The family who lives behind us is pretty much the perfect kind of neighbor—we’ve never had any conflict with them, and although we don’t know them well, they seem like nice people. Last year the guy built some weird, very tall wind power thing that was mysterious/ugly; otherwise they all seem normal.
Wait, there’s that goofy wood-chopping thing, which still happens regularly. That’s still weird as ever. (Seriously, click that link. Weird, right?)
Yesterday these neighbors were working in their backyard and they turned on music, LOUD. This didn’t bother me, as it was in the middle of the day and I wasn’t trying to get my nap on at the moment. I wasn’t thrilled that most of the music was country music, but there are certainly worse things a neighbor could do.
I was about to find out exactly what was worse.
One particular song started over the second it ended. Now, this music was as loud as if it was coming out of the speakers in our house; I couldn’t ignore it. Hearing one country song is tolerable. Hearing it a second time, immediately, is less so, and hearing it again and again for hours had me tempted to call in a sniper.
Because OMG, they played that same EFFING song over and over and over. I wondered if someone had accidentally pushed “repeat” instead of “shuffle,” but every few times a different song would play. Also, the neighbors were occasionally singing along, happily, like busy little landscaping elves who had no idea they were about to be murdered. Is it possible to like a song THAT much? Is it? I don’t think it is.
After a couple hours, they turned the music down (or off, I don’t know—I slammed all our windows shut after the fifth time the song played). In the evening, Victor and I were outside and heard the song again, but it was playing much more softly. I said to him, THIS IS THAT SONG! And I heard it again, and again, and finally I went inside and yelled many bad things.
I’ll admit that it was worse hearing the same song over and over because it was a country song. I’m not a fan. Once upon a time I actually enjoyed country music, but nowadays they’ve got drugs that fix that kind of silliness and I take them regularly. I’ve gotta say, though; as country songs go, this was not one of the horriblest. (That word’s for you, Fancy Lori!)
Let me clarify: once, it wasn’t the horriblest. Thirty-seven times, it was the worst sound ever in the history of all the sounds anyone has ever made ever ever ever.
What did we do to deserve this type of torture? We’re nice!
OK, we’re not outright cruel.
I started to write this post and realized I didn’t even know the name of the song that was playing, so I searched for the lyrics by the words that (now) absolutely will not leave my brain. I found the song easily: Live Like You Were Dying, by Tim McGraw. I think Tim McGraw’s a bit of a dreamboat, so why’d those perfectly nice and normal neighbors behind us have to make me resent him for this song? Curse them! The song is also one of those meaningful(ish) country songs. DAMMIT. It’s actually pretty good. DAMMIT. And Tim looks awful yummy in the video. DAMMIT.
I’ve heard the neighbors’ music most of today, too, and most of it has been this song. I really think these people must be deaf. That’s gotta be the answer. The good thing is that if they’re deaf, they won’t hear me sneaking up on them with something shoot-y. Cool.