THANK YOU all so much for your amazing suggestions for Vegas (a special shout-out to Cagey for her incredibly detailed list of suggestions, which probably also should win some prize for “longest comment I will ever get.”) I’m compiling all of the comments into a document I plan on printing out and carrying around with me there. Because nothing says “cool” like wandering around Vegas staring at a sheaf of papers. I may as well don a fanny pack and a t-shirt that says “I’m a tourist, yo!” Who knows? Perhaps I will. Maybe that’s just how Vegas Metalia rolls.
Thank you also for your thoughts on the Blogger issue, and for the offers of assistance. Believe me, each of you who volunteered to help me will immediately regret that decision when I do switch, because you will be flooded with nonstop emails from me. It’s not too late to back out, is what I’m saying.
Seeing as I was recovering from Martian Death Flu, we opted to head over to my parents for the weekend. This was great, as it afforded us the ability to get some extra sleep, and for my parents to spend time with Toopweets. It was also wonderful because it enabled us to avoid our new neighbors.
I think I jinxed myself in talking about The World’s Worst Neighbors in our old place, because these people definitely seem to be making a run for the crown.
I could go into a whole litany of complaints of the offenses they have committed thus far in the ONE WEEK they have been living there.
I could tell you how I politely introduced myself last week, and Lady Neighbor immediately started whining about how her contractor is an asshole son of a bitch, because her kitchen isn’t finished yet. While I empathize, it’d have been nice if she would’ve first said, “Hi, I’m X.” (I mean, I still don’t know her name; just the name of her asshole contractor.)
I could, if I was so inclined, tell you how they bitch at every delivery man who comes to their apartment (with the door open, no less, so we hear every word). For instance, when Lady Neighbor yelled at the mattress dude because she: “Was disappointed in him because [she] thought the mattress was going to be softer.” (Because, as you know, the delivery guys personally hand sew each mattress to your specifications, and can’t sleep at night if you’re disappointed in them.)
If I wanted to, I could tell you how they leave bags of trash in the hallway like hobos, and then whine (with the door open, of course) that the super has spoken to them about this, and they must now deign to actually throw their garbage away in the disposal room like everyone else.
Yes, I could do all of those things. But I will take the high road: I think you’ll learn all you need to know by me simply pointing out that it is presently and as I write this, they are HAMMERING OUR SHARED WALL.
Oh, also? They fight constantly.
Of course they do.
My favorite so far was the one where she was going on an on like a shrieker monkey, and he muttered something, and then we heard her yell back, “I’m not yelling!”
Have I mentioned that it’s only been a week?
We met up at Cowgirl in the village, and had a fantastic time. And I’m not just saying that because I am on a narcotic cough medicine which makes me strangely giddy. Miss Peach and Darren are most definitely as funny, cool,* and entertaining in person as they are online. Thanks for the invite, guys!
To top off the weekend, J and I won some cash in a super bowl pool. Woot!
Hope your weekends were good, too!
(*That is to say, they would probably not, if the situation arose, carry around a chart of blog comments around Vegas with them, as I will be doing.)