google-site-verification: google935433b691795853.html KRISTY BERRIDGE: Weirdo Neighbours

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Weirdo Neighbours

This could just be one of those occasions where I am eternally grateful for being a hobbit. I leave my house to go to and from work, but once I'm behind closed doors, I tend to stay there. This of course means I have no freaking idea who my neighbours are.
Sure, I'm well aware there's a drunken twenty something on one side of the fence. He makes noise on Friday nights, plays Ping Pong until the wee hours of the morning, and can't seem to aim for shit when kicking balls in his own yard.
On the other side I have a young family with two dogs. I know they have two dogs because they never stop barking and they're basically walking manure factories. Their kid cries non-stop, and they think we can't smell the 'garden' parties they sometimes 'roll' into on a Saturday night.

Across the road I have the Brady Bunch, otherwise known as the Biggest loser contestants - family edition. We have grandma and grandpa, mum and dad, son and wife, the other teenage kid and the two dogs. They worry me the most if the Zombie Apocalypse ever occurs. That is one hungry family and I don't have a front fence big enough to keep them out.
Alas that just leaves the mysterious neighbours on the diagonal. I have lived in this house for over five years and it was only yesterday that I was eating breakfast, minding my own business, that I decided to peep out the window and have a look around. Let it be said now that I knew they had a truck, that I knew it often came and went, but I never bothered to figure out why.
So there I was, eating my low fat cereal and congratulating myself on not cracking open the peanut butter jar again, when I heard the truck doors swinging open and crashing loudly against the metalwork. Curious, I slipped my fingers between the Venetian blinds on my window and had a quick peek. Interestingly enough, the truck was backed right up in the driveway and was now surrounded by wads of black plastic. At first I thought nothing of it, but then there was the thud.
Two men, one of them I think was my neighbour, helped lift an over-sized package into the back of the truck. Said package looked heavy and suspiciously like a body.
So what did I do?
Naturally I laughed and then tweeted about it - the sensible thing to do.
Thus I am happy to reveal that although the nature of my weird neighbour's business does appear shady and somewhat underhanded on account of the rather large unmarked truck, his lack of general day-to-day friendly wave at the letter box, and his seemingly absent wife, he is not a serial killer. Black wrapped plastic and body-shaped packages could mean anything ... anything.
I'm told it's roofing insulation.
Anyway, what has this little experience of the neighbourhood taught me? Simple. Deadbolts are a necessity. Erecting a 6ft fence with barbed wire is not overkill if fat zombies want to eat your ass. And yelling out to my drunken neighbour 'you've lost your balls again' is not exactly productive.
Cheers to the freaking hobbits, I say. STAY INDOORS!

Kristy :)


  1. You see that's why your totally awesome! I'm a hobbit too. Stay to yourself and to hell with the neighbors I say. Great post Kristy! You didn't add a blurb about The Burbs though. LOL I'm still laughing over that. IDK why! :D
    DeAnna S.

  2. Ha! I'd be imagining all sorts of dark and wonderful serial killer things too. I watch my neighborhood from behind closed blinds. I can outrun most of them when the zombies come.

  3. Thank you for the fun post! doors being locked as we speak :) New blog looks great.

  4. As expected Kristy, just as funny as always, Please don't stop the blog.

  5. Hmm? I never considered myself a Hobbit before; however, if the term is defined as someone who rarely leaves the house except to go to work, then a Hobbit I suppose I am. *sad face* Man! I wanted to be Aragorn!


  6. LMAO! This reminds me of us in our neighborhood. We have never been the go-out-and-bring-the-neighbor-some-pie sort of family, so I identified with much of what you said. :D A six-foot fence is a necessity, I say!

  7. For 8 years I lived across the hall from a guy named Michael Meyers. Michael. Meyers. Now that was creepy. I got a look into his apartment once when he had the door open, and the dude was a serious hoarder. So, extra creepy.


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