The People Across the Street: The Dumbasses

I HATE the people across the street. I wish rude and stupid* was illegal instead of just intensely annoying.

My house is (intentionally) far enough from the center of town that there are driveways and garages; not many park on the street. Until the Dumbasses moved in with their four people and five cars. A garage, double driveway, and two spaces in front of their house cannot seem to contain them.

After their surprise to learn I considered it rude that the Mr. decided his nightly parking space should be smack-dab-center in front of my house in the middle of my two and a half spaces, even when there were absolutely no cars parked at their house, they did cease parking here.

But they're sliding back into their careless, haphazard parking habits. For the second weekend in a row, their driveway is empty but one of their vehicles is abandoned directly in front of my house. I effin' do not want to look at it. If I wanted to look at cars, I'd buy a house beside a used car lot.

I seethe with rage. I spend 37.5 hours a week with no control over my life, and then come home to find a further lack of control over my surroundings. I HATE it. I hate that it turns me, generally a pacifistic person, into someone who wants to slash tires.

A year or so ago there was a FOR SALE sign on their house; a SOLD sign went up almost immediately! My heart rejoiced. But I was being toyed with. They're still here.

Realistically I know there could be much worse neighbors. But I still hate them.

*For ages they evidently didn't realize there was enough space for TWO cars in front of their house, and they still have not grasped the fact that their driveway is wide enough for two cars.
*How can you be unaware of the unspoken etiquette that you use your own parking areas before you overflow to others?
*Their house is the view I have from here at my computer. They ARE good for a laugh: almost every time I see them leave as a group, one or two minutes later they return for something forgotten.
*These are the people whose outdoor Christmas lights I commented on enjoying -- in February.

Bathing Robin

Oh, I wish I had a video camera. Quite often I prefer word descriptions of something over pictures, but this is one time where words cannot do it justice. By the end of the longest bird bath I've ever seen I was quivering, trying to hold in my laughter so I wouldn't scare off the robin.

This poor baby's mother apparently never taught him how to bathe. He flew up to the bird bath, paced around the edge a bit in preparation, then plopped down in the middle of the bird bath and sat. Just sat like a little statue. For a good 15 or 20 seconds.

Then, realizing something hadn't gone quite right, he got back on the edge and paced again, then plunked himself back in the middle of it again and sat. Just sat. For a good 15 or 20 seconds.

Then, a little perturbed, he got back on the edge and paced again, then plopped in the middle and sat. Just sat. For a good 15 or 20 seconds.

Back to the edge again; more pacing; splash down in the middle of the bird bath, but the fourth time was the charm! He thought to slosh his wings around -- it gave the feathers on the top of his head a cute crew-cut look.

I thought that might be it, but the kid had stamina. He got back on the edge, paced a little, plunked back down in the middle and sat. Just sat. Whoops. Didn't quite have cause and effect together yet.

Back to the edge; pace; plop; splash! Now he's got it. And away he flew.

Just as I quit laughing and was about to write about it while the six rounds were fresh in my mind, he came back. Evidently once he got the hang of it, he wanted one more go-round.