Meet the New Neighbors!

We worked our butts off cleaning the rental house so we could return it to the landlord last weekend. Two days ago we walked him through it to show him the things HE needed to address ... like the still-slow drains, the still-inadequate wiring, the still-backed up septic system, the new termite trails in the wood floors, the leaking roof, the broken window, the storm door that's just an empty frame without a screen, the cracked front door you can see daylight through and the new mouse hole. He took copious notes, hugged us for the cleanup, and then promptly ignored every single one of the items on HIS list and moved a large family of skanky redneck hillbillies into the house "as is" yesterday.

If I tell you we're not thrilled, I'm underreporting.The head of this household is a sixtyish man named Barney, whose only redeeming virtue is his ability to play the banjo, dobro and mandolin (or so he claims). There is a large disabled wife who was unable to hoist herself out of her porch chair for an introduction, two thirty-something sons with the distinctive "high-as-a-kite, no teeth and facial sores" appearance that only a certain segment of the population can achieve at that age, at least one live-in girlfriend of indeterminate age who was passed out in the truck during the moving process and an obese pug dog named Dollar Bill.

On the bright side, they got rid of a lot of the broken appliances, odd junk and discarded trash we had piled up waiting for Big Trash Pickup Day next week ... by carrying it back into the house we just dragged it out of. They call us "neighbor" ... as in, "The yard looks good, neighbor!" and "Can we have that stuff you're throwin' away, neighbor?" and "Is that shed for us? Oh, it's yours, neighbor? Can we use half of it?"

We call them the Meth-Heads ... as in, "The meth-heads are going to steal our stuff," and, "Kids, you can't play with the meth-heads ... or buy their meth."