The first time we looked at our house, we didn't realize anything was wrong with the house next door. About the third or fourth time we came over here (after putting in an offer, before closing... and yes, we went by, like, everyday. It was vacant, we are Realtors. We could go in whenever we wanted.), we noticed there was only a front facade of the house next door. The rest had burned down. We assumed it just happened. We had that side of our house checked for smoke/fire damage, and found none. We didn't think much of it. Until we moved in and found out it had burned down FOUR YEARS ago. Four. No one had done anything with it since. Our HOA was no help. Which was surprising, given the fact that they send me a letter every time my grass grows longer than one inch or when I paint my house the same damn color it was without prior approval.
So this morning, when a construction crew shows up bright and early, all the neighbors got very excited. Kenny confirmed that, unlike the rumors (we heard they were tearing it down), they were going to rebuild it. We all celebrated. Yay for our house values. Yay for not finding kids playing in the burned down house anymore. I was happy. It is going to be a pain in the ass during the construction. My dogs had already exhausted themselves by barking all morning. The summer is just starting, and we have a construction crew standing on a roof, looking right at our pool. So much for my little backyard oasis. But, still. Happy.
Until I came home from running errands this morning. And. Found an 18-wheeler in my front yard. That's right. MY FRONT YARD. Parked in my grass.
Tiffany, what was it I yelled when I got out of the car? FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC? Do you think that means the same thing in Spanish as it does in English?