I was pretty sick and exhausted for the bulk of last week, and thus wasn’t in the mood to move, let alone attempt to compose coherent blog posts. 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 10:57 pm 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?
Gah.
In some fun news, I met Darren and Miss Peach today!
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.)
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7 comments:
Wow, I am going to stop complaining about our neighbors next door who are quiet most of the time, but then every night seem to have a noise freakout where they're just banging everything they can get their hands on. The guy also uses heavy chemicals on the back porch to strip paint off chairs or something. The smell fills our apartment until we're seeing pink elephants and dancing veal cutlets.
i feel so bad for you. I get angry when "M" (ha) wants to put something up and it's past 9 pm. Anyway, we have a lovely neighbor - who aside from her occasional senile screaming bouts at my babysitter, I only hear her once a day - at approximately 9:30 every night - sneezing. So weird. Let me tell ya.
Now I'm trying to remember whether or not I left you comments about Vegas. I've been there like 47 times (meaning 6) except not once since turning 21 two years ago, so I know plenty on how to amuse yourself in Vegas that doesn't involve getting arrested at a blackjack table.
Most of these things involve the giant mall at the end of the strip and perusing the shops in the Bellagio and there is also an outlet mall. So it really involves spending a lot of money except not on gambling but on very necessary new bags and shoes.
Yes, I remember now why I prefer not to live in apartments at any cost--the shared wall. I used to have a duplex neighbor who was the sweetest guy in the world...when he was sober. When he wasn't, I heard a lot of rapid footsteps moving across his floor late night, culminating in some very loud praying to the porcelain god. Over and over. Blech. Poor guy--I drove him to the detox clinic in the middle of the night once--might have to share that story in the blog one day.
Our two neighbors below us in our garden apartment are winners as well. As I am typing, I smell cigarette smoke coming from one of them, a chain smoker who has emphysema and insists that she quit, but who we see smoking out her window. The other one finds it necessary to have loud fights with her boyfriend while she is in the apartment and he is in the shared hallway. Sometimes my husband and I press our ears to the door to listen. The latest one was about how she never goes to church, and how her life is meaningless if she doesn't learn something new everyday. Weirdos.
(And we won money in a superbowl pool too! Yay!)
I used to live next door to a couple who would scream and beat each other up and then start blasting "Torn." So this was a typical Saturday afternoon:
Her: What if the car breaks down again, a--h-le?
Him: Then you walk, b--ch.
His Brother: Yeah, b--ch.
Her: I'm not talking to you, d-ck.
Him: Don't call him a d-ck, sl-t.
Her: At least give me a hammer or something in case the car breaks down, f---ker.
Me (sitting in my apartment saying silently to myself): What are you going to with a hammer, b--ch?
Natalie Imbruglia: I'm all out of faith! This is how I feel!
Good times.
I think I used to live next to those people.
Yippee! Last Sunday was fun!
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