Lindsay Marks 6 p.m., Dec. 5
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I Hate My Nasty Neighbor Mike
The jackass who lives next door woke me up very early this morning. He is a neanderthal of monumental proportions and has no consideration for anyone else. I can see why he is divorced. He moved in about a year and a half ago after my precious friend, Juanda, succumbed to a deadly illness. From the first day he was here, he turned the neighborhood upside down. The noises he makes are alarming and at times I've almost jumped out of my skin.
This is Del Dios, a gift from the Gods. We lived a very quiet and peaceful existence until Mike moved in. Guys cheer, glass breaks, Mike yells at his dog and kids. Sometimes he brings his trash cans in at two a.m. It sounds as if a steam roller is going through the park. He chirps his alarm, thumps up the stairs as if he weighs a ton, laughs, calls out to his girlfriend and digs the dirt all before seven. He is the ugliest, most undesirable guy in all the world and I'm truly surprised that his girlfriend or anyone else would have him. As grandma would have said, "the pickens out there must be mighty slim."
When he first arrived, my other half and I went over to introduce ourselves. To my surprise, his girlfriend opened the door wearing rubber gloves. She explained that Mike had not moved in yet, that she had merely come to clean the place for him. I gaped and gawked for several seconds. I could hardly breathe. Had her mother taught her nothing about women's lib and what all the bra burning was for in the 1970s? I'd go to my death before I'd scrub a bathtub for a man unless he was very, very sick and I don't mean in the head.
When I finally did meet Mike, I said "hello" but he blew right by me as if he were the king of the world. He didn't even bother to look at me so high and mighty was he. His royal highness subsequently let a friend park a massive, neon-green truck with decals on his front yard and when I told him the park management wouldn't allow it, he nearly exploded in my face.
A few days later, he and another guy were digging on my property and throwing the dirt in the street in front of my coach. I then wrote a note and put it on his door. I said that I was not going to clean up after him and to not dump dirt in front of my house again.
He then put a venomous note in my mailbox. It said that if I knew so much about the rules, I should follow them myself. He included a page from the park rulebook that said only two dogs were allowed per residence. He was even considerate enough to circle that paragraph for me. If Mr. Know-It-All were to stay up on the news, he would know that our city councilwoman, Olga Diaz, got an ordinance passed a few years ago that allows five dogs per residence in Escondido. My dogs came from the county shelter in Carlsbad where I was a volunteer for twelve years. Officers have every one of my dogs on file and gave them to me with their blessings because of the ordinance and where I live.
I no longer have four dogs, I'm currently down to three. One is on the brink of death because she is thirteen and has a heart murmur and a bad liver, so nasty Mike can kiss my ass.