Maniac.

I just got back from screaming at my next door neighbors...again.  This was not the sort of new hobby I was looking for.

Tonight, I was over there because their poorly chosen, unimaginative techno music was causing such vibrations that I had frames in danger of parting company with the wall.  The last time I was over there was because they had thrown bags of garbage out into their driveway...four days before trash day...and the next morning (predictably) animals had ripped the bags open and scattered dirty diapers and bloody maxi pads all over our driveway. The time before that was because their fire alarm had been going off for hours (HOURS! and these hours started at 1 in the morning) while they sat and looked at it...waiting for the battery to die.  The time before that was because they were cooking what suspiciously smelled like roadkill in their garage (IN THE GARAGE. ON A HOT PLATE. A FUCKING HOT PLATE)...again...like they had every other night of that month.  (As you can probably tell...that really, for some odd reason, pissed me off.)  And then there was the very first time I ever went over there...about 2 months after they first moved in...the time where I had asked very politely if they could please, pretty please, mow their grass...as it was in danger of peeking over the top of the fence.

And every time it has been the same....well, almost the same.  They always have the same reaction. They act as though they have no idea who I am...the face that answers the door always looks politely puzzled over the fact that someone has found reason to ring their doorbell.  And then the puzzled look turns to innocent confusion...because as soon as I've finished explaining (once again) that I live right next door, they pretend that they don't speak English.  Not a single word.  Which is very funny...considering that each time, as I make my way up to their porch, I can understand every word of the idle conversation emanating from their house perfectly.

No, their reaction has stayed the same...it's mine that changed.  I started as the friendly neighbor asking if they needed to borrow a lawn mower for a little yard TLC since they just moved in and must not have gotten around to getting one yet.  Then I moved on to the slightly annoyed neighbor who inquired as to what the hell was wrong with their oven inside their house.  Then it was the worried neighbor coming to see if their house was on fire, looking to see if anyone needed rescuing or a glass of water to put out the blaze. Then it was the angry disgusted neighbor who tried to mime the contents of her driveway.  But tonight, I suppose the culmination of things just got the better of me...and I was over there not ringing the bell...but pounding my fist on the door..."I know you're in there, you've only got seconds to flush the drugs" style.  And then as soon as I caught the first glimpse of that puzzled expression...I lost it.  Even someone with a lifetime grasp of the English language would not have been able to understand me.  My two minutes on that porch were nothing more than a long stream of screamed profanities.  I think I said the f-word at least 12 times in that span of time.  

But that didn't feel like enough...it was as though I had this big jug o' angry buried somewhere...and this was only skimming off the top.  I walked back up my own sidewalk and onto my front porch shaking with anger...and now...nearly and hour later...I'm only starting to calm down.  I did, however, admit to Joel that I had handled the entire situation badly...and then yelled at him for not going over there instead of me...since he's so much better at holding his temper than I am.  I don't know if it's my neighbors that caused this giant vat of anger, or if it has been there for a while, just waiting for an excuse to spill on someone.  

I feel alright now...perhaps even a bit remorseful for my behavior...but if I hear even a single note of techno...

All bets are off.