My Chat With Five Drinks

I was outside mowing my lawn yesterday after work (Friday) when I had, by far, the longest conversation with our neighbors that any of us have ever had. It ended with the possibility of many such future interactions, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I did that on purpose to get you excited.

I had brought a pen and paper outside with me because Rat-A-Tat had been on the porch with no shirt on cursing at the dog earlier. And just in case some conversation among them was too long, I had brought my phone so I could call Josh and dictate. We were still high off of the absurdity of what we shall call the “porno-fight,” and we were looking for something ≥

Here is what happened. I was walking down the steps to return the push-mower to my neighbor across the street (and by neighbor I mean mother). Five Drinks and Misty had just parked their car on the other side of street (there were so many cars in their driveway that I half-expected Gravedigger to bust in and mash them all). They happened to be walking across the street toward their house just as I was walking across the street toward my mother’s house. She asked me (and by "asked" I mean "yelled across the street") if they could borrow the mower. I grimaced and replied that it was on its last legs and it wasn’t even mine and that I had borrowed it from a neighbor (I neglected to mention that it was my mother).

Then she asked me if I wanted to come over and mow her lawn. Now I assume she meant physically mowing the grass on the property and not any sort of meaning that my hormonal 14-year old mind would interpret, but you never can tell with these types. I said, “You pay me?” and she replied, “Sure, just the patch in the back” (again, pretty sure she was talking about the lawn). She asked, “How about tomorrow at noon?” I hesitated for what seemed like hours before saying I wasn’t sure when I’d be free this weekend. She told me she’d give me $40 and to just come over and knock on the door anytime this weekend. I don’t even remember what I said I was so nervous. Thank god it’s going to rain all weekend. She said something else as she walked away (probably “I really like your blog about us”), but I didn’t hear it because I was too busy trying to get hit by a car so I wouldn’t have to go over there and mow their lawn this weekend.

In this situation, engaging in friendly relations with the neighbors is like raising a pig you know you are going to slaughter (or in this case, you slaughter on a daily basis). Still, I was pretty tempted to ask her if they had found the Kama Sutra book yet.

The Debriefing (Epic Phone Call Part III)

At this point, the telephone conversation ends, but she proceeds to regurgitate both sides of the entire conversation to someone else on the porch (I assume it was Five Drinks). The funniest part about this is that when she repeats her lines, she emphasizes how clever she is. I can’t even describe it; I wish I had had some sort of audio recording device. It’s like her normal state of being is 15 beers in (or maybe she was just actually 15 beers in). For you Math-heads out there, that’s 3 x 5-Beers (...and even then.....). She also is explaining it to Five Drinks as you would explain something to a very young child. I bet she practices in the mirror (diss!).

So from what I can gather she was talking to some guy who also seems to be having relationship woes (possibly with Five Drinks). I won’t mention his name because I want plausible deniability when they find this blog and take us to court, but let me assure you it’s a ridiculous name that no one would actually ever christen their child with.*

Here are a couple of lines she reiterates to her lucky audience of Five Drinks & I (though we are supposedly separated by at least 20 feet and a wall that I am becoming more and more convinced is composed entirely of sticks):

“She didn’t want to live with your parents”

I don't think she actually said this out loud to man-with-preposterous-name; she was merely venting her thoughts (or whatever passes in her case) to a grave and somber or wasted Five Drinks. For the first time since we began this blog, I can fully agree with Helga. Three people in a trailer is OK, but 4 is intolerable. She would probably have to sleep above the back wheel and orgies with your parents are never fun unless it's dress-up night. How could you expect the parents to keep up anyway? It'd be like trying to run Halo 3 with Windows 3.1.

“Everyone hates my husband; everyone in the world hates my husband. My husband is a terrible father.”

Now here I'm pretty sure she is talking about her own (ex?) husband. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but if Codename: Helga thinks her husband is a terrible parent, then she must have married Vlad The Impaler. Or a toaster-oven. Actually, a hot breakfast everyday without fail would have probably been a godsend for these kids.


*OK, if you really really really want to know, email wtfneighbor@gmail.com and I will tell you

Helga vs. Five Drinks UPDATE

Our third floor neighbor and newly-certified 1Prime legal expert Tommy also chronicled yesterday's heavyweight bout from his cave upstairs.

Apparently the "porno" in question was a book of sexual positions because Codename Five Drinks was heard to exclaim she "doesn't know much about that sort of thing"

Please. With 18 kids running around next door screaming their faces off, Five Drinks clearly has to brush up on those timeless techniques such as "Missionary," "The Cowgirl," "The Double Hidden Reverse Stranger" and the insanely advanced maneuver known as "Pulling Out."

Tommy also overhead Greg and Jodi cackling on the second floor as the argument raged.

Well done, folks. Ice cream cake for everyone!!

The Day I Made Contact

This actually happened a few days ago (Sunday to be exact), but I had forgotten about it. This is most likely because my notes are taken on anything I can find, so throwing out napkins can sometimes mean throwing out valuable information. I could be wiping my face with untold hilarity without even knowing it.

So I was taking the trash out and Five Drinks is sitting on her porch.

She says, “Excuse me, is today trash day?”
I say, “Yeah, Monday is trash and recycling”
Her, “Thanks.”

The only curve-ball I threw her was the mentioning of recycling. I’m sure Helga and crew document their carbon footprint on a daily basis and go around asking people to donate money to the environment (I did this once and it’s the most depressing job I’ve ever had). If I go through their recycling one day and find all their trash and recycling properly sorted, I will volunteer 15 hours at a local charity this summer. This is even more exciting than that guy who made that Facebook group that started all Facebook groups about the threesome with his girlfriend or whatever. I wonder if they felt like they were making history when the threesome commenced. I suppose I’d be honored to be the third person in that threesome. You might even be in a textbook someday, and who doesn’t want that? I think that’s only reason why Obama ran.

I’m almost disappointed that my first interaction with the neighbors was so pleasantly neighborly and normal. So fuck it, let me tell you what really happened: Helga comes out in sumo-wrestling-dominatrix costume with wolverine claws and slices open her heart. Then she starts grinding on her innards which are spilling out all over the place until they are all ground into the pavement. Then she eats Calamity Jane in a huge hamburger bun with sesame seeds. Too ridiculous for you? Give it time: they just moved in and it doesn’t look like they are going to get any less ludicrous anytime soon.

Found: Kiddie Porn

While Wolfgang and I were out of the house performing our ritual Secret Agent duties, "Bon" Jodi from the second floor gleefully took notes as a maelstrom of shouting pierced the suburban silence.

Helga is furious at the brown-haired girl, now officially christened Codename Five Drinks, because she's marginally more attractive than Codename Misty.  But why is Helga shouting?

Oh, only because Five Drinks was looking at a porno, fell asleep and now said porno is missing, presumably snatched up by the children.

::blink blink::

Yes, I'll repeat that:

Five Drinks was looking at a porno, fell asleep and now said porno is missing, presumably snatched up by the children.

Helga took Five Drinks to task for being irresponsible and lazy NOT TO MENTION LEAVING A PORNO OUT FOR HER CHILDREN TO FIND.

Five Drinks countered with what any normal, sober and rational person would mention during a disagreement: she threatened to move out because, and I quote, "I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish, I'm not selfish."  

And for any of you who thinks she's lazy, she's got this nugget for you: "I ain't got nothing to wake up for today, if I'd have my kids I'd probably wake up earlier."

Send Me To The Fun House (Epic Phone Call Part II)

“I’m your fucking baby’s mother and I’m not going to give you money. And our house is fucking fun.”

How do these clauses even follow each other? Does she fear that he is somehow unclear about exactly how much fun is transpiring at their house? Surely he must know. Even I know, and I just met (or actually have never met) her. He could simply ask anyone in the neighborhood! Especially if his idea of fun is walking around outside your house dressed in such a manner that people wished you were naked just so they could get it over with. Is she just trying to rub it in how much better she is doing than him? As in, “Not only will I not be giving you any money (which I have and you don’t), but I’m doing great and we are having so much fun without you.” That’s nice that everything is working out so well for her. I hope she chokes on her own face.

I can’t believe she said that her house is fun. Like some fucking fraternity house. I’m still waiting for the fliers around the neighborhood about the “dry” dance party at their house, but you have to bring 5 girls for each guy.

The funny thing is that I’m pretty sure she wasn’t even talking to her ex-husband. She was just quoting herself (or her addled thoughts, rather) to her friend. Who are these friends anyway? I don’t understand how they even exist. How do they pick up the phone everytime? It’s probably because they don’t have caller ID. If I saw her name come up on my screen, I’d drown my phone. And then my phone would thank me. It would save him the trouble of committing hara-kiri, which is something he's been considering for months. Ever since his SIM card left for another port he's been depressed. Anyway, once he had passed on, I would give him a Viking send-off in the pocket of a crash test dummy.

Holy Trinity 3-In-1 (Epic Phone Call Part I)

What could possibly give Helga the impression that the entire neighborhood wants to hear about every aspect of her life? I just listened to an entire telephone conversation that I could write a thesis on. And grammatically, the end of the sentence is where you send prepositions to.

I won’t transcribe the entire thing as it was deeply personal and I would never betray my loud, obnoxious neighbor to a bunch of strangers with internet access. Also, I was mostly asleep when I took notes on it. Because I can’t accurately do the conversation justice in a single post, I will stagger my comments over a couple of days. This will also give me time to consult my muse, who, if you would hear Josh tell it, is just some girl I lured into the basement with stale milk duds. But actually, that can’t be true because she stopped eating weeks ago.

Anyway:

“I don’t do anything wrong. I don’t do anything wrong. Anything. Move your ass.”

I’m pretty sure this is where I came into the conversation. Generally, the police also come into a conversation at this point. I don’t know which is more annoying: the fact that she believes herself to be some sort of angel or the boorish repetition. One of the reasons she probably came out onto the porch at this point is because she was probably annoying the fuck out of Rat-A-Tat. If she never does anything wrong, then I must be up for some sort of award. One that fits right next to my 2nd In Baby Punching and 3rd In Jitterbug trophies. And again, I have no idea if the “Move your ass” was intended for child or canine, but I bet she doesn’t have to repeat that one often because she is the size of the entire A-Team.

We're Boys

While taking my hockey equipment out of my car (Codename: The Rattlesnake), Rat-a-Tat waved to me!

It wasn't a "Hello Neighbor, Pleasant Day We're Having" wave, it was definitely more of a "I Can Peer Deep Into Your Soul And I Am Admiring The Contents, Let's Be Blood Brothers" wave.

I, On The Other Hand, Do Not Love You Long Time

The recent warm weather has done more than provide us with hours of overhead phone calls and piles of ciggy butts:
Codename Misty has been showing off some serious skin!

I can't even begin to make an attempt at describing the trailer park/strip club/meth lab/Walmart lingerie department (Wolfgang's Note: you just did) smorgasbourg of Bad Taste that this young woman routinely exits the house in. A Vietnamese hooker trying to woo American sailorboys would blush. And then vomit.

Pedesphobia (Not To Be Confused With Other Words. Any Other Words At All.)

Helga just said “Get your fucking foot away from me dummy!”

I don’t even know who she was yelling at. Could’ve been a child or a dog. I doubt even she can tell them apart at this point.

James Obama 007

Today Helga was using the telephone communication system on her side porch as usual. They must not get reception anywhere else. Or perhaps the cellular waves interfere with the aluminum-heroin alloy they are developing in their living room. Anyway, at one point, Helga mentioned the area code 773 (Chicago) which led Josh & I to believe that she’s one of President Obama’s undercover agents. This happens on TV all the time (especially FOX) so there must be some merit to it: pretend to be supertrash so no one will pay any attention to you if they can help it and will actively try to ignore you (unless they are pathetic enough to take notes on every word you say and then show them to other people).

Maybe all this porch talk is just planting false information. Did you ever see that Pink Panther movie where they are talking to each other on the same line and Inspector Clouseau is listening on the same line? Then he sits in glue and things get silly, but I think our neighbors are better agents than that. At the very least, I'm sure they keep their glue right between the alcohol and the whippets where it belongs. I also overheard her mention the word “email” so it’s very possible that they do, in fact have/understand what computers are (or they are Amish agents trying to throw us off the trail again!).

"Hot Enough For Ya?" (Said in Cop Voice)

Whilst sitting betwixt Greg and Jodi, who live on the second floor of our building, I had the following interaction with Codename Rat-a-Tat aka The Tattooed Rodent-Looking Gentleman Who Rides Upon The Motorcycle:

RAT-A-TAT climbs off his motorcycle and walks down the driveway towards the house.

RAT-A-TAT

"Hey, how's it going?"

US

"(puzzled as we determined if he was actually addressing us or just cursing under his breath) ...hey."

RAT-A-TAT

"Great weather!"*

(*josho's Note:  It was not "great weather", but about 90 degrees with a pantload of humidity)

US

"(lying to his face) Yep!"

RAT-A-TAT

"Hope it stays like this!"

RAT-A-TAT enters the house.

SCENE

Rat-a-Tat must be half Alligator if he thinks this climate is suitable for anyone other than the Devil himself.