I love my neighbors — I really do — but I wish they’d stop doing these 8 things

Look, I’m not here to go full Nextdoor Karen on you. I genuinely like my neighbors. I wave when I see them, I’ve traded zucchini from my garden for their homemade sourdough, and once they even fed my cat when I was away.

But, like that one friend you adore who still insists on putting pineapple on every pizza, there are certain neighborly quirks that quietly drive me to the brink. And because my coping mechanism involves writing about it instead of screaming into a throw pillow, here we are.

So, in the spirit of playful honesty (and maybe passive-aggressive catharsis), here are the eight things I wish my otherwise wonderful neighbors would stop doing.

1. Turning the street into a personal parking lot

I get it — parking is a competitive sport in our neighborhood. But some folks are out here hoarding curb space like they’re prepping for the Parking Apocalypse.

We’ve got one family with three cars and a boat trailer who treat the stretch of asphalt in front of everyone’s house like it’s their personal valet zone. The result? My guests end up parking three blocks away and walking past six SUVs, two pickup trucks, and an abandoned kayak on wheels just to get to my door.

Parking is communal real estate, my friends. If you’re lucky enough to have a driveway (or at least the arm strength to push that boat trailer ten feet), please use it.

2. Weaponized leaf blowers at 7 a.m. on a Saturday

Leaf blowers are the Harley-Davidsons of the lawn care world — loud, unapologetic, and best enjoyed by the person operating them.

But when I’m trying to sleep in on a Saturday, the sound of a gas-powered tornado whipping dead leaves into my face through an open window isn’t exactly my idea of a good morning.

Rakes exist. So do reasonable start times. There’s a sweet spot between maintaining curb appeal and shattering the neighborhood’s collective REM cycle.

3. “Friendly” gossip that’s a little too detailed

Small talk over the mailbox is fine — delightful, even. But when a casual “How are you?” spirals into a 20-minute recap of the Johnsons’ marital troubles, the Smiths’ HOA fines, and the precise cost of every kitchen appliance purchased on our street, it stops being neighborly and starts feeling like I’m in a low-budget soap opera I never agreed to star in.

There’s a difference between community connection and community surveillance. Unless the gossip involves free furniture on the curb, I’m good.

4. DIY projects that belong on a construction site

I love a bit of home improvement. I’ve dabbled in painting accent walls and upcycling furniture. But some of my neighbors are on a different level — the jackhammering-a-concrete-slab-at-9-p.m. level.

It’s like they see “quiet hours” as a personal challenge. One guy spent an entire month building what I think is either a deck or an elaborate squirrel hotel. Either way, the soundtrack to my evenings was hammering, drilling, and occasional shouting that I can only assume was directed at a misbehaving power tool.

I support your HGTV dreams — but maybe we could limit demolition vibes to daylight?

5. Inviting themselves (and their dogs) into my yard

I love dogs. I have one. But I also believe in consent — for both humans and lawns.

Every so often, a neighbor’s dog will wander into my yard mid-pee, leash dragging behind them, while the owner stands at the edge like they’re watching a live nature documentary. If you’re lucky, they’ll half-heartedly call the dog back while it’s mid-squat.

It’s not just about the occasional yellow patch on the grass. It’s about boundaries. Literal, property-line boundaries.

6. Fireworks… in February

I understand fireworks on New Year’s Eve, the Fourth of July, or even the occasional wedding celebration. But what’s the reason for setting them off on a random Tuesday in February? Did I miss the national holiday for “Surprising Your Neighbors and Frightening Their Pets”?

Not only does it jolt everyone out of their Netflix coma, but it sends my dog into a tailspin and makes me wonder if we’re under attack. If you must unleash explosions, at least give the rest of us a heads-up so we can prepare emotionally (and noise-proof our homes).

7. Turning every holiday into a month-long light show

I appreciate holiday spirit. A tasteful string of fairy lights? Adorable. But when your home becomes visible from the International Space Station, we might need to talk.

One house down the block still had Halloween inflatables up in January, glowing like a neon pumpkin graveyard. And Christmas? Let’s just say I’m not convinced they’ve turned the lights off since 2016.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy the spectacle — I just like my retinas. And my electric bill, by association.

8. Using the neighborhood Facebook group as a personal diary

Our local Facebook group started as a place to share lost-and-found pets, local events, and updates about road closures. But somewhere along the way, it became a reality show confessional booth.

Now, half the posts are dramatic rants about suspicious teenagers (translation: skateboarders), cryptic complaints (“Some people just have no respect, smh”), or blurry photos of “mystery cars” that are clearly just Uber drivers waiting for passengers.

If you need to vent, maybe do what I do: put it in a group chat with your most sarcastic friend. Or, if you’re me, turn it into an article like this one.

The truth is, we’re all that neighbor sometimes

I’d love to say I’m above it all, but I’m sure my own habits drive someone nearby absolutely wild. Maybe it’s my compost bin experiments. Maybe it’s my tendency to play music while cooking (sorry, whoever heard my all-female K-pop playlist on loop last week).

The point is, communities are messy, noisy, and occasionally frustrating — but they’re also full of connection, kindness, and shared zucchini bread.

So yes, I love my neighbors. But if we could collectively dial down the gossip, the power tools, and the unsolicited fireworks, I think we’d all sleep — and live — a little better.

Until then, I’ll keep waving from my porch, pretending not to notice the kayak parked out front.