe a gun turret.

How much love do I not have? Let me count the ways:

Number One: The Hound of Hell. Hound of Hell is about the size of a Ford Focus, and is also about as good looking. This is the kind of dog that thunders and lunges at you as you step out of your own hard-earned house and enter equally hard-earned property. I can think of very few things that make me angerier than some damn dog barking at me in my own yard. Plus I don’t think they feed this animal. And it has no shelter, and is on a logging chain. So, I can’t stand the thing, but I also feel sorry for it. Grrr.
Number Two: The Galloping Gorilla. G.G. is the man of the moment. A few weeks ago the Mister and I were doing some work in the back yard, and (interspersed with howls from the Hound of Hell) we suddenly heard lots of screaming, the only distinguishable word being many tenses of the word “fuck”, and loud banging noises coming from out front. As we discovered later, what we heard was Mr. Gorilla tearing the front door off of his work truck. The front door. Of a work truck. Off. And that was actually a pretty quiet day for him. Ahem.
Number Three: The Demon Spawn. The Spawn are the many brats that bang in and out all weekends long. The Spawn are also deeply fond of the word “fuck”. In fact, that’s just about the only thing I’ve ever heard them say. At the top of their lungs. Usually on lovely, clear, previously peaceful evenings. They also have many friends who like to leave their crap cars to bleed to death on the pavement in front of our house. They also practice shooting bee-bee guns. I’ve never had a chipped windshield on any car in my life. Suddenly now I do. Hmmm. I have always despised packs of youth. Even when I was a youth, I hated them. Now I hate them much, much more.
Number Four: The Tow-Truck Tramp. This is Momma. Momma is one of those woman you look at and think, “beer and cigs”. Momma drives a tow-truck. A pink tow-truck. Momma likes to leave her very loud poorly tuned diesel engine pink tow truck running all the time but her bestest most favorite time is very late at night. Momma likes to yell into a cell phone while sitting on her front steps smoking. She also has a favorite word that also begins with “F”. Oh, and Momma and her Gorilla like to get it on. A lot. In the middle of the day. At the very top of their lungs. Which would be ok, except that they sound exactly like a flock of seagulls begging for french fries. We live nowhere near the ocean.
The best part of all this? There is nothing at all we can do. Nothing. Except maybe pray for a nice selective tornado, or a sinkhole.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood………….