What a Difference a Bob Makes

After seven years of never-ending Bobness, he's finally gone and the entire block has come out of hiding.

Yesterday I spoke to a neighbor across the street I've never said a word to before because she's always been securely contained inside her car or rushing into her house - much like everyone else on our block, myself included.

We started talking about landscaping and within seconds remarked how much nicer the neighborhood is without Bob. She, like me, stopped spending any time in the yard because that creepy freak was always all up in everyone's business.

One down and one to go. We still have the Shitty Bitch on the corner who tried telling our arborist to cleave the oak tree in half so there wouldn't be any branches on her side of the property.

When he told her he couldn't do that or else the tree would fall onto our house, she said she didn't care about that. What a sorry sack of shit. Her broken hip/stroke/heart attack can't come soon enough.

And here's the kicker - when we had the garage sale a few weeks ago, she waddled over to chat with some of the neighbors. When she heard we were moving, she enthusiastically asked if we'd be renting out the house. I told her most likely, yes, and then she asked if we had anyone lined up to rent it. When I said no, she said her son would love to rent it.

Her son, with two of the brattiest kids I've ever seen. Those kids would destroy the house and that shitty bitch would be over here every day looking for something she could steal.

When my grandmother died, I mentioned it to her in passing one day and the first thing out of her shitty bitchy mouth was that my grandmother had told her she could have an antique tea cart. Klassy, eh? But yet, she was allowed to breed.

At any rate, the moving process continues. Selling more stuff (what did we do before Craigslist?), donating a ton of other stuff - soon there won't be much to pack other than a large bag of cats.

No End to the Bob-ness

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.

My Summer of Bob

After living here for five years, I finally have a somewhat normal, neighborly relationship with Crazy Neighbor Bob across the street. Since Bob got a puppy, he's become more "normal" and thus, not as uncomfortable to be around.

He's still crazy, but now that he has something to take care of, a companion - he seems happier and calmer. He no longer seems like he's on the verge of painting his house with mashed potatoes. And I'm happy to say, he's doing a great job with the dog - she's well-behaved and friendly.

I think he used to be a firefighter & took an extinguisher to the head. Or as he'd tell you, he hurt his back on the job. When he used to catch me on my way to work, all he ever talked about was how the state was trying to screw him out of disability. Then I'd see him out pruning the very tall tree in his yard with a long pole saw, romping on it like hell. Or washing his truck. Or rebuilding his garage. By himself.

Some favorite past moments with Bob:
[doorbell rings, Bob is at the door]
"Hello Bob, what's up?"
"I'm only telling you this because I like you. If you park your car the wrong direction on the street, you'll get a ticket."
"Okay, thanks Bob."
"Bye."

[doorbell rings, Bob is at the door]
"Hi Bob, what's up?"
"I brought you some beef jerky. I make it in my basement."
"Oh hey thanks Bob, but we're vegetarians."
[inside, once Bob is back across the street, question to David]
"Have you seen Bob's mom lately?"

[while parents are visiting, my dad goes outside to see Bob polishing his car's fender]
"Hey Bob, whatcha doin?"
"It's a new wax. Looks good, huh?"
"Sure, but I don't need my car waxed."
"Oh, well, I'll do the whole car for $80."
"No thanks, Bob."

And then there were the days when Bob would wait for us to leave in the morning, then sneak over and mow our lawn. What a crappy thing to do, right? No, not at all, except he was letting himself into the backyard through the gate, which was not OK.

I had to write him a note to let him know that we fear what we don't understand, like magic lawn mowing. It creeped me out that he was prowling all around our house when we weren't here. Seemed less than trustworthy. If we'd been close friends, no big deal, but we were Hey Neighbors. "Hey." "Hey."

But now - now we're pals. Soon after he brought the puppy home I couldn't help myself - I had to meet her.


I call her BooBoo, Puppy, and Girl - Bob calls her Tumbleweed.

I think he was just lonely & now he has a friend who will never tire of hearing about his struggles with his disability claim.