Houston, we have neighbors.
Ok, so, this could potentially ruin a relationship before it even begins, but I am in the mood to act out and it’s not my fault. And I have a feeling that someone is too occupied to pay attention, so…
It’s summer in Bangs, and that means that evenings wind down with the windows open, so the house can be filled with the sound of crickets chirping, maybe an occasional chicken clucking peacefully. You generally hear noises that are light enough to be carried by the warm Knox County breeze.
Like bugs. Or frog. Or …. WHAT. THE. HELL. IS THAT.
Yes, our new neighbors moved in Sunday, and since then, every night — from quittin’ time until WELL PAST DARK — our neighbor rides his dirt bike around in circles in his backyard. We were hoping the novelty would have worn off by now.
His 6-acre yard is completely flat, and he takes the snakelike, arbirtary “course” in short bursts, only to slow down completely, maneuver and turn and work up to speed again so he can almost immediately hit the next turn.
VRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. stop. VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. stop.
As a result, I WANT TO BE DEAD!!!!
I mean, one night a week is cool, but FIVE>!? HOW FUN CAN THAT POSSIBLY BE? Would it be as much fun if you knew you were giving an unborn child birth defects related to her mother’s short bursts of uncontrollable rage?
I mean, you’re an ADULT. And it’s a DIRT BIKE. And you’re riding it IN THE DARK. There are NO HILLS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I’d rather move back to Clintonville next to that fire house. At least THOSE noises had a PURPOSE to correspond with their decibels.
You ARE KILLING ME NEW NEIGHBOR. NEIGHBOR WHOSE NAME I DO NOT YET KNOW.
I know this is America, and the outlying rural area of the Midwest, at that — and I KNOW I’m supposed to stay out of your business, but COME ON.
Seth and I are going to stand outside your window and run a vaccum cleaner or maybe just hammer nails into a piece of wood repeatedly because that would be just about as fun as what you’re doing. Or maybe we’ll just hop on a tricycle and yell VVRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM WWROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM into the night because clearly you enjoy loud noises for no reason whatsoever.
I feel better.
I’m going to go bake some brownies to take them to the new neighbors. I will state my concerns in a much more passive aggressive manner — probably during the second visit, maybe with a second tray of baked goods — and I’ll pray they don’t have their DSL hooked up yet. Or a phone book. Or the ability to detect the seething rage in my otherwise docile facial features.
Love thy neighbor, sure. But love thy neighbor’s dirt bike?
Here’s to hoping BMX sports are as dangerous as they say they are!
I didn’t mean that.
I did. I meant that.
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