Good Fences

I came home from work on Friday to find my new neighbors, who have been gradually moving their stuff over for awhile now, finally settled in. So settled in that they'd found the time to place an indescribably ugly kitchen playset and two white plastic chairs on the grassy area in front of their home, presumably for the purpose of sitting and enjoying their kindergarten-age daughter prepare fake meals. At first glance I assumed they must have been piles of garbage waiting to be taken out. By the time I left for the night about an hour later, I was already plotting how to make the eyesores go away.

If we were regular neighbors with unattached homes and yards and septic lines, then more power. Go on and whip up that fake risotto all the live long day with your proud parents looking on. But since we live a condo, we don't really have a front yard. We each have a few feet of grass that we all basically inhabit, which means that all the hideousness on their "lawn" was also on mine. Call me crazy, but I happen to think the area looks better when you don't fill it with pieces of ginormous plastic crap. Ironically, these neighbors had just spent weeks having their home professionally readied for their arrival courtesy of an endless stream of painters and carpenters and feng shui whisperer psychic good vibe analysts. Given all that, it seemed funny that they'd throw piles of decrepit Wal-Mart junk right in front of their (and my) windows. I mean, what's next, a Chevy on cinder blocks?

Now, some might say this is a Bad Time To Mess With Me to begin with. Some others may even say, Seriously, Don't Get In Her Way, That Girl Ain't Right. What, does no one else's road back to normalcy involve copious amounts of tequila and dancing to Will.I.Am and T-Pain in one's living room? Okay, so my path to happiness is a little different from the Dalai Lama's. Whatever, on my plan you can have cocktails and greasy brunch.

So maybe my altered state of mind is partially to blame for the note that my new neighbors woke up to on Saturday morning. Considering I haven't officially met them yet, you'd think perhaps that it would be "Welcome to the neighborhood!" wrapped in ribbon around a basket filled with freshly-baked cookies. I went with something slightly less heartwarming.

Personal items should be enjoyed on your patio. The courtyard is a public area and not an appropriate location for large play equipment. We appreciate your prompt attention to this matter. Thank you, The Condo Association

The Condo Association (read: me) is happy to report that when I woke up the next day all their shit was gone. Victory is mine!

It's such a fine line between feisty neighbor and that crazy lady next door, isn't it?