More than I want to Know about the New Neighbors
So, the new neighbors had a fight last night. Well, technically, this morning. At 3:45 to be exact.
How do I know?
Because I live in a shittily constructed duplex at the end of a dead end between the highway and the train tracks (with an ill-mannered, poorly trained pitbull for any of you who wish to visit unannounced) and the walls are so thin that I heard every second of hysterical sobbing and screaming "You don't even bother to come home until 3:45, while I've been sitting here by myself all night?!"
I didn't hear what he was out doing until all hours of the morning, because his voice doesn't carry, but, whoa, he was in trouble. She actually said "Just tell me what you were thinking." and then he mumbled something and then she said "Don't even fucking try to talk to me."
Straight men and gay women, when she demands that you tell her something and then gets even more pissed off at you for talking, now is the time to just slowly back away. For your own safety. She has crossed the line from angry, yet rational, to a place where, with just a little egging on, someone is going to get stabbed with a butter knife.
I tried to go back to sleep, but she was upset. And just when I'd drift back off, she'd start doing that hiccuping sob coupled with the wail and I'd be right back where I started, laying there in the dark thinking about things I'd do if I were Queen of Tennessee.
Here's what I've got so far.
1. I'd put a four-way stop at the intersection of Acklen Park and Park Circle.
2. I'd make it illegal for there to be sirens on the radio unless there's an emergency.
3. I'd have a housekeeper, who wouldn't mind cleaning up the dog puke from under the bed.
4. I'd ride around town, when the weather was nice, in a horse-drawn carriage.
5. I'd have an office with a window.
6. I'd declare exactly how I look to be the beauty standard all women must strive to attain.
7. Everyone but me would be banned from the Pickering Road side of the Park.
posted by Aunt B at 9/05/2005 10:05:00 AM
14 Comments:
Nice.
When I lived in the shitty apartments, the hillbillys downstairs would get into the "We're 22 and have two children, how did our lives end up in this white trash stereotype?" argument on a weekly basis. Much screaming and yelling but no actual hitting. Which was disappointing from the perspective that I had some unresolved anger issues that could have been resolved if taken out on Ronnie Wifebeater. But he never rose(or sunk) to my level of expectation.
I never called the cops on them, but they dimed me out one night for being too loud with a female guest. From that night on, it was war.
I moved before being able to implement the Final Solution.
"Being too loud with a female guest."
And for that line alone, you are the patron saint of today.
In your honor, I'm going to drink a lot and give men looks that let them know I can think of a lot of naughty things I might do to them.
Back in my college apartment there was a couple next door who physically fought on a nightly basis. I didn't call the cops because it was very evident that the woman was beating up her husband. She was twice his size. He was over six feet tall and probably didn't weigh much more than 130 lbs, even if you counted the foot and a half of mullet running down his back. I would see him every morning as he got into his rusted out firebird, and I could tell from the look on his face that the only thing worse than his current situation would be for me to bring in the law.
I had purchased a new bed and did not assemble it correctly. When it broke, and landed with a loud crash, along with whatever other noises that were made leading up to that, the neighbors summoned the authorities.
In another shitty apartment, back when I was married, the cops showed up because my wife was screaming at me. We made plans to do something, I got called into work for an emergency, she got pissed and expressed her displeasure at maximum volume, as was the way of her tribe.
The cops show up, she starts screaming at them for not minding their own fucking business and for the neighbors not doing likewise. I get her calmed down and inside. The cops meanwhile are giving me the "Are you all right? Point to where on the doll she hurt you?" that kind of thing. When I denied any violence or abuse, the cops showed me the same respect they show a woman with a black eye who claims to have run into a door. Which is to say, none.
I'm sorry. Did you say something after "we broke the bed?"
I've never broken a bed with the two-backed beast.
Have broken the following:
Chair (that's just too easy)
Bathtub (that was more interesting)
Saucepan(don't ask. Not as kinky as it sounds)
Oddly enough, the downstairs neighbors never complained. Then again, they did have their own Eagles cover band. I swear to God if I ever hear Hotel California again someone will be harshly maimed.
The Eagles cover band people also liked to watch "Full House" which struck me as highly incongruous.
Well, Don Henley had a thing for underage girls, so it kinda fits.
What?! This is total bullshit, right here America. I'm the fucking liberal. I should be having the wild sex that breaks furniture, but no, even though we believe you should do whatever you want with as many people as you can talk into it, we're so caught up in making sure that everyone is utterly okay with every single step of the way that to have sex with a liberal is to face a four page contract and a six page checklist of things you do and do not like. And even then, you're sidetracked by the "is this okay?" crap every five minutes.
But you guys, you guys are breaking beds. You're swinging from light fixtures. You're doing something that involves the kitchen. You're probably masturbating on huge piles of money, as well.
Fine. It's not right, but fine. Y'all just go about your merry way and I'll be the girl taking notes, because, holy shit, have I been getting shafted.
Or failing to be properly shafted, as evidence suggests.
Masturbating on huge piles of money???
At least it is sex with someone I love.
Huge piles of money?
No. Not 'huge' per se.
You know what they say...Libertarians do it voluntarily
I thought it was "Libertarians do it in vain".
I thought it was "Libertarians do it in vain".
Damn. Ain't that the truth.
A saucepan? Did this have anything to do with apple butter?
A saucepan? Did this have anything to do with apple butter?
I told you not to ask. How dare you ruin my secret....
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