Not exactly "Kramer."

You know how on sitcoms there is almost always the "wacky neighbor" character? Sometimes there's the slutty neighbor. Or the creepy neighbor. Or the impossibly geriactric neighbor. Or the absurdly stupid/borderline retarded neighbor who probably shouldn't be living alone. But more often than not, they're garden-variety eccentrics who add a little comic relief to the situation. But in real life, you usually end up with the "jerk ass neighbor," or the "loud as hell neighbor" or the "always cooking curry and stinking up the joint neighbor," or the "diametrically opposed to your politics neighbor." They're rarely good-natured and almost never lovable. I've had some pretty craptastic neighbors in all of my moving around. Just to name a few:

Mr. Hump-n-Pump--My roommate Paige and I lived next to this guy in college whose bedroom was next to our den. He would loudly masturbate and/or have sex with his girlfriend at all hours of the day, without ever thinking (or caring) that we could hear every headboard thump, mattress squeak and moan. One time when my mom and aunt were visiting, Paige and I started to hear the familiar Hump-n-Pump noises, and began to cringe. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday, and he was going strong. My mom finally spoke up and said, "What's that noise?" And I was like (insert Napoleon Dynamite-like indignation here), "MOM! Gosh! I don't know! Jeez!" That's just not a topic you want to discuss with your mom.

Nathan--I never knew Nathan's last name, but he and some of his Cro-Magnon frat brothers lived above Paige and I in the same apartment where we were contending with Mr. Hump-n-Pump. Yes, we were blessed. Anyway, this dude was one of those big Baby Huey frat boys who is a pudgy, infant-faced doofus, always in constant need of a haircut and who probably only ended up in the frat because he was a quadruple legacy and for his infamous beer-bonging abilities. He never gets laid and rarely goes to class, but he'll still graduate because his rich daddy knows the dean. You know those guys...I think we call them "Future Republicans." Anyway, this fuckhead stomped around his apartment like he was wearing lead mukluks. It was unreal how loud this guy was just walking around. He and his drunk-ass friends would sit out on their balcony (right above our bedroom windows) until 4:00am on a Tuesday, hurtling waterballoons (with the help of a giant sling-shot) at traffic on the busy street beneath the hill our apartments were perched upon. What a complete ass.

Pear-Shaped Boy--This guy (who had an oddly feminine lower-half, complete with a very wide-load ass) lived above me for a brief period of time while I was in grad school. He would vacuum at very strange hours (3:00am on a Wednesday. for instance) while repeatedly BLARING Skynrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" or Reba McIntyre's "Fancy." I never quite figured that guy out.

Cockroach Lady--Instead of taking her trash the 15 yards to the dumpster, the Cockroach Lady would just let the trashbags pile up outside her door. For weeks. In August. In Alabama. My formerly bug-free apartment became infested with cockroaches. Despite my complaints to the apartment management, she kept up with her disgusting laziness. I broke my lease and moved out very soon after I woke up one morning to a gigantic cockroach making its way across my face.

But I think my current neighbor takes the cake. I HATE her. I mean, I loathe her with all my being. I have no idea what her name is, but I call her "Psycho Bitch." First of all, in the house where P.B. lives now, there used to live this lovely, elderly Japanese woman named Yuki. But Yuki had a stroke and could no longer live on her own. So by some weird twist, this gal (who isn't a relative) ended up living in Yuki's cute little house AND driving Yuki's car. She's "taking care" of the property while Yuki is unable to. Well, this has been going on for about a year-and-a-half.

I first knew I didn't like her when a dog showed up in her back yard, and P.B. never EVER paid it any attention. The poor, sweet dog (a Catahoula) would bark and howl when P.B. would pull her car out of the carport and leave in the mornings (all the time, P.B. would be yelling at the dog, "Annika, NO!!!"). I bought Milk Bones, and would go give her a treat or two each morning before I left for work. Poor Annika was so attention starved and grateful for a little pat on the head and a treat. It was just so sad. Long story short: The dog "broke out" of the yard during a bad spring storm and got loose. A friend I had staying with me at the time saw the dog running around that night, and thought that someone had picked the dog up and taken her to the animal shelter (because, of course, she had on no collar). The next day, I knocked on P.B.'s door and asked if her dog was missing (which I already knew was the case), and she said, "Well...sort of. I mean, I was going to take her to the pound anyway...." Turns out, she'd ended up with this dog after a bad break up. She didn't want her, but she had the yard so... So she didn't care at ALL that this dog was gone. (BTW--My friends and I found Annika at the pound and contacted Catahoula Rescue, created flyers and sent mass e-mails out about her in hopes of her getting adopted prior to being put down. I have no idea if anyone ever adopted her, however.)

Some months later, I heard a bad catfight outside. When I ran out to investigate, Psycho Bitch came running out into her carport, topless, holding a piece of fabric in front of her substantial boobs. She said some shit like, "Oh God. I shouldn't have had that last drink!" She was obviously wasted, topless and alone. Weird.

This past Sunday, I was about to pull out of my driveway. My cat, Earl, was outside, enjoying the nice weather. He was standing in her driveway, sniffing the breeze when she came HAULING ASS into her driveway, not pausing or slowing down one bit. If he hadn't totally scurried out of the way, she would've hit him. And I swear she did it on purpose. If she had hit him, I swear, I have no idea what I would've done.
Right about now, I wouldn't mind living next to Pear-Shaped Boy. That would be like winning the neighbor lottery compared to living next to this crazy ass ho.