Turkey Day with the Neighbor Man (take two)

Those of you who have been following my blog for a little minute may remember my Neighbor Man posts of old.  If you're new here, not to worry.  Today, I'm going to bring you a special Neighbor Man post I did about this time last year.  It's one of many comically insane stories I have about the Neighbor Man (I'm seriously considering a project to compile all my Neighbor Man stories into one little volume.  How fun would that be?)

Oh, and before I re-gift you with this lovely little post, let me tell you a couple things:

1. ALWAYS AND FOREVER is a free Kindle download today, tomorrow, AND Wednesday! Traveling this holiday weekend? Get yourself a great book to read at a great price, because you really can't beat free can you? :)
2. Come back tomorrow for a very, very special edition of Teaser Tuesday in which you fun folks will get a peek at a never before seen snip of ALWAYS AND FOREVER.  It's a pre-cancer, pre-tragedy, pre-everything snip.  Yep, folks.  You get to see how Mia spends her very last Thanksgiving, and she doesn't even know it's her last one yet!

Now, here is that post you've all been waiting for!

Turkey Day with the Neighbor Man

So, I've finally cemented my Thanksgiving Day plans, minions.  And, wouldn't you know it, but I'm spending the afternoon dining with the Neighbor Man and his family.  Now, some of you fun folks may remember the Neighbor Man from Monday Funday posts of old, but if you don't, or for those of you that are new to this little corner of Hell, you can get the Neighbor Man details here, here, and here.

When the invite came to spend this joyous holiday with the Neighbor Man, I readily agreed.  It has been a few months since I've seen him, because even though I call him the Neighbor Man, he does not live next door but a good forty-minute drive away.  After hanging up with his wife, my mother called.  During the course of our conversation, she asked me what I was doing for T-day, and I filled her in on my invite to the Neighbor Man's house.

She grew very quiet for a second in which I feared that my phone had somehow dropped her call.  Then, she took a deep breath, and asked in a voice on the verge of riotous laughter, "Are you sure that's a good idea?  Don't you remember what he did to the turkey the last time he wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner?"

And, it all came flooding back, peeps.  The thoughtfully prepared place settings.  The wonderful aromas of holiday food wafting through the house.  The cranberries.  The stuffing.  The potatoes.  The dinner rolls.  The green bean casserole.

And the turkey, that we were all too afraid to eat.

You see, minions.  Back then, Neighbor Man worked for Generous Motors, and in addition to the top dollar pay, excellent benefits package, and cushy hours, the company also gave its employees a free turkey the day before Thanksgiving every year.  Great idea, right?  Of course.  But, in Neighbor Man's hands, it was just another day of hijinks and shenanigans.

Because the turkey came to him completely frozen.  This is where things went from normal to slightly left of center.  Oh, who am I kidding? It was down-right weird, even by Neighbor Man standards.

Neighbor Man came straight to our house after work, walking through the door with a wide grin plastered across his face, and the turkey tucked under one arm like it was a fifteen pound football.  He sat down at the table and placed the turkey in front of him.

"What's the turkey for, Neighbor Man?"  Dad asked.

"Instructions say it has to be thawed a day to a day in a half in advance," he responded, seriously.  "I figure it'll thaw out better if it's with me."  He then proceeded to put the turkey inside his coat and zip it closed. 

No one ever argues with the Neighbor Man's logic.

Shortly there after, Mom, Dad and the Neighbor Man all decided to go out for a little night on the town.  It was the day before a holiday after all, which meant Dad had the next day off.  Why not have some fun?  So, off they went.  Mom.  Dad.  Neighbor Man...and the turkey.

What happened next I only ever heard about, since my brother and I were too young to be included in the barhopping.  Suffice it to say, I heard tell of many crimes against turkey happening that night.  Turkey beatings.  Turkey massages.  Wrapping the turkey up in Neighbor Man's coat, WITH Neighbor Man in it too.  More turkey beatings. 

At long last, someone mentioned to Neighbor Man that perhaps the best way to thaw said turkey was to take it home and put it in a pot of cold water overnight.  Neighbor Man, at his wits end with frozen turkey, took this advice, and yes the bird was thawed in time for cooking.  But, with all the trauma inflicted upon said turkey, no one could bring themselves to eat the bird.  And, we never let Neighbor Man host Thanksgiving dinner again.

Will I go over to Neighbor Man's house for dinner this year?  Of course!  ...er...but I might have a few questions for him as to how the bird was prepared before I dig into the feast.  I've got my fingers crossed that Neighbor Man's wife cooked the meal this year.

Turkey Day with the Neighbor Man

So, I've finally cemented my Thanksgiving Day plans, minions.  And, wouldn't you know it, but I'm spending the afternoon dining with the Neighbor Man and his family.  Now, some of you fun folks may remember the Neighbor Man from Monday Funday posts of old, but if you don't, or for those of you that are new to this little corner of Hell, you can get the Neighbor Man details here, here, and here.

When the invite came to spend this joyous holiday with the Neighbor Man, I readily agreed.  It has been a few months since I've seen him, because even though I call him the Neighbor Man, he does not live next door but a good forty-minute drive away.  After hanging up with his wife, my mother called.  During the course of our conversation, she asked me what I was doing for T-day, and I filled her in on my invite to the Neighbor Man's house.

She grew very quiet for a second in which I feared that my phone had somehow dropped her call.  Then, she took a deep breath, and asked in a voice on the verge of riotous laughter, "Are you sure that's a good idea?  Don't you remember what he did to the turkey the last time he wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner?"

And, it all came flooding back, peeps.  The thoughtfully prepared place settings.  The wonderful aromas of holiday food wafting through the house.  The cranberries.  The stuffing.  The potatoes.  The dinner rolls.  The green bean casserole.

And the turkey, that we were all too afraid to eat.

You see, minions.  Back then, Neighbor Man worked for Generous Motors, and in addition to the top dollar pay, excellent benefits package, and cushy hours, the company also gave its employees a free turkey the day before Thanksgiving every year.  Great idea, right?  Of course.  But, in Neighbor Man's hands, it was just another day of hijinks and shenanigans.

Because the turkey came to him completely frozen.  This is where things went from normal to slightly left of center.  Oh, who am I kidding? It was down-right weird, even by Neighbor Man standards.

Neighbor Man came straight to our house after work, walking through the door with a wide grin plastered across his face, and the turkey tucked under one arm like it was a fifteen pound football.  He sat down at the table and placed the turkey in front of him.

"What's the turkey for, Neighbor Man?"  Dad asked.

"Instructions say it has to be thawed a day to a day in a half in advance," he responded, seriously.  "I figure it'll thaw out better if it's with me."  He then proceeded to put the turkey inside his coat and zip it closed. 

No one ever argues with the Neighbor Man's logic.

Shortly there after, Mom, Dad and the Neighbor Man all decided to go out for a little night on the town.  It was the day before a holiday after all, which meant Dad had the next day off.  Why not have some fun?  So, off they went.  Mom.  Dad.  Neighbor Man...and the turkey.

What happened next I only ever heard about, since my brother and I were too young to be included in the barhopping.  Suffice it to say, I heard tell of many crimes against turkey happening that night.  Turkey beatings.  Turkey massages.  Wrapping the turkey up in Neighbor Man's coat, WITH Neighbor Man in it too.  More turkey beatings. 

At long last, someone mentioned to Neighbor Man that perhaps the best way to thaw said turkey was to take it home and put it in a pot of cold water overnight.  Neighbor Man, at his wits end with frozen turkey, took this advice, and yes the bird was thawed in time for cooking.  But, with all the trauma inflicted upon said turkey, no one could bring themselves to eat the bird.  And, we never let Neighbor Man host Thanksgiving dinner again.

Will I go over to Neighbor Man's house for dinner this year?  Of course!  ...er...but I might have a few questions for him as to how the bird was prepared before I dig into the feast.  I've got my fingers crossed that Neighbor Man's wife cooked the meal this year.

Milkmaid For a Night....

As many of you may have been keeping up with the Monday Funday Neighbor Man series, you may have noticed a distinct pattern to the stories. For the most part, the misadventures revolve around my Dad being in cahoots with the Neighbor Man. While you may think so, that is not always the case.

Enter my older brother, Buddy**.

Shortly after my dad's accident, Mom went back to work. When Buddy and I were young, Mom always worked, but when our little brother came along, she decided to be a stay-at-home-mom. Obviously, that all changed when Dad became disabled and thus lost a substantial amount of his income. As her experience was in food service--namely waitressing--she quickly nabbed a lucrative position at one of the restaurants in the Frankenmuth.

Now, anyone from Michigan will tell you that this Christmas town is always hopping, even in the summer months, and Mom was beyond excited about her new job. She came home from her orientation and proudly showed off her uniforms...a red white and blue number that brought to mind the image of a milkmaid on crack. We all had a little laugh as she modeled the outfit for us and exclaimed how the clothing made her waist look tiny and her boobs look big.

A few weeks later, I came home to find the Neighbor Man, Dad, and Buddy gathered around the table in serious discussion. I stood in the kitchen for several moments trying to figure out just what they were trying to persuade my brother to do. Confused, I watched as Buddy bounded out of his chair and disappeared into my parents' bedroom.

Meanwhile, Dad and the Neighbor Man hurriedly got out the Polaroid camera and sat back down at the table in anticipation of the bedroom door opening. I didn't ask any questions, just sat down and waited for whatever show was about to be put on.

When the door finally opened, my jaw dropped, high-pitched giggles tumbling forth, even as Dad snapped pictures. Buddy was wearing Mom's extra uniform, waist cinched tight and socks stuffed in the chest to give him "boobs" He danced a little jig for us and then went back in to get dressed.

When he came out again, he held his hand out and the Neighbor Man handed him a five dollar bill. It's sad to know how easily Buddy can be bought. And then, of course, Mom came home to the photographic evidence of the night's festivities.

Life Lesson Learned: Everyone has a price...Evidently, my family's is very low, in deed. :)

**Names changed to protect the not-so-innocent

In The Beginning...

My apologies for my absence last Monday Funday, but it was a holiday. And, damn it! I took the day off :) So, I'm back, and with another installment of the Adventures of the Neighbor Man.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far, far away from reality...okay, wait. That's not right. It wasn't once upon a time, but 'long ago' but the reality part is pretty spot on. ;)

So, anyway...where was I? Oh yes.

There lived a family of four. Now, this family of four was very comfortable in their staid, everyday lives. Nothing exciting ever happened. No hijinx ensued. No shenanigans were afoot. They were just a normal, run of the mill family.

This family bought a parcel of land in which they were going to build the home of their dreams. 25 acres to be exact. It would be great. Out in the middle of nowhere on a road with no heavy traffic, and no neighbors sitting right on top of them. Pure joy surrounded them at the prospect of having such a home.

They had just finished dinner one night when there came a knock on their door. Standing on the doorstep was an odd little man with smirk on his face. In the years to come, this family would come to recognize this smirk for what it was: the beginning of a new adventure with the Neighbor Man.

He came inside and introduced himself, telling the family that he had just bought the property next door to where the family would be building. In addition to that, he declared that he would also be renting the house next door to where the family was currently dwelling. To try them out as neighbors before they actually were neighbors, he said.

To which the parents replied, "Well, what happens if we don't meet your standards as neighbors?"

The Neighbor Man had no answer.

At this point, any sane group of people might have wondered if this man was a serial killer stalking that particular family. Not so with these trusting people. Fortunately for them, this man did not turn out to be a serial killer (...dognapper maybe, but no serial killer).

After a short discussion between the parents and the Neighbor Man, they all decided to hop in their respective cars and go up to the properties...to discuss their future as possible neighbors.

Neighbor Man got into his sporty little truck parked right behind the family's big red truck. The dad, without consulting his mirrors (or maybe he did but couldn't see the Neighbor Man's little toy truck behind him), threw the vehicle in reverse.

CRUNCH!!!!

Yes, there was a minor collision. Yes, this was the first meet with this fellow. Yes, this was the beginning of a very beautiful friendship between the family and the Neighbor Man. (If you don't believe me, just read any of the other Monday Funday posts!)

Life Lesson Learned: Some people are gluttons for punishment. Really that is the only thing I can think of as to why the Neighbor Man continued to hang around with us after that!

Dog Napping and Ransom Demands...

During the early years of us knowing the Neighbor Man, we were often surprised--really, more like astonished--at some of the things he would come up with. That is not to say that we--Dad especially--were not willing participants in the hijinks and shenanigans. This next story, however, I was not a party to nor did I witness said events...well, except for the last portion, but be rest assured. It is all true. So, if you do not hear from me after this post, it is because I have just implicated myself in a federal crime as an accessory after the fact and am now living as a guest of the state in a maximum security hotel. At least, I will have free cable :)

Our family has always had pets. Dogs, cats...emus, and Mom likes to tell people that we treat our pets better than some people treat their children. Sad, but true. Nonetheless, at the time that this story took place, we had a pampered inside cat and two even more pampered dogs--not to mention the host of strays that Mom felt the need to feed should they show up on our doorstep. The Neighbor Man, however, had none. Thus, begins this story...

One bright and shiny afternoon, the Neighbor Man waltzed in our front door, a smug smile riding his lips. "I just got me the best dog!" he exclaimed. "He's probably even a better watchdog than your two."

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance before following the Neighbor Man over to his house to oh and ah over his dog...a ceramic Dalmatian that he'd set in front of his porch. His watchdog.

Over the next days and weeks, Neighbor Man would comment on what a fine dog he'd procured. No obedience problems, didn't need food or water. Just the best dog a Neighbor Man could ask for. And, every time he brought up his 'fine dog' we simply smiled and nodded. That is until...

The Dalmatian disappeared. He was such a fine watchdog that he didn't make a noise when some thug snatched him off Neighbor Man's lawn! Neighbor Man was inconsolable. His dog had been stolen right out from under him, and it was such a fine dog, too.

More time passed, and Neighbor Man overcame his grief...or so we thought.

"I've found him!" He shouted as he barreled through our front door one night while we were eating dinner. "I've found my dog! I know who's holding him and I have a plan to get him back!" He cried excitedly. Then, he outlined his plan for Mom and Dad. It would be dangerous, slightly outside the law, and there was a good chance not all of them would make it back.

They readily agreed, and the next night, they set off on their caper.

The plan was simple. Mom would drive the getaway vehicle. Dad would be the look out, and Neighbor Man would be on point. They pulled up slow and easy across the street from their target, and there the dog was, standing guard outside the local bar. Silent hand signals on par with what you'd see in army movies and Neighbor Man bounded out of the car, did a drop and roll across the street and up to the bar's front door. A quick look around, and he grabbed the dog...

Which turned out to not be ceramic at all but cement. This was not Neighbor Man's dog. Now, most people upon seeing their mistake would have dropped the dog and run. Not so with the Neighbor Man. He carried on, lugging the heavy cement dog all the way across the street. Dad yelling at him to hurry it up and Mom laughing hysterically at the Neighbor Man. He finally made it across and into the backseat with the cement dog in tow. Dad said later that Neighbor Man looked like he was about to collapse once he got into the car, but no one asked if he was alright. They just got the hell out of Dodge.

The next morning, riding the high of pulling off this caper, they sat around the table laughing and patting themselves on the back. But the question of what to do with the dog was not far from their minds. They were now dog nappers and fugitives from the law. What to do, what to do?

Simple. They would let the bar know that the dog was napped by sending them a ransom note. They cut out newspaper letters like is done on TV and put together a simple note: We have your dog. If you do not pay the ransom in full, he will be no more. To prove that they were serious, they took a Polaroid picture of the dog with a gun pressed against his head and enclosed it with the demand--which I should tell you did not have a dollar amount attached...they didn't plan on returning the dog, after all. The note was delivered early the next morning and that was that.

The Neighbor Man, knowing that the dog was easily recognizable went to the hardware store and bought a can of black spray paint. And, the Dalmatian turned into a black Lab overnight.

And, we all forgot about the ransom note.

A couple weeks later, Mom hadn't put anything out for dinner in the hopes that Dad would take us out. After only a few minutes of discussion, the whole family agreed that we wanted burgers. And, where do you get the biggest, greasiest, really the best burgers? You guessed it. The bar. We all piled into the car and drove to town, not even thinking about the dog napping and ransom note.

As soon as we walked in, we saw it. Sitting behind the bar, propped up and on display for all to see was the ransom note along with the picture. Evidently, the note garnered quite a bit of discussion and debate as to who had actually kidnapped Fido.

We ordered our food and chatted with other bar patrons, all the while wearing secret grins at Mom and Dad and Neighbor Man's crime.

Life Lesson Learned: Do some research before involving yourself in a heist. Cement dogs are much heavier than ceramic ones!

The Tunnel of Dreams...Er...Maybe Not

Last week, you all were introduced to the Neighbor Man and his penchant for electro-shock therapy. This week, I thought I'd keep the streak alive and regale you all with one of the first adventures that Dad and the Neighbor Man had together.

So here we go...

Once upon a time, in a little town in the land where Red Wings hockey reigned supreme, there lived a family of four...and an odd fellow we call the Neighbor Man. In this land, the seasons melded into one another and winter was king. It went from being bitterly cold to being just a little cold but very wet. Summer last a scant month or two before the cool winds came once more. Ah, the joys of living in the arctic circle known as Michigan.

During those short summer months when the ground was dry, the family and the Neighbor Man would either walk or drive through the field between their houses instead of taking the road. The path that was cut between the houses was known as Green Street, but in the spring and winter months, Green Street was impassable due to snow or mud or what have you.

One night after taking the long way to our house. Gasp! He had to use the road! The Neighbor Man told Dad that there had to be a better way. A way for the two of them to traverse Green Street all year round. Then, he started throwing out ideas. How about a canopy? No, wind could take it away. Pouring concrete would be too expensive. What to do then?

The answer was both simple and complex. Simple in theory, but extremely complex in the execution. They were going to dig a tunnel. Yes, a tunnel. It was the perfect solution, they said. It could be used all year round, and of course, Big Brother wouldn't ever know when they were visiting each other...like the government really cared how many times the Neighbor Man descended upon our house, but whatever.

Of course, Dad was game for any undertaking the Neighbor Man had in mind. So, the next Saturday morning when they both had the day off, the Neighbor Man was at our house bright and early, ready to start digging. They decided it would be best to start the tunnel over at his end, and so they left the house, in the firm grip of tunnel fever.

Mom stood watch at her bedroom window--the one that afforded the best view of the Neighbor Man's house--shaking her head. "They're crazy." she muttered over and over. "Well, at least they're tearing up Neighbor Man's yard and not ours." I'd like to think Dad had thought of that and that was the real reason they started digging over there, but one can never be certain as to what they were thinking.

An hour passed. They came in to take a break, tunnel excitement still rolling off them in giant waves. Break time ended and they headed back out. Mom took up her station back at the window, muttering about tunnels and crazy neighbors. Another couple hours passed when...

"What are they doing?" She exclaimed from her place by the window. She leaned closer, her nose mere inches away from the glass. "What is going on over there?" This was when I came in to see what she was grumbling about. "Now, they're coming back. What is going on?" she repeated. We watched in silence as they jumped in the Neighbor Man's truck and hightailed it back to our house.

Dad and the Neighbor Man rushed back into our house, their faces red from exertion, eyes wide as saucers, and breathing labored. "We've found the Loch Ness monster!" the Neighbor Man exclaimed.

"What?!?" Mom and I both wore the same expression of disbelief. The Neighbor Man had finally lost his last marble.

"It's true." Dad cut in. "I saw it! One minute, we're digging, and the next, it's right there! Big ass head...and eyes...and..."

"I'm telling you we have a monster!" The Neighbor Man exclaimed. "We have to call someone. The news...the National Enquirer...someone."

Mom, being the levelheaded voice of reason that she is known to be in extreme emergencies, told them both to calm down and take a seat. Then, she asked them to explain, in detail what happened. When they did, their description of the beast sounded like something I'd learned about in school....



The tunnel was filled back in shortly there after, and the beast was never seen again.

I'm afraid I really don't know what the life lesson is that I learned from this episode. Maybe, it's what Dad told me after reading last week's post. "You can't say there was ever a dull moment since we met the Neighbor Man." So true, Dad. So true.

Why Shock Therapy is Good for the Writer's Soul...

Years and years ago, my parents built their dream house. During construction, the parcel next door to their 25+ acres sold to a slightly older, somewhat quirky gentleman we shall call the Neighbor Man. He and my dad became fast friends.

Over the years, the two of them would come up with some pretty outlandish schemes that never failed to entertain the rest of us. There was the time they'd thought about digging a tunnel between our two house and the time they decided to go into the business of raising emus. And, who could forget the episode with the llama?

But of all the hilarity that has ensued over the years, my favorite was also the most shocking. (Disclaimer: Kids DON'T try this at home. We weren't professionals, but the truly insane rarely are.)

As a few of you may already know from previous posts, Dad was in a terrible accident my senior year of high school. As a result, he is now disabled and has been labeled by nearly every doctor he meets as a 'medical marvel' which loosely translates to "We don't know how you survived in the first place and thus do not know how best to treat you so we'll use you as a human guinea pig."

One of said treatments came in the form of a thing called a Tenz unit (I'm sure I spelled that wrong). About the size of a pocket radio, it had one round dial numbered from 1 to 10 and a place where you plugged in those round sticky things that they put on you in the hospital to record your heart activity.

Basically, this unit was supposed to help stimulate the damaged nerve endings in Dad's leg. You simply put the round stickies on the 'site' and turned on the unit. Being a fun little toy, we'd all tried the unit out, and none of us could handle any shocks higher than a level three. Yes, we are all a bunch of pansies...well, except Dad, but considering he had little feeling in his leg, that was to be expected.

One night, we were all sitting around the dining room table playing cards (a normal occurrence for us) when the Neighbor Man came strolling into the house. He greeted us all with a "Howdy!" and plopped down in his usual spot at our table.

He then proceeded to pick up the Tenz unit, slap a sticky on either side of his head, grip the sides of the table and yell out "Give me all you got!"

Without missing a beat, Dad grabbed the unit and cranked it up.

For the most part, television displays people getting shocked pretty dead on. The Neighbor Man's head jerked to the side, angling downward. His eyes bulged out, and his grip on the table went from a firm voluntary action to the unthinking reaction of a man trapped in the throes of an electrical exorcism.

The whole episode lasted less than a minute...probably only thirty seconds, and true to our nature, we were all laughing uproariously, especially when Dad told the Neighbor Man that he hadn't gone all the way to the ten setting but stopped at five. We are nothing if not entertaining.

Life lessons I learned from this episode with the Neighbor man: 1. Think long and hard before you ask my dad to do anything. He will not stop to ask "Are you sure?" 2. Even the smallest things can make for great stories...I could write volumes just on the hijinks and shenanigans that have ensued since the Neighbor Man came into our lives. 3. In order to become a writer, you must be a little nuts, and it helps if you come from a whole tree of them.