Saturday, May 29, 2010


So I get home last night after a particularly grueling week at the office and the hubbie and I take the dogs out to the beach for a good 90-minute walk.  When we get home, we start making supper and in the middle of chopping onions, the phone rings.  It's our neighbour Mike (I call him Mike-and-Emily because his wonderful wife's name is Emily and because our *other* neighbour is *also* called Mike).  Mike-and-Emily is very nice, though he is pesky and likes to tease me about being a tree-hugger.   He lends us his extension ladder whenever we need it and has been known to drop by with fresh lobster (free!), a time or two.

Anyway, he is calling because he knows that we are a little bit on the isolated side and he wants to let us in on what's been planned for the neighbouring property to ours (on the other side of us from him).  As Mike-and-Emily is in charge of the grapevine in our small village (I won't use the title "gossip-monger", but you get the idea), he has learned that our *other* neighbour Mike is planning to host a BUSH PARTY FOR 500 GRADUATING HIGH SCHOOLERS FROM THE NEXT TOWN OVER.  That night.  Yesterday.  In our "back yard".  Seems that everyone knows about this shindig except us.

You see, Mike owns an excavation company and he owns a large (20-acre-ish) field where they get soil and deposit things like rocks from their excavation work.  Our little property used to form part of that larger field, but was parceled off several years ago and a house was placed right smack dab in the middle of that small parcel.  We bought the parcel (and the house) a few years ago, and that is how we have come to live adjacent to a mostly-vacant field.  It's a nice arrangement for us - peace and quiet and a nice empty space for the dogs to frolic.  Mike gets built-in caretakers, as we are always here and can keep an eye out for people who want to use his property for nefarious purposes.  Except when those "people" are his guests.

We were descended upon by a flock (a big flock -  I wasn't exactly out there counting, but there was a LOT of traffic) of rowdy, disorderly, exuberant, energetic, celebratory, inebriated "children".  Most of whom were driving themselves to-and-fro with complete disregard for the law, as I am sure that their blood-alcohol levels were sky-high.  They generally made a nuisance of themselves and the only reason I didn't completely lose my shit is that they:

  • didn't set foot in our yard (that I know of)
  • didn't set the dogs off barking all night (we even agreed to dog-sit this weekend, as we were completely ignorant to the fact that Woodstock would be taking place next door - so that makes 3 Labrador Retrievers and 2 humans in a 864-square-foot house)
  • stayed waaaay back in the field and didn't park in our driveway
Still, we were forced to spend at least an hour after supper drunken-teen-proofing the yard to make sure that if they *did* stumble over, that they wouldn't hurt themselves, find something to steal (or "borrow", like lawn chairs), or get too comfortable (in our screened-in tent, for example).  Not exactly what I was expecting to spend my evening doing. 

And you know what the best part was?  If it wasn't for Mike-and-Emily, we wouldn't have had a clue it was going to take place.  Thanks for that, Mike.  You jerk.  You dink.  You arse.  A plague on your house!

So, today is going to be about quietly sitting in my "studio" (and by "studio", I mean the corner that houses my desk and ironing board) and I am going to sew.  And then, I am going to make soup for lunch, and then I am going to knit.  And then, I am going to watch a movie and then I am going to eat supper and then I am going to bed early.

Who's with me?

PS: Yes, Hubs did call Mike to give him a piece of our minds.  Mike had the good sense to be apologetic and conciliatory, so J went easy on him.  Too bad.  If I had been the one doing the calling, I would have threatened his manhood and probably insulted his mother.  Repeatedly.  Maybe J could see the blood in my eyes and that's why he commandeered the phone...

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