Speaking of Freakshow....
Mood:  cheeky
Now Playing: Sigue Sigue Sputnik
My neighbors are total freaks and it’s my own damn fault!

When I filed for divorce, I moved out to the first available place I could find which was barely habitable but they really could have cared less that I had three dogs…and three cats…and five ginormous goldfish that masquerade as low rent Koi…and a horse. At that time, I boarded Big so he wasn’t an issue, but still.

Needless to say, I have moved 4 times in 3 years. Yes, I am a masochist. I left the hovel and moved into a super nice brand spanking new house. Unfortunately, that house was in an HOA and between the curb Nazis and the fact that neighbors in 5 houses could hear my phone conversations whenever I sat in the backyard, the big ass walk in closets and the gas fireplace just couldn’t make it tolerable enough. I then moved a block down the street (please note, whoever said short moves are easier LIED!) to a super cool pad with 2 acres where I could have Big on site and a totally bitching upstairs patio with amazing city views that saw a lot of activity…of all kinds. As you know, it’s not a party until folks are urinating off the roof…

That would have worked except the owners, who had moved to San Diego and said they weren’t coming back for 2 years, decided they hated living in San Diego (go figure) and moved back after a year. So I had 3 weeks to find a new pad for me and all the furries including a horse. The pad I ended up moving to just happened to be a few blocks away. Again, another hateful short move but I digress.

So I am now surrounded by weird folks who rent. My own fault, I know, but a situation that I plan on rectifying in the spring. In the meantime, I just have to deal with it and all of the freakshow activity involved.

Unfortunately, this situation just got weirder as the owners sold the property to a new guy who plans on using it as an investment. He plans on taking a 1-acre horse property in the middle of a residential neighborhood and building multi-unit condos. Joy! Not!

The new owner came over the other night to introduce himself—Rick something or other foreign that I can’t remember now to add to this entry. He seemed like an okay guy—small, shaved head and foreign. I wasn’t sure if he was Russian or Israeli or something in between and to be honest, I really don’t care as long as it doesn’t interrupt my existence. Pretty much how I deal about most things…

Now, I am probably the most paranoid person I know. This comes, in part, from living in L.A. for 4 years and, in part, from having to get restraining orders against various stalkers over the years (yeah, I wasn’t kidding about that). If I think a car has been behind me for too long and I think the driver’s following me, I’ll take evasive maneuvers. Assinine? Possibly, maybe even probably, but I am a firm believer in better safety than sorry and so far, fingers and toes and assorted other appendages crossed, that adage hasn’t steered me wrong by more than a mile or so…

This being said, my neighbor, Zeta, has always struck me as being more than a little odd. Saying that Zeta is kind of paranoid is akin to saying that Hitler was kind of racist. She is totally nucking futs!

Yesterday morning, she shows up on my front porch freaking out about the new owner. Once again my ‘come tell me your freaky shit’ stamp must have been abundantly clear on my forehead. She starts off by saying that he introduced himself as ‘Rick’, “but that’s not his real name!” The name on the business card he gave her is apparently “Rezid”. HELLO! Gee, what a shocker! I looked at her in the way you do a drunken homeless person breakdancing naked with a bath towel on the side of the freeway—a combination of sympathy and irritation because it figures I don't have my fucking camera with me! I responded “Uh, Zeta, it’s not uncommon for foreigners to anglicize their given name after moving to America.” AKA DUH!!! Rick/Rezid—a major stretch I know, but go figure!

She then starts ranting on and on about how she is “suddenly” getting mail for him at her address. “I think he’s trying to force me out! Why else would I be getting mail for him?!” So I ask her “Is it personal mail—like his cell bill or something?” She responds “No, it’s junk mail.” Again DUH! He just bought a property and now he’s getting junk mail addressed to him at the address of the property—Oh! Spooky! So I tell her that this is pretty commonplace and she just doesn’t want to hear it. She is certain that it is a conspiracy and tells me so. HELLO! Do you know what a whack job you sound like?! Oy!

I tried my best to reassure her, but it was all wasted breath. You can’t convince a crazy broad that her reality isn’t real and sometimes, you’re just better off not trying.

She then proceeds to tell me that her “toilet hasn’t been working in a week” and that Rick/Rezid “won’t fix it” so she’s going to “contact the county assessor.” Uh, why? Are you looking for the purchase price of the property? I try to explain to her that the county assessor has nothing to do with landlord/tenant complaints and to tell her who she actually does need to contact when she basically cut me off at my perky tits without so much as a whatfor and tells me that she “is well aware of who to complain to.” Uh, okay then. Have at! Go for it you fricking nutjob!

She then told me that she is now considering moving “North” to live with a friend so that Rick/Rezid “can’t force her out.” I agreed with her that this is probably her best option “given the situation”.

I know. I know. Not nice, but what was I to do? Continue to ‘argue’ with her when she is so obviously smarter (I mean she did spot the conspiracy and all) and so much better informed than I am? I may be moving in the spring but really who am I to disagree with her? I sure as Hell could use a few months of sanity and peace in the meantime!

Besides, my only other viable option at that point was to start screaming "Run away! Run away!"