PROFILE OF A BEACH NEIGHBORHOOD

I LOVE where I live.
Not much to complain about.
Sunny California.
Walks to the beach, park, school.
Tight-knit community with our own local newspaper.
Sounds like heaven, no?

There's just one thing...

CONSTRUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seems I'm not the only one who thinks this is paradise.
For the past year, I have been sandwiched in by dirt lots like this one:

which became homes for fragrant porta-potties and temporary fences like this one ( Fridays are potty clean-out day):which became mammoth wooden structures on postage-stamp sized lots like this one:and within a year or two a house like this:becomes a house like this:
I am the corned beef currently wedged between these two slices of rye:
Lest I forget, this is the house behind me which has been under exceptionally noisy construction for over two years now:


Until this point, I have been very zen.
I dismissed my neighbors' worry, concern, joy that it wasn't their home pity for me.
I dismissed the countless mornings (Saturdays, too) I awakened at 6:59am to hear heavy metal pipes hitting the ground, loud music blasting from tinny, portable radios, the roach coach horns blaring "chow time".
I dismissed sawdust blanketing my car, my patio furniture, my dog's food bowl.
I dismissed chunks of wood and metal landing like errant pieces of satellite onto my rear deck.
I dismissed hearing jackhammers and inhaling second hand smoke during dinner.
I dismissed seeing one of the brand new houses get sold, breathing a sigh of relief, and days later watching more construction workers park in the driveway for 3 MORE months of noisy "renovations".
I dismissed the loss of my beautiful bedroom mountain view for this:



UNTIL YESTERDAY...

When a loud music playing, cigarette smoking, jack-hammer toting worker stood on the same second floor balcony that blocks my beautiful mountain view (and creates a clear visual runway from their master bedroom to our master BED) and blew out three loud, wet, thick, germ-laden sneezes only to then turn 180 degrees toward my house, collect whatever did not come out in the previous snot-ridden rainstorm, and hock a huge slimy, loogy into my backyard.

Splat.

I heard and saw the whole gross episode from behind this window down here:




He didn't know I was there.
Though he might have heard me gagging.

I've tried to remain calm. I've tried to see the glass half full. I'm all for raising the home value in my neighborhood ... but does that mean my yard has to be used as a freakin' spittoon?!?!