The Myriad of Ways My Neighbors Suck: An Amalgamation of Assholes

Originally posted elsewhere, July 2009:

From the moment that it’s warm enough for the birds to start to chirp until first frost, our downstairs neighbors are a noisey lot, and view living in our condo complex much like living in a tenement (i.e. hanging their hoochie mama bathing suits on the SHRUBS AND BUSHES to dry, rather than buying a drying rack and dry their clothes on their patio). They’re loud and love to do household repairs all hours of the day or night.  It’s to the point where I cannot really enjoy my balcony without my conversations being drowned out by their loud drunkeness and their second-hand smoke.

Much in the way that I had my run in with the bucktoothed bitch on the management board about my hanging my colorful kurtas on hangers and letting the warm, dry summer breeze dry them (see also: Bucktoothed Bitch), so too, have our neighbors had their requisite run in, and were summarily informed to take their bathing suits off the bushes. “This isn’t a tenement!”

So all’s been quiet here for a bit. But ever since we’ve moved in here, roughly five years ago January, we’ve had nothing but problems with neighbors, from the German guy across the hall who had a German Shephard and a Doberman in the 1000 sq foot condo across the hall (who would get out, and lunge at us if we attempted to gain access to OUR home), and the dogs would bark all day and all night. He was replaced by the gal he rented to, who had an ill-mannered pitbull named Ruby, who would jump all over us as we’d attempt to gain entry to OUR HOME. I actually had to yell out, “I don’t care if she doesn’t bite, control your dog! I don’t want her jumping on me.” Seriously, the level of douchebaggery aboundeth here.

Then there’s the Coney Island Whitefish incident from last summer, where FULL condoms started appearing on our shrubbery (ironically, the shrubbery in question are BOXwoods).

Then two years ago, some asshole decided it was a good idea to give their child or teen a pellet gun (see also: Pellet Gun Poopyhead), and he went through the parking lot and blasted out the rear windshields of everyone’s cars and managed to pop a few into the windows of some of the condos, as well.

Now, some assfuck has taken to breaking and entering.

THIS IS A NICE COMPLEX… THIS IS A NICE COMPLEX… this is what I get from the husband.
Woke up this a.m. and noticed that one of the two latches to our door to the attic appears unlatched. He claims it’s been that way for weeks. I don’t give a shit. I’d bolt the thing closed if I could.

I just want the fuck out of here. It’s a nice place for sure, but in a shit hole little town. It’s about one mile by one mile square, and we’re about 2/10th of a mile from a heavy traffic thoroughfare, with our street being a steep hill. Winter time is bothersome for me, due to ice; Summertime is bothersome for me, due to flooding (at the base of our street).

So, I’ve felt like a prisoner of sorts  not using my balcony other than having some hanging plants, or jars of pickle out to “cook” in the sun, as well as occasionally using the grill. 
So today, I decided to clean the balcony, and in doing so, I swept all the debris (dirt, leaves, dust, bird poop, etc) off my balcony, and wherever the fuck it landed? It landed. And no doubt everything on their patio now is covered in a fine layer of my sweepin’s.
I’m looking at this as my silent fuck you to them and their willfull ignorance of how to be a good neighbor.

The Myriad of Ways My Neighbors Suck, Halloween 2007 Version

Originally posted Halloween, 2007.

Considering the recent “Spliffing” behind my building, and the “Spooging” in front of my building (as evidenced by the Coney Island Whitefish who has been dying an incredibly slow death a scant three feet from my front door);

And considering that last year I had some buck-toothed condo management hag appear at my door, on a particularly hot and sunny day when I was hanging my kurtas up for no more than a half hour, and audaciously attempted to gain access to my condo to “assist” me to take down the “offending” garments, as they were some type of “quality of life” infraction here at the condo;

I think this year I will opt out of this nonsense and simply be “unavailable” to attend to the annual begging forth of high fructose corn syrup products–my ego screams it, and simply put, my wallet thinks it’s the right thing to do (and the tasty way to do it!–damn you Wilfred!)

So Halloween morn’, I shall put my now-thriving yucca inside, as well as all my shoes. And after work, the Maharajah and I will go to dinner and the movies, and avoid the whole parade of beggars. I think this might be the beginnings of a lovely tradition.

Eat my corn, crotchlings!

The Myriad of Ways My Neighbors Suck: Coney Island Whitefish Edition

Hmmm, methinks a bit o’the bearded clam was used as bait…

 Example, as it was found, ironic enough,in the “bush” in the entryway to my condo.
If you notice, this “Coney Island Whitefish” was caught
“just after a feeding frenzy,” as evidenced by its
belly full of “chowder.”

I call this "Mitochondrial Still Life."