Sorry I was so out of the loop last week -- I read nothing -- I blogged bupkas. Officially, I was the worst blogdatable out there.
Last week was sooo harreeeblay, a reprieve surely would've been getting skull fucked by Cheney's pacemaker, jizzed on by Bush's Yorkie and peed on by Laura Bush.
I'm boring? Really? I don't know, I think beets, prunes and figs are boring. Just an FYI, Anony, I'd rather be called fat, dirty, cheap and poor than boring. I'd rather be told I had vadgeitosis than be regarded as dull, flat or stale. Last week wasn't the week to kick a Jewgirl when she was already down. And PS: Grow a set and leave your name -- pussy.
See what I did there? I vented. We're not done.
The global economy is bottoming for Bush. Small nations are folding. The US economy is so deep in the shitter, it's like a diarrhea tsunami rolling deeper and deeper inland. Everyone is struggling, stressed to the point of delirium and freaked out. We're all doing the best we can. Right? Right. And now it seems I'm going to have to move. Otherwise, I run the risk of becoming one of those strange headlines that my good friend bubbsie blogs about "Chubby Jewish girl gunned down by neighbor for allegedly smoking in her apartment".
Last Sunday Cybil, my next door neighbor, introduced me to a few of her personalities. I was sitting in my kitchen, writing and minding my own fuckin' business when I heard a hammer slamming a dozen times into our shared wall, so hard, dry wall crumbled. Following that, she shrieked "STOP SMOKING". Afterwards, she stomped down the hall and pounded like a banshee on my front door, wailing "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, LET ME IN". Did I open it? Are you new? Fuck no. After a 3 minute, what shall we call it, fist-rest, she pounded on my door again. Did I answer it? I digress.
10 minutes later, I got a neurotic email pleading with me to stop smoking. Included in should-be-immediately-admitted-to-Bellevue-psych-ward's letter was her admission that she also pounded on three other neighbor's doors to find out if they were smoking. She managed to slip in a passive aggressive, I have no idea why you couldn't hear me, or chose not to answer your door, sentence, and a, or why you're choosing to ignore me, snippet for good measure.
I wanted to say:
Have you thought about BFF'ng with lithium? I think you two have the potential to live a long and healthy life together. This pocket sized friend can be yours for $27 per 100/g -- doable, no? Worst case scenario, you have to scale back on the cost of hair products. The way I see it, you don't really have much of a choice. Otherwise, you're going to find yourself a victim of a 5150 sooner than you'd like.
What I said:
When someone repeatedly whacks a hammer into my wall, screams at me and pounds on my door, I don't usually answer. I'm more of a let's diffuse the anger kind of girl. Though, since I've got your attention, I don't smoke. Even if I did, what I do in my own apartment is none of your business, as long as I am not breaking any laws and I'm adhering to the landlord's contract. Beyond that, there's not much you can do.
I'm sorry that you're smelling smoke. Did you know that there are raging fires throughout Southern California, and little ashes from the sky covering our cars? Perhaps that's what you're smelling. If that's the case, you'll have to track down the arsonists. You strike me as someone with a lot of gumption, so I'm sure you can find them. No doubt the police would be pleased to have someone with your superhero scent on their team.
Oh, and another thing, if you ever repeat tonight's drama, I'll be filing a restraining order against you and I'll win.
She responded, of course, and apologized. Which was all well and good until I got a call from my landlord on Monday asking me to.... you guessed it, stop smoking. (A) I don't fucking smoke. (B) Even if I did, they do not have the right to tell me not to. All week long, Diva Insanity slammed on my wall with her beloved hammer.
Sunday, November 23, 2008