May 28, 2016

Neighbors and Shit: I Want to Be a Hermit

     Whoever decided that neighborly should stand for friendly and helpful, clearly was a moron. Or just didn't have any neighbors ever because if he or she did in fact have them, he or she would know that neighborly should stand for old, annoying and borderline crazy. No, scratch that. Old, annoying and point-blank crazy. Or are just my neighbors like that?
     I've already written about the defecation debacle which took place some ten months ago starring the ever so adorably crazy old lady residing next door to mine but that shit-spurred showdown unfortunately wasn't the last one, oh no. Now, I have a pomegranate-rose-bush crisis on my hands — yes, those exist, apparently, so here are the pomegranate-rose-bush crisis specifications in case you haven't have the privilege of getting yourself mixed up in one: you need
     — one pomegranate bush,
     — one rose bush,
     — one couple that doesn't give a shit
     — and one crazy old neighbor lady, the crazier the better.
     — Oh, and one crazy old neighbor lady's husband, just as crazy, if not more, as she, of course.
     Although at first glance these might seem like the perfect ingredients for a charming tea party, the concoction of those brought on round two of Neighborly Deathmatch in my case. And just like last time, my boyfriend was the bearer of bad news.
     "That old bat next door really has a couple of screws loose," he said upon returning to the house after playing with the dog in our backyard.
     "Tell me something I don't know."
     "OK, no problem: she wants us to cut down our pomegranate bush."
     "Our pomegranate bush? Why??"
     "Because apparently it's stifling their roses."
     "Our bush is stifling their roses?"
     "Yes."
     "You mean their roses that are growing on our side of the fence?"
     "Yes."
     "Are stifled by our pomegranate bush on our side of the fence?"
     "Yes."
     "And she wants us to cut down our bush?"
     "Yes."
     "On our side of the fence?"
     "Yes."
     "So their roses can grow?"
     "Yes."
     "On our side of the fence?"
     "Yes."
     "Where's my bazooka?"
     "I'm glad we see eye to eye — now come on, let's go put that bitch in her place, I think she's still outside."
     But just like last time, I stopped us before the situation got too crazy — even though I'm still quick-tempered in nature, I've learned to control my hotheadedness and adopted the smile-and-wave approach instead because one simply cannot go through life jumping from one clamor to another, it's just too tiring. And stupid. And pointless. Just like, for example, fighting with some hoary, venerable mummy over the fence on account of some shrubbery. So instead of going out and telling that lovely neighbor of ours to fucking zip it, we went out and pruned our pomegranate bush a little so her precious roses could grow — on our side of the fence. Nice, right? And with that act of neighborly kindness, we brought our pomegranate-rose-bush incident to an end.
     Yeah, right.
     The drama got its second act a few days ago when we went away for a couple of days. When our crazy old neighbors saw that our car wasn't parked outside, they snuck on our property and — cut down our pomegranate bush! I. Fucking. Lost. It. My boyfriend fucking lost it. Even the dog fucking lost it, but she's always a bit crazy so that wasn't necessarily related to the pomegranate bush. All in all, we were all pissed and so I grabbed all of the branches and leftover greenery they cut down and left on our side of the fence and threw everything on their plot, fuck smiling, fuck waving — this means war.
     But now please excuse me, I must go — it's gotten dark enough for me to finally take out the trash. Why does it have to be dark for me to take out the trash, you ask? Because I have this other neighbor across the street who monitors our block's garbage bins like a fucking KGB spy and if I take out the trash during the day, she comes running out just to nag me about me not being allowed to use those exact bins telling me I have to use the other bins on the other end of the street instead. Seriously ... If I hear that damn moronic bullshit one more time, I'm going to have to murder her and dump her body in the fucking bin together with my trash soooo ... I'm waiting for nightfall so she doesn't see me and I can take out the stupid garbage in peace because I have enough wars going on as it is. Lovely, right? So lovely in fact that I'm seriously contemplating becoming a hermit. Now that would be lovely, just me, myself and I, no neighbors in sight.
     Fucking neighbors ... Neighborly my ass!




     Thanks for stopping by and looking and reading (obviously) my mishmash jumble of pot-pourri-like craziness, it means the world to me. Therefore, you're welcome to pop by again next week to see what's new on the blog — I post once a week every week, most likely somewhere between Wednesdays and Sundays. But beware, I'm not signing and sealing that in blood so your best bet is to follow FPS via email (or Bloglovin, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or Google+) to never miss an update. Or simply come by again sometimes!




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