There’s some new neighbors in these here parts. A few houses up the street, one of these shoddily constructed mini-McMansions sold, and on Saturday night, we were introduced to the new neighbors. Well, not officially. We might not have been invited to their housewarming party, but the bad hip-hop music blaring through the open garage door was loud enough to enjoy from our own yard. Even better, the requisite loudmouthed bitch kept us amused with her drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday” and various other party cliches. The hubby and I scampered to the front yard not once, but twice, to witness this subdivision’s only example of revelry to date. The neighbors here are so quiet, that if you couldn’t see the houses, you would never know anyone else lived within a mile of you. It’s kind of odd, but the peace was shattered all to hell on Saturday, that’s for sure. We took a little too much delight in hearing the police bullhorn, then watching as the partygoers fled like cockroaches. The cars were leaving in such haste that there was almost a collision, but fear is a helluva co-pilot, so crisis averted.
I found myself annoyed by the bad music, the screaming, the excessive traffic, and the threat that this gathering could really ramp up and wake the baby. In my younger days, I definitely attended my share of house parties (hell, I even hosted a few), but I guess I’m officially an old bag who couldn’t contain her excitement when we saw some other neighbors patrolling their lawn and using their cell phone, to, we can only assume, call the cops.
