Harnessing the Rage

Our fabulous neighour, the one who smokes, the one who has large tree trunks right on the edge of our 'shared' property which he cuts with a chainsaw, in shorts, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, has built a firepit in the backyard.
I'd like to say that it smells lovely, all that woodsmoke, the fire cackling etc.
But it doens't.
It reeks.
Which is why at 9pm on a Sunday night, with beautiful winds and temperatures of 15C, my windows are closed and my air conditioning is on.
This seriously pisses me off.
What pisses me off even more is that he is not outside enjoying his fire at all. No, he's inside his house, probably sitting in front of the tv, waiting out his drunken stupor.
And my house stinks, because his stupid fire is exactly 30 feet from my house.

Tonight, I can't do anything about it, and rockstar hubby has pretty much chained me to the sofa so that I don't go ballistic all over his butt. He said tomorrow when our fabulous neighbour was remotely sober, he would discuss with him how stinky it is.
And then we'll check the by-laws. Because I have no problem calling the cops on his butt.
I'm praying he stops having fires. We have been seriously nice to this family, even rock star hubby doing their freakin' driveway ALL winter and if I can remind you, we had a crapload of snow which resulted in him snowblowing EVERY SINGLE DAY! And no, we he didn't do it for anything in return, a thank you would have been nice, but that's fine.

I am currently having nightmares of moving again. I cannot deal with my clothes, my sheets, my couch smelling like campfire smoke. Yes, campfire smoke is lovely...in the forest!
I don't want to move again. I like my house. I love my house. It's starting to become home.

I think I'm going to lose my mind.