The neighbor next door to me is having a party today......for 300 friggin people! That's not an exaggeration - that's how many have been invited (well, 301 if you count me)!!!! I wake up to some thumping, a few voices, and a barking dog. I opened the blinds to find his entire back yard littered with white cloth tables and fold out metal chairs (Those won't be fun today - it's 90+)....and then the loud polka music started. Aren't you sorry you're not here for the spaghetti polka cookout for 300 Catholics? So, this is a birthday party for him and three of his fellow parishioners. Why they couldn't do this at the church is a mystery.
Said neighbor, we'll call him....Tim....has a penchant for wigging out the neighborhood on a normal day. He teaches violin (NOT fiddle) - Suzuki method [insert motorcycle rev here] - so, there's a constant parade of mini-vans ferrying children smaller than their instruments. Sometimes, when the appointments overlap, I find the mini vans in my yard - not in front of my yard, no, they're not smart enough to keep the wheels on the pavement, no, right side wheels in my grass. Lovely.
(looking at Tim's fence, gate to right of tree, weird vine stuff behind Rhododendron)
Adding to his oddness, what tries to pass for a privacy fence between our yards has a gate. The gate opens from his side so, apparently, Tim put it there for reasons yet to be understood. I invested in a lock. Creep. Said privacy fence is a joke - the slats are so far apart that I might as well not have a fence - I see everything, as does he. In fact, the place would be much improved without it for he doesn't keep it up, literally. He's allowed this odd vine thing to grow to such an extent that the roots, in at least five places along the fence, have become trunks, interwoven between the slats - for, remember, they're wide. They've become so heavy that they're pulling the fence toward him. From his side I'm sure he doesn't notice, from my side, it looks like white trash took a dump between the yards.
Back to today's shin-dig, just as he announced the ping pong table was open, the winds picked up and, according to the local radar, he's about to get rained on. Better take that PA in the house! But wait, it's not raining yet so there's plenty of time for all the fat women to attack the dessert table - which they are....because I can see them through the f-ing fence!
...wait......crack of thunder.......scream..........sweet, delicious rain.......
I love Saturdays!
...but, wait, there's more........
With a short lull in the storms, the hordes returned to the yard, brought their guitars and congas, and began to sing. I heard faint whispers of Kumbaya - I'm not kidding. They circled the faux apple tree, clapping in time with the conga, and sang. The rains returned. (what happened? ...the anglo equivelent of a rain dance?) Anyway, I heard Happy Birthday in there somewhere - the rain poured - unperturbed the singing continued. Arms stretched to Jesus - remember, I can see through the fence - the rain grew harder, the singing grew louder....hallelujas sounded....maybe they're not Catholic after all....I'm thinking evangelical Baptists. Oh Lord, I'm going to Frisch's.
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