Good Nieghbors

I am one of those odd people who actually like my neighbors. On the left side is Jim and Donna. I’ve only seen, or heard from them three times. They keep their car in the garage, every so often I see the door open, and it drives away. I never see it come back, which makes me conclude they’re in the business of building cars in there, then taking them out and selling them. It’s either that or they’ve invented a teleportation device. That would be so cool. They make no noise, a dog never comes out to run, and there is nothing on their patio. This leads me to conclude they are either CIA spies or mad-scientists. I guess I’m a little worried the house might spontaneously blow up, or the enemy du-jour could show up and empty the bullets from three machine guns into the place. I’m mean that would really bring down the property values, and I don’t think my insurance wouldn’t cover any holes in my house with the near misses. But for now, they’re great to have around.

On the right are Trea, and Coco. A young couple with a baby son. Trea is the best kind of neighbor because he has a great job in computers, and can afford way better beer than I can. He also doesn’t mind sharing. Because of this we get together at least once a week. My wife can fawn over the baby and I drink expensive beer. All I have to do is supply the porch, and that was there before we moved in. What could be better?

Strange Neighbors

I do have an issue with their family in general, which is pretty hard to get past for a big mouthed guy like myself. Their family has a worse naming policy than Chic Young. You are probably way too young to know who that is. I’m WAY too young to know who that is, but I’m a wierdo comics nerd, so I do. Chic Young is the creator of the comic strip Blondie.

I don’t care what you say about the strip; Love it or not. Chic is terrible at naming people. It started out with the main characters, Blondie, and Dagwood. It’s on their comic birth certificates! What idiot would name their kids that? The bullies at Charles Shultz Middle School probably had a field day with those two. Anyway, after a while these two had a child. What did they name him? Baby Dumpling! I’m not kidding on this. You can look it up. They must have wanted him to get beat up in school. Then they had a daughter and dubbed her Cookie. What’s the conclusion? Chic Young came up with stupid names.

It’s the same with Trea and Coco’s family. Where do these names come from? Now, would you like to know what they named their son? Porter! And not like the heavy lager, porter. No! That might have made sense. They named him Porter because this was Coco’s maiden name. I mean, my wife’s maiden name was Kowalski. Can you imagine my son, Kowalski Ohh!, applying for a job? Or joining the army? I can imagine some sergeant saying, “What’s your name son?”

“Kowalski Sergeant”

“I mean your first name son”

“Kowalski Sergeant”

“Drop and give me five-billion push-ups until you get a better name!”

Porter’s going to have the same problem. Folks are either going to confuse him with beer, or ask him to carry their luggage. “Ohh, you’re the Porter? Well then take my bag over to English class.” Then again there’s a hidden upside. Porters work for tips. If he gets in to the right middle school, the tips could be pretty good, but I’m getting off topic. 

Competitive Neighbors

  The reason I’m bringing up this neighbor stuff is, I may be losing it all very soon. You see, we have a company which takes care of the grounds, but there is a small front garden which is our responsibility. In mine I have always planted Irises of many colors. Trea, on his plot, planted lilies. This balance has kept us friends for a very long time. Then suddenly, two-years-ago, Trea planted roses. Why? Who knows? But he upped the ante, making me look bad. I had to go to the garden center, get a butterfly bush, and some pansies just to restore the balance of power. The thing is, while I was there, I saw an orchid which would bloom in our climate. I shouldn’t have done it, but I bought, planted it.

As you can guess, two weeks later, Trea’s Garden proudly displayed, red-yellow fire-daises, and a garden gnome. This should’ve been the end of it. The balance was restored, and peace returned to the land. The thing is, that gnome was taunting me, flashing his red pointed hat like a beacon, screaming, “Your garden may be beautiful, but you don’t have me.” I couldn’t take it. I flew to the garden center. Instead of purchasing a gnome, I got a cement T-Rex. That’ll show the little bearded freak who’s boss. I almost escaped when I saw a fountain. It was beautiful brown stone, painted with flowers and butterflies. The water bloomed up over some fake rocks, to make a soothing white noise. I couldn’t resist.

Trying to keep the peace

When I got home I installed the dinosaur and birdbath. It was lovely. Sadly, the macho guy inside me kept welling up, proudly announcing, “You got him now! He can’t top this.” I was so proud I got out a chair and sat there listening to the fountain. Trea came over soon after with two beers, commenting how nice it looked, but I saw jealousy in his eyes. I found out how much three days later.

It was Friday, and I had bad day at work. I pulled into my drive and noticed them. Trea had hung lanterns. Not, just lanterns, but lanterns that light up at night. When nine-o-clock came it was my worst day ever. My garden was lost in blackness, but Trea’s was beautifully lit and in full view of passing traffic. I should’ve been happy for him, or at least felt nothing. Unfortunately, I was angry. All I could think of was how sorry he was going to be on my next payday.

And not succeding

Well, payday came, but I was in the hospital. However, the envy never subsided. Then the day of reckoning came. One night, Trea had a few friends over to enjoy his lanterns. I, in turn, went out to enjoy the sounds of my fountain. At about ten, Trea and friends left for a pizza run. I don’t know how it happened, maybe a stray cigarette butt. Perhaps a navigational beam from Galaxy 1421 so that aliens can invade in four-million-years. Who knows? Either way, Trea’s mulch started burning.

I acted fast. I ran over my garden destroying my pansies. Knocking over my fountain in an attempt to disconnect the hose, I broke both it and the T-Rex. Getting the hose next door, I managed to extinguish the flames, leaving only a charred gnome. Which I kicked.

I finally had what I wanted. Our gardens were exactly the same. Destroyed!