The less one has to do with their neighbors..

The Better.
Case in point, and a main reason why I am not to sad to see Stilly in my rear view window:
The first year and a half that we lived in our current house(current for 3 more days as of this posting, anyway), Everything was awesome. Our back yard is tiered, and looks out over woods that have as of yet been undeveloped. So while out on the deck, we could just chill out and look at the trees. When I still smoked, this was my all time favorite pastime. We'd lounge out there, eat, read the paper, whatever.
About 8 months or so ago, our neighbors daughter, her husband and their 4 kids came to live next door. Now, while they aren't the most white-trashy people I've ever come into contact with, they're in the top five. They used to come for visits (and by "visits" I mean dumping off the kids and high tailing it for the weekend) quite often and we thought that was the case for a while, but after a few weeks, and after noticing all of their belongings piled up in the garage, we realized things were a bit more permanent.
The Dude in the family next door is a full on red-neck. He has his last name (Kaiser) tattooed on his back in an Old English font. He shaves his head. He never wears a shirt. He speak as though he is constantly stoned, and he might be for all I know. Either that or he drank his mind to mush back in high school. The wife, who is also the daughter of the woman who actually owns the house, is an out of work hair dresser who weighs about 6 pounds. The kids seem okay. The oldest is maybe 12, then the twin girls, and a toddler a little older that Jack, who is rarely in anything more than a diaper rain or shine.
Dude doesn't work, and we have cobbled together that he is in the midst of some sort of workman's comp legal battle. That's why they had to move in with mommy. That's why the wife works at the Git 'n' Gallup. That's why the car got repoed.
The reason this is a problem:
Our Deck is on the west side of our house. Their patio in on the east side of their house. Their house sits slightly higher. That means they can see everything we are doing over the fence. Including when we are in the hot tub.
So Dude is a bit dumb. He seems not to do much other than hang out on the back porch and smoke cigarettes. All day. He doesn't have music playing, he isn't on the phone, and the isn't reading. He just sits there without a shirt smoking. Every time we would go out on our deck, there he was. And the second we were out there, he'd try his darndest to make small talk that amounted to asking the same questions over and over, like what our names were and what we did for a living. But mostly he would just stare at us in a really unnerving way, and listen to our conversations and smoke. After a while, we started not going out there as often, and when we did, we would peek out first to see if he was there, which was risky because if he saw you, he'd start in with the questions, and then you were stuck. Jen threw a girl's night party once, and he stayed over there staring at them until 3 AM. He was actually a good part of why I quit smoking. I was just sick to death of seeing him out there. If I went out front instead, he'd be there too. After a few months, we quit going out back all together except to mow or grill.
But then we started seeing him and his family everywhere we went. At the store, at the park, next to us in traffic, all over the place. Every time, he'd run through the questions again.
When I got my new job, and it came time to sell that house, we actually told our Realtor not to go out back if Dude was out there. So last night was the last bit of crazy I hope I have to deal with.
We are moving this weekend, and have been packing like mad, giving away a heap of stuff, selling a bunch of stuff and throwing away a bunch of stuff. Last night I was loading up the truck with good will stuff about 10:30PM. I go out there, and there is Dude in his underwear in the middle of the street yelling,
"Whoever you are, I'm gonna kick your ass!"
I quietly go back inside and watch him through the window for a while as he keeps yelling to nobody. When I think he's done, I go back out there with a box for the truck, and he leaps out of the shadows, still in his undies.
"You seen anybody messing with my door?"
"No."
"Somebody keeps trying to open my front door," He says, bleary-eyed and slurring his speech a little. "I keep hearing the latch jiggle, and when I run out here, nobody's there."
"I don't know, man." I say, "I haven't seen anything."
"I think it might be the Chinese guy next door that has a crush on me," He says. "I ain't never seen gay Chinese guys before."
I see where this is going, and pry myself out of the conversation as quickly as possible. I shut the garage door and decide to load the rest of the stuff in the morning.
The Chinese guys in question is just one Chinese guy, who is just polite and dresses well, not gay. And if he were, I don't think Dude would be his type.


I am anxious to move.


-JP

A year and 6 months longer than the Macarena

Dear Jackson,

Well look at you, kiddo. 2 years old. That's more than the rise and fall of a few third world dictatorships. A hell of a lot more than some relationships I've had in my life. Less than how long I've had my glasses or have been to the doctor.

I have to say that I am awfully proud of you. You have learned a lot in the past year, and have taught me more. You figured out which one of us will cave in first depending on the situation.
You figured out that you can get two treats if you ask one grandparent in the kitchen and the other out on the patio.
You are getting really good with the fork, and with drinking out of a big boy cup.
You remember everybody's name now, and even though your mom and I are the only ones who understand what you are saying most of the time, you seem to be okay with that.
You hate it when the dogs sit on your blanket.
You love tractors, cars and airplanes with a crack-head like fervor.
You don't care that paw-paw gave you a horrible haircut, you love him just the same.
You are a happy, well adjusted little boy, which is more of a reflection of your mother than me, I'm afraid.
And although you know full well what a fit is and when to use it, we don't really care because we know that someone who is only two years old has very little control over their lives, and would like to keep what little control they do have. You make up for it in kind, as in that day a few weeks ago, when I hadn't seen you for a few days, and when I poked my head around the corner, you yelled my name and ran as fast as you could, arms wide open and I scooped you and your big smile up for a hug .

Two years ago, I had just started a new job, was moving to a different city and was awaiting a child. All of those apply today as well, though I hope I'm handling it all a bit better. Just relax and keep in mind that every time I shake things up like this, things usually end up better than they were before. Usually.

I do it all for you and your mom, buddy. You two are the best things ever, and your little sibling will be the icing on the cake. Actually, most cakes have icing, so maybe new baby will be a figurine or something.

I love you, son. Happy birthday.

-Dad

A New Recipe

This one is called Tomato Mash-Up

You will need:
-An insane amount of gigantic tomatoes from the guy with the cart or from the farmer's market or where ever. (These can NOT be acquired from the grocery store for reasons I will explain later.)
-An insane amount of salt
-An insane amount of Mustard.

Get the biggest plate you can find. Slice Tomatoes into "shapes"(once again, no two should match). Arrange the tomato shapes onto the plate, in a flatish pattern or just a big pile, It won't really matter. Add salt to top. Add mustard.
As with other foodstuffs that Norm consumes, leave the plate on the table for a good half-hour or so. When you come back, grab a fork and take the plate outside to the patio. Light a cigarette. Mush everything together into paste as you simultaneously eat the "meal" and smoke. When finished, proclaim that those were "perty good tamerters"


Now there are two things I don't get:
1) He insists on having fresh tomatoes right from a local farm, and won't touch the ones from the grocery store. Then he pours salt and mustard on them in such quantities that there is no possible way he or any other human could tell the difference.
2) What the hell is with having everything sit for so long before he eats it? And it isn't just food he makes for himself, like how he makes sure he's the last person in a buffet. And it isn't about letting it cool down because he does it with hot and cold stuff, though he puts the cereal in the fridge, so maybe it is. But he can drink coffee right out of the piping hot carafe, so maybe not.

Maybe he's just a freak.

-JP

Update...

This--->

(The whole container) along with an entire package of Club Crackers,* is what Norm had for dinner last night. He swears that not only is this the best ice cream ever, but that he invented it years ago. He's been mixing birthday cake and frosting into his ice cream for ages. I, for one, believe him.

So anyway...

The festivities for the independents day were cancelled in Stilly, so we're going to go to Tulsey town. Where Jen's parents live, they are up on this big hill, and can see more than a few displays. So we'll just sit there, maybe grill out, maybe give Jack a sparkler.

That's all I got.

-JP

*I was hoping to see him actually scoop some ice cream onto the crackers, or even spread some on with a knofe, but I was denied. He just took a few bites of ice cream, then ate a few crackers.