More Neighborhood Intrigue

I've previously mentioned my neighbor with the three constantly yapping dogs, fried hair, and drinking problem. The dogs have gotten worse lately, and my husband has been tossing around the option of calling the cops and making a noise complaint. For a while I urged against it, because the neighbor doesn't seem to have a lot of good things in her life other than the dogs, and she clearly is unhappy, but it's gotten so bad lately that I started to feel fewer qualms about it.

Thursday night, I went to take a shower around 7 p.m., and when I came back downstairs my husband informed me that he had finally had enough and had called the cops to make an anonymous noise complaint. I was all, "no way." He told me that a police officer had showed up in an unmarked car, and Steve had crept up to the kitchen window and lowered it slightly so he could hear the conversation (we live in a townhouse). Apparently the officer told her that this was the first complaint, and at the next complaint she'd get a fine, and the third would put her in jail. She freaked out and got combative, which, needless to say, did not endear her to the police officer.

We laughed about it (although I still felt a little bad for her) and I went upstairs to catch some sleep. (I try to go to bed around 8pm nowadays to ensure I get at least three hours of sleep before Steve heads to bed and I'm back on Lexie Watch.) A half hour later, there was a pounding on our door. I had been drifting off to sleep, but at this point my eyes popped open. I knew who it was.

I tried to listen but couldn't hear much. She hung around for a looong time, and as soon as she left Steve came trotting upstairs, with Lexie in his arms, to report on the confrontation. Apparently, my husband had answered the door to find our neighbor, reeking of booze. "Didyoooocall thecopson my dogs?" she slurred. "Nah," my husband lied. "We're so busy with the new baby we aren't even worried about anything like that."

So then she proceeded to unburden herself on my husband for a half hour about her sad life. She admitted that the dogs have been louder lately, ever since she adopted a homeless cat; her dogs bark constantly at the cat. She began to ask Steve repeatedly who he thought may have called the cops, and he just kept saying he didn't know. She became convinced (her idea) that it must have been the neighbors on the other side, because she'd complained to the HOA about their failure to rake their leaves. She kept drunkenly asking Steve, "do you think I should go over there?"

Finally Steve ushered her out the door saying, "If I were you, I'd definitely go over there right now." And she toddled off.

We haven't heard the dogs since.

How Hard Is It to Put on Some Pants?

I've mentioned our next-door neighbor before in this space. She's the one with the barky dogs, bleached hair, cottage cheese thighs (and a propensity for short shorts), inability to make eye contact, and recycling bins overflowing with empty liquor bottles.

Generally, we don't see too much of her. But a couple of weekends back, Steve was making breakfast when I heard him say, with great gravity, "Oh my GOD." I quickly trotted into the kitchen to find him staring out the window at our neighbor, who had gone to the mailboxes with no pants on. She was wearing, as far as we could tell, a quilted jacket and flip flops. That's it. In 20-degree weather. And the quilted jacket was not a long garment.

We took a picture. See for yourself:

Seriously. How hard is it to throw some pants on?

Stupid Neighbor

My stupid white trash neighbor with her damn barky dogs is out on her deck smoking like a chimney again. I'm all for individual rights, but it sucks that her smoke somehow always makes it inside our house. Her deck is just a few feet from our living room window, the one I always sit by. It's a beautiful day and I don't want to close the window. But I need to figure out what to do about this on a larger scale. I can't be second-hand smoking at least three ciggies a day here if I'm going to stay pregnant. And she needs to control her damn dogs.

At least she cleaned the piles of garbage, leaves, and dog poop out of her tiny back yard. I think she only did it because it was starting to smell as the weather warmed up.

Townhouse life was fine until this nasty woman moved in. The only good thing about her is that at least the smoking will make her die earlier. Unfortunately that doesn't help us right now.

This morning I made the terrible mistake of giving Wendy a whole piece of turkey bacon in exchange for a few barks. I know now that this was a terrible mistake because she is resting comfortably against my chair and passing copious amounts of gas. Worse, the gas smells slightly of turkey bacon.

Steve is down South with his parents this weekend. He's helping them paint the homestead and visiting some plantation homes. They are visiting Greenville, MS, today. I just looked it up and it seems they happen to be visiting on the day of the famous Catfish Races.

I have to admit, I wouldn't have minded seeing the Catfish Races. I guess they race them in glass-covered tracks filled with water. That's something you don't see every day.

I especially would have enjoyed it if it were followed by the consumption of a catfish po'boy. Mmmm... catfish po'boy.

I try to limit my trips to see the in-laws because I have an almost incapacitating cat allergy, and they have two cats inside and dozens outside. The inside cats are the ones that make it tough to breathe, but the outside cats are becoming far more disturbing. Steve's dad is an animal lover and enjoys feeding the (mostly feral) cats, so over the years the cats have stuck around and bred with one another. A mother with her son, a brother with his sister, and now they have a handful of cats hanging around the farm in various stages of deformity.

Last Thanksgiving, Steve's brother-in-law came in from one of his many visits to Wal-Mart in a state of utter revulsion.

BIL: WHOA! Did you see that cat out there hopping around with its arms stuck out to the side and its butt up in the air? What the heck is THAT?
FIL: Aw, you mean Flipper?

Next time I go, if Flipper is still around, I'll have to take a picture. He (wisely) stays under the shed most of the time, though, so he's a tough photo subject. Here's hoping his lineage stops with him.