What a treat!!
I've been spoiled in terms of neighbors until moving here. Like 25 years ago, my to-this-day very dear friend Claire and her family moved in next to mine. We clicked immediately (given our close age and same gender) and we spent day after day playing and fighting and making up and playing and fighting and making up. We did everything together. And as best as I can remember, her family never threw crazy parties at 3 a.m., or let a yappy dog outside at 5 a.m. and let him just like whine for 3 hours, or any of that other bad neighbor stuff. They were perfection. Guaranteed play mate, no drama. Plus, they always had Cheetos and gum, which was, like, SUCH a bonus to me. Claire and I are still friends, and that rules.
When I moved in college, I ended up unofficially MOVING into my neighbor's dorm room because I hated my own roommates. When Kim and I moved in to together a year later, we were super into Friends and basically demanded the two guys who lived across the hall from us be our own personal Joey and Chandler. We made them honor our OPEN DOOR policy, wherein they would keep their door open at all times, and Kim and I could go over there and watch cable whenever we wanted. In return, we were hilarious and cute.
Okay, so I was all prepared to have yet another awesome neighbor when the guys and I all moved into our house. For awhile, WE were the bad neighbors. Loud parties, people coming and going at all hours...we weren't exactly the Joneses. Unless the Joneses frequently shotgunned beers on their porch and smash the cans on their heads. Then NO ONE could have kept up with us.
Anyway, as soon as we calmed down, the crazy girl next door moved in. Apparently, it was her grandma's house, and mommy and daddy thought that letting their 20 year-old bipolar nightmare of a daughter move in by herself was like TOPS! Oooop, this just in: WORST. IDEA. EVER.
So the first night Gabby made an appearance, she decided it was the perfect time to BLARE the song Day n Night by Kid Cudi. On repeat. For THREE HOURS. Fun!
Then the fights started. They came on kind of quiet. My roommates and I would have to actually go outside to eavesdrop. Then she must have gotten settled in. She started doing drugs on her front porch. Keep in mind, please, that we live across the street from an elementary school. COOL, GABBY. Then the parties started. Every night. More guys. More horrible music.
She apparently had a cat, too. A cat that, against Bob Barker's wonderful advice, was not spayed. And that cat got around. The sounds of cats knowing each other biblically is, uh, horrifying. The screeching. The howling. It was traumatizing. And every night, Gabby would let her skanky cat out to run wild.
The best part was her fights, though. She had like a couple boyfriends. And they would get into such intense fights that we'd have to turn up our TV to drown it out. The fights were always over nothing, and inevitably the girl had the flavor of the month begging for her forgiveness. Wussies. There were a couple nights when she'd scream so loudly that we'd have to call the police. We were legitimately afraid she was being sacrificed to the Horrible Taste in Music gods.
The ultimate fight was on one otherwise uneventful evening. The fight started like all the others, with the screaming and threats. We barely moved because we were so used to it. But then, just like in Western movies, their fight tumbled out onto the street. They were screaming up and down the road in front of our house. Obvs, we went out on the porch for a better view. He was all "I LOVE YOU!" And she was all "YOU'RE SUCH A PSYCHO! I HATE YOU!" And that lovable dummy who I think was named Eric retorted at the top of his lungs "NO, NO! I'M NOT A PSYCHO! I'M HER GIRLFRIEND!" We repeated that line in our house for months. Poor moron, couldn't even speak correctly.
A couple weeks later, Eric was removed from Gabby's house in his boxers, socks, and handcuffs. (The cuffs were courtesy of the Minneapolis Police Department.) The drama subsided for awhile. Roughly 30 days. Then it started back up when I overheard her on the bus
Eventually, the partying started back up, and the derogatory comments to Devon came out. Loudly. Then one magical Spring day, a few cars pulled up to Gabby's house, and all her futons and bean bag chairs and hookahs and voodoo dolls were packed up and moved out. Her house was empty for a year. It was kind of sad. No more excitement. No more chances to meet the fine members of our police department.
So you can understand my elation at hearing her shrieking, patronizing curse words right outside my door again. Gabby's back! The fun can begin again! The homecoming was bittersweet. Sure she's back, but just for the day. Her boyfriend finished up her lawn bidding, and they were gone before I could get a glimpse of her skunk-colored hair extensions. Tear.
I guess this weekend will be the same ol' quiet weekend around the 'hood. Bummer. I could really use an old fashion domestic disturbance. Well, I guess I'll just have to start my own! Yay! Have a great weekend, everyone! And if your name is Gabby, come on over and visit us!