Thursday, June 23, 2011

Little Pieces of Joy

I have this neighbor. 

I've written about him in the past.   Many of you already have heard stories about him.  Some of you even know the things I suspect of him.  They are not nice things.

He has a red Corvette.  That he likes to park sideways in his driveway to wash.  Because, you know, his front yard is really a penis compensation sports car showroom.

I hate Corvettes.

I hate Corvette season.  He can only drive it when the weather is good, and I look forward to freezing weather, snow and ice in part because it means that he has to put his precious baby away.

Months without listening to him revving the engine for no reason other than to assure the entire neighborhood that he does indeed suffer from insufficiencies in his personal life.  Months without the classic rock cranked up every time he sits in it.  He's the douche that turns his radio up and listens to the rest of the song after he comes home.  Months without the completely unnecessary trips around the streets here.  The guy is a fan of taking a lap.  Seriously.

Drives me nuts.

Not nearly as crazy as his obsessive compulsive lawn care habits drive me, though.  He cuts his grass like every other day, six different directions every time.  He waters incessantly.  Seeds his grass at least once a week.  He fluffs his mulch habitually.  He even trims the edges with scissors. 

I wish I was kidding.

He doesn't tolerate any ounce of imperfection in his yard.   Which makes living across the street from him so damn fun sometimes.

You see, my yard is not like his.  Many ounces of imperfection.  Many.

My grass has too shallow of a root system, and it doesn't get better no matter what we try.  It yellows.  We have crabgrass and weeds in the grass that grow faster than the grass does.  It seems like our mulch is always disappearing.  The mulch fairy comes and poofs it away.   I have a few bushes that desperately need trimmed, and one really ugly plant that just needs to go.  Thanks, Centex, by the way for the "free" ugly bush. 

We did landscape it all, put in concrete pathways.  The tree in the yard is now mature.  Rows of huge day lilies and roses.  It's nice enough.  But I'm sure it fails to meet his standards.  And he has to walk outside and admire our imperfection.

every.single.day.of.his.life.

You know this humors me.

But not as much as what happened this week.

I bought a huge box of sidewalk chalk for the Relay last weekend.  We always have the back patio decorated this time of year, but for whatever reason never let it out of the backyard. 

The girls brought it out front a few days ago and drew all over our driveway and the sidewalk.  Tom was working on the sprinklers and they sprayed the chalk.  The kids mixed it up and turned it into a fabulous sidewalk paint.  Footprints and hand prints and even butt cheek prints as far as the eye could see. 

They even colored the street.   Gasp!!!!

My neighbor wandered outside at some point, made his angry disappointed face.  Stood in his driveway with his arms crossed.   He doesn't dare talk to my husband or I.  He won't even make eye contact.  For those who know the whole history, there is a damn good reason we don't talk to him.

We were defacing his neighborhood in a new way.  You could see it on his face.  I'm sure he contemplated bringing his own hose across the street and washing it off only about a million times. 

Rainbows and hand prints.  The newest weapons in my arsenal.  Mwahahaha.

I should have known that this was precisely the thing that would drive him more crazy that anything else ever has.  Little pieces of chalk being wielded by children.  His worst nightmare.

For me, little pieces of joy.

It rained and washed all the chalk art off the next day. 

The canvas is blank out there, again.  Pristine and untouched.  Just the way he likes it.

I think the driveway needs some color, don't you?

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