GET OFF MY COMMON GROUND!

I never thought I'd get to this point in my life, but at my age, a night out is throwing my household garbage into the condo's dumpster. For my health, it's an advantageous maneuver benefiting my chest, biceps and triceps. Without fail, this is always the exact moment I run into the same annoying neighbors nightly, forcing me to feign a congenial, although brief conversation using such stock niceties such as, ”How are you, tonight?" "Fine!" "Awwww! Your dog is so cute!" "Nice weather we're having!” while coughing up imaginary phlegm to frighten them away from my non-existent deadly virus. I've grown to not only have a dislike for my neighbors, but anyone I come into contact within a ten-foot pole. People annoy me...big time! Stupidity is now normal; normal feels stupid. When I come into direct contact with them, I become terribly uncomfortable, like someone just gave me a wedgie while I was wearing woolen underwear. Instead of all those disingenuous niceties, what I’m really thinking is: "You're ugly!" "You dress like a 14 year-old!” "Comb your hair!" "God! What ugly teeth!" “Stupid prick!" “I hope the coyotes eat your dog!” and "For a MILF, you're not bad!" Believe me, I've come close to uttering these thoughts out loud. Very close! Truth is—it’s a struggle to keep my mouth shut. Perpetually, they annoy me with their inane and banal attempts at conversation. Like a skunk who feels threatened, I take a cue from Monty Python, quietly “Farting in their general direction.” Though too often, karma comes into play as the vial stench blows right back at me. Remind me not to eat refried beans next time.

Often, I’ll mumble “Asshole!” under my breath. The idea is for them to think they've heard something, but weren't quite sure. I call this technique, "W. C. Fields." When I leave the house, my wife is adamant: "Just be nice!" she tells me. Just be nice? I'm at the point in my life where I want to place a large "Get off my lawn!" sign with blinking red lights and a police siren in front of my house. Unfortunately, I live in a condo and the lawn’s considered common ground. Damn! I was also preparing feces laden punji sticks to place in the grass like the Vietcong. 

As I've begun to age, people's quirks and idiosyncrasies get under my skin. It doesn't make sense for the wife and I to pack up and move. I know for sure I'll run into the same annoying personalities, just with different faces. Mainly, I’ll walk outside my house garnishing a perpetual fake smile plastered on my face like a mental patient escaping Bellevue. Walking around with a disturbed look doesn't seem to make them keep their distance. I fear they may be playing the same game. 

As you can ascertain, I've outgrown condo living. I’ve grown tired of inconsiderate neighbors as well as those with hawk like eyes watching our every move, or the throngs of kids roaming free just because the land outside my unit is common ground. Maybe living in a cabin deep in the woods might be the solution? It's as close as I could get to sticking my head in the ground without sticking my head in the ground. God! I wish I was an ostrich!

Lately, many new people have moved into my complex. As per usual, they try too hard to fit in, being overly nice and receptive, which bothers me. When we were newbies here, my wife and I were acting exactly like this. Having a different perspective now makes you realize how stupid we appeared. Recently, I gathered up the nerve and ran for the condo board. I thought I could make realistic and common sense changes. Unfortunately, I lost by just one vote. That's fine; I wasn't upset. Personally, I never liked any of the board members. I would have been at war with them from day one. They’re all egotistic despots who'll threaten to fine your unit at the drop of a hat, because the flowers you planted in the front yard don't fit into the rules of the prospectus. Geez! Thankfully, the local deer will always take it upon themselves to devour these questionable flowers right before you’re about to write that check out to the HOA, saving you a hefty withdrawal from your checking account.

Surprisingly, the neighbors mostly keep their politics to themselves, unlike communities such as The Villages in Florida. The lack of golf carts here apparently keeps the peace. Not knowing which side of the political spectrum they're on keeps me from blowing a gasket like John F. Kennedy did in Dallas. My wife likes to remind me I'm hot headed at times, so she's pleased this is one less issue causing my blood pressure to spike. Just in case, she keeps my Xanax handy. Gotta love her.

Before we became empty nesters, I easily held my tongue for the sake of my kids. Their friends' parents thought we were delightful and always charming, inviting us out often for dinner. My ultimate sexual fantasy was that one of these couples would be swingers, propositioning us over a glass of wine. Nope. Never happened. It was sexually frustrating sitting across from these wives while they slowly and sensually sucked their drinks through a straw. It killed me. The upside: It made me ridiculously horny, resulting in incredible sex with my wife after we parted for the night with these friends. My wife never figured out why my libido was so high after these dinners, nor did she complain. 

For the sake of my wife, I promised to remain congenial with those neighbors whom I run into nightly while throwing out our garbage. But it doesn't mean their shit doesn't stink.