This week brings us another installment in the Crazy Neighbor Bob Chronicles, because we know, CNB Fans, that you've been anxiously awaiting the next chapter.
Last Wednesday I spent half the day in Santa Rosa on a photo shoot, most of that time in the car to and from. On the way home, my Check Engine light came on, and even though I checked the engine and all seemed OK, it was stressful driving home. I called my mechanic on the way and got on their calendar for first thing the next morning.
Bear with me - there is a Bob story in all of this.
When I arrived home late in the afternoon, I gathered up all my gear and a few other things I didn't want to leave in the car. My arms were full of bags and jackets and things as I made my way into the house. With all the schlepping and worrying about my car, I paid no attention to the yard.
The next morning I walked out of the house at 7:30 and saw that a large area of the yard near the front of the house had been weed whacked, and in the process, a once-thriving rose bush had been destroyed as well as a garden light.
I stood there, mouth agape, for at least 5 minutes, feeling the anger boiling up inside me. Goddamn that lousy piece of shit. He'd done it again. After I told him in no uncertain terms we could not allow him to come into our yard and do any yard work, especially when we're not at home. I picked up the broken light and chucked it onto the lawn where I could pick it up when I got home.
Angry but unable to do anything about it at that moment, I got into my car and let it warm up. A minute later my other neighbor came out and I asked her if she'd seen anything. She hadn't, but said that the likely culprit was right across the street.
I drove off to my mechanic filled with frustration. Not only was our yard chopped up, but now I had to talk to him again, something I never enjoy. And if you ever find this post Bob, I don't like talking to you because you're rude, you don't listen, and you make me and many other people uncomfortable.
Walking home from the Bart station I saw him driving up the street in his stupid truck. He waved and I raised my hand in return and kept walking. He returned home about an hour later and I went over to talk to him.
In my nicest, non-teeth-grinding, happy voice I asked "Hey, are you my mystery weed whacker?" to which he blurted out, "What? I didn't take a weed eater out of your yard!"
What? That was an interesting response, seeing as how the last time our yard was attacked while we weren't home, I told him we couldn't allow him to do that, and a few days later our weed eater was stolen out of our yard. We'd never had anything stolen out of the yard before and haven't since.
Anyway, to continue the saga... I said No, this wasn't about a weed eater, but had he taken out the weeds or did he see anyone in our yard taking out the weeds, along with my rose bush and garden light. He said it wasn't him, but "some old guy, I think his name was John, who knew your grandmother."
Really? Really?
I said, Really? So an old man who knew my grandmother, who would have to be at least in his 80s and perhaps in his 90s - an old man we've never seen or heard of before, walks around the neighborhood with a super battery-powered weed eater to do yard work for former friends? Really?
He repeated this bullshit about an old man named John and his weed-eating ways, and how John also picked up all the leaves and put them in our green bin, saying, "We shouldn't let this green bin go to waste!"
Our green bin, that is, which isn't "going to waste" when it's sitting in our yard where it belongs, where we use it when we need it and pay the city to empty what WE put it in it, not what other people put in it, you stupid asshole.
I smiled along with this crazy bullshit, talking about "John" with him like this old guy actually exists, and asked him to please tell "John" next time that he can't destroy our yard and he needs to come talk to me. And then I walked away.
Such a lame ass lying weasel. It was a whole new low. Who, besides the mentally ill, waits for his neighbor to leave, then sneaks across the street to mow down a small patch of insignificant weeds and in the process, destroys a beautiful rose bush and breaks property, then LIES about it when asked about it? What a dick!
The kicker was, after I left that morning to take my car to the shop, he sneaked across the street AGAIN to prop up the broken light about where he thought it belonged, as if I wouldn't remember that it was actually broken. What a total dumbshit!
So, without proof or a witness, there's nothing I can do. But that afternoon I went outside and dumped all the leaves into the street, kicking them forcefully off the curb, making a nice big pile he'd surely see. Then I posted a sign on the front of the house:
To John, Who Knew My Grandmother:
About the unsolicited yard work — we must ask that you never do it again. You’re trespassing.
We don’t know you and have not given you permission to use your weed eater to destroy our plants and break our garden lights. Next time you’re seen doing such a thing, we’ll call the Boys in Blue and they can help you find a new hobby.
Thanks, The People Who Don’t Know You.
Good times, eh?
Bloody hell.
I just read a great 
I can't stop tearing up my cuticles. I hate my cuticles and they hate me.
