Crazy Neighbors

Did you ever have one of those neighbors that you were constantly amazed by their antics? There’s this one guy that we have dubbed “Looney Tunes”. Okay, it was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw the first signs of crazy behavior, and it stuck. I am guilty of giving people nick names.

He’s a little off kilter, dresses oddly at times, actually a lot of the time. You know those guys who live alone, have no family or friends to tell them to look in the mirror. I saw him wearing pale pink sweat pants. The funniest thing about them was that they were too small, showed his belly button and hit him at the calf, instead of the ankle. I swear he stole them from some unsuspecting woman doing her laundry. He wore them a lot. I wanted to run over and slap him in the head and tell him he looked ridiculous.

The craziness started soon after we moved in, with him going inside and slamming his front door every time I watered my grass. Apparently, I wasn’t allowed to water outside, or actually be outside. Believe it or not, for awhile I was stupid enough to not go out when he was home. Yes, but that was until I got a backbone. I mean after all, do you want a goofball standing in his driveway shooting you the evil eye? I know I didn’t. But then I got fed up and sucked it up. I mean the man worked nights, was home all day and never seemed to sleep. When was I supposed to do my yard work?

I started to go out just to see what would happen. Eventually, like all bullies, he backed down and stopped. I felt empowered. Until I realized he was sitting in his window watching me. He stands in the window a lot too. He doesn’t seem to have a clue that you shouldn’t let someone actually see you in the window.

He didn’t really earn the nick name “Looney Tunes” until he started yelling and swearing a few years ago. A stream of blue language could be heard through the open windows day after day for months on end. It got to be the joke of the neighborhood. My other neighbor would tell her visitors, “Oh, that’s just our crazy neighbor. He does that every day.” It was like it was normal to hear someone swearing at the top of their lungs all of the time. Sadly, we just got used to it.

At first I thought he had someone over there and he was fighting with them. Then I thought maybe he had Tourette’s syndrome. I know you are wondering why I never called the police. You can’t call the police on someone with an illness…, that wouldn’t be right. Later we found out he went back to school and was screaming at his computer. His what??!! It must have been female because he called it the B word a lot. A couple of times I thought he was referring to me when I was pulling weeds. I just tried to calmly continue and finished as soon as I could get the heck back in the house. When it stopped for good, I didn’t realize how quiet the neighborhood was. I spent the next year waiting for it to start again.

I realized about a year and a half ago that he didn’t have a job, because he was always home. He used to come home when I was leaving for work. That stopped and then he was home more than before and he was outside even more. I was going to be a prisoner in my own home. Some days I would get a friendly wave, and others I would get dirty looks. Don’t ask me what I did wrong, just breathe?

One time not very long ago, he freaked me out. He walked over to talk to me while I was planting flowers. My husband is Mr. Social Butterfly, and talks to anyone who approaches him. Not me. I have evolved the art of disappearing when it looks like they may want to talk. Hey, don’t judge me. I talk to people all day at work. My vocal cords get tired and I want to be left alone sometimes. But I digress.

The most horrible thing about talking to him was his smell. I can’t tell you which was worse, his greasy, dirty hair, the overpowering body odor, or the foul stench from his mouth. Oh, YUCK!! I had to hold my breath as long as I could, too many times to count. Worst of all I couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Me, the escape artist. I couldn’t even really think or pay attention to his conversation. All I could think was, “Bad smell, must escape!”

My husband told me later that he must have been lonely. Lonely, he must have been desperate to talk to me, after, not talking to me for 3 years! (Remember I dared to stay outside.) Could he at least have brushed his teeth first? Ick, ick, ick! My husband, who talks to the gossips of the neighborhood, told me that he hasn’t worked for several years. That explains some things. He is not a retired person. Did I tell you that he’s in his 30’s or 40’s? Does that change the picture in your head any?

When his house went up for sale, I felt a huge relief, that maybe we would soon get some really nice neighbors. Unfortunately, his house has been on the market a long time. Yes, the markets’ been really bad, but one can only imagine what the house looks like inside. I imagine rooms full of stacks of newspapers and leftover meals on plates everywhere. I’m crossing my fingers.

Mr. President could you please do another incentive program for prospective buyers, please?!