Your inferiority complex is showing

So a couple years back when we were looking to buy a new house, we took many variables into consideration. Commute times, school district boundaries, quality of life, house-to-lot ratios, property tax rates, the whole kit and caboodle.

I spent countless hours pouring through Zillow and Redfin listings, saving certain houses into folders on my desktop, comparing amenities, yards, neighborhoods, etc, etc, etc.

(You say OCD? I say thorough...)

The house that we ended up buying was actually stumbled upon by accident. We drove out here to look at a different house, which we didn't end up liking, but while we were in the area we discovered this one. We proceeded to look at a few more listings, but we always came back to this one.

It stuck with us.

We were always told that when you found THE house, you'd know. Well, we knew.

The offer was accepted immediately, we closed (albeit a week late, but whatevs), and the rest is history. Happily ever after, right?

Well, not so much.

You see, even with all of that research, all of the time and effort and thought that was put into our home search, there is one thing you can't plan for.

One big variable.

A huge, glaring, pain in the ass that you can't predict.

Neighbors.

Now, the majority of our neighbors are great. Fun, kind, down to earth people. We have neighborhood barbecues and bonfires and there is even an industrial karaoke machine. Since we live in the middle of nowhere, our neighborhood has largely attracted cool, independent, low-key individuals.

With one exception.

One guard dog owning, high-calibre rifle shooting, neo-Nazi exception.

The neighbors a couple houses up from us are... shall we say... unpleasant? Anti-social? Downright scary?!?

They moved in six or eight months ago, and it's been interesting, to say the least.

The wife is... alright, I guess. Ish. She will half-smile and half-wave. Sometimes.

The kids are... well, hooligans in the making. Let's just say if my house ever gets egged, TP'd, or tagged with spray paint, I know who I'm pointing the finger at first.

But the husband?

Well, he's an ass. He's arrogant. He's a bully. And he's the most inconsiderate neighbor I've ever had. And having lived in a Quadrant Homes neighborhood, that's really saying something!

(Cookie cutter neighborhoods. Amirite?!?)

So this guy decided that it would be the greatest idea ever to install a shooting range in his backyard.

Yes, you read that right. A mother-effing shooting range. And we're not talking bows and arrows, my friends. Oh no. We're talking semi-automatic, high-calibre, military-grade rifles. You know, the kinds used to massacre children, theater-goers, and temple worshipers in the last few months? Yeah, those.

And the worst part? It's legal.

*facepalm*

Because we live in an unincorporated area, dude is technically allowed to shoot whatever the hell he wants on his property.

Never mind the fact that there is a house about a quarter-mile behind his. Never mind the fact that our property sits below his and any errant bullets put us and our children at risk. Never mind the fact that our entire street is a sickle-shaped curve and all of the properties are attached pie-shapes and dude is violating all of our safeties just to satisfy some itch to rapid-fire armor-peircing rounds into the woods.

Yeeeahhhh......

I have to say, it is the most disturbing thing to be sitting here listening to those guns going off.

*pop*

*pop*

*pop*pop*

*popopopopopopopoppopppoppoppopopopopopopopopop*

It makes me want to crawl under my kitchen table and assume the earthquake 'ready' position. I hate it.

And many neighbors (us included) have tried talking to him about how uncomfortable it makes all of us, and how unsafe it is considering the position of his targets in correlation to where the rest of our kids play. But to no avail.

Suffice it to say, I think I see an HOA covenant in our future. And while I hate to be "those people", because we previously lived in a neighborhood with highly restrictive covenants, and because we all moved this far out for a reason (the freedom to do whatever the hell we want), there has to be a line.

I don't care of you want to have chickens and goats in your yard. I don't care of you have raucous bonfires every night. You want to work on your broke-ass truck in your driveway? Have at it, big guy. But I sure as hell care if your hobbies are putting my kids in danger.

Take your machismo to an actual gun range dude.

No one here is impressed.