I Still Have It. . . I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It - Plot & Excerpts
. . I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Please Don’t Be My NeighborIF THERE IS ONE THING I’VE LEARNED IN MY FIFTY-PLUS years on the punishing planet we call earth, it’s that before buying a property, an inspection of more than just the bricks and mortar of the establishment is essential. When we purchased our first house in Los Angeles, we researched how the house had been built, we conducted a termite test, we obtained a geological report, and we commissioned a land survey. The only thing we forgot to inspect were our neighbors.The first few nights spent in our new house were relatively peaceful. In retrospect, I think we were so exhausted from unpacking incorrectly labeled boxes we could have slept through a lightning storm at a Metallica concert.“I love living in the hills,” I remember saying to my husband. “At night, I can hear the wind rushing through the trees.”That noise eventually turned out to be the man across the street trying to start his car.After a week of interrupted sleep, I decided to enlist the help of my espresso machine and stayed up to discover exactly what was occurring.
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