This past weekend came and went without a barbeque downstairs. However, at around midnight on Saturday the dipshits started letting off fire crackers and cherry bombs. I repeat: AT MIDNIGHT.
When I heard the first one go off, I thought, "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?" By the time I had picked up the phone to call the police, the fifth one was cracking off. Apparently I was not the only one who called in with a noise complaint. A car came by, and all was quiet afterwards.
Now of course, I cannot be totally without a complaint here, can I? The complaint herein is that it took NINE RINGS for the 911 dispatch to pick up the phone. I could only imagine how much more terrifying say, something like a home invasion or rape or domestic abuse would be, waiting not for help to arrive, but waiting to merely SUMMON help.
::Sigh::
I truly do hate humanity, such as it is.
Showing posts with label MyShittyNeighbors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MyShittyNeighbors. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
My Shitty Neighbors: Fourth of July Version
Next to Halloween, I detest the Fourth of July. I actually love both holidays, but the garbage wrapped in skin which passes for humanity tends to erode whatever "good feels" I may have about both holidays.
In our household, we've instituted the tradition of dinner and a movie out, so we can avoid the bulk of trick or treaters. And looks like we have to do something similar for the Fourth of July. Our downstairs neighbors are a drunken, loud, smokey lot. Imagine an ESL version of Cartman from South Park (I do what I want!). Loud, rude, and have zero awareness or regard that, yanno, there are other people in their immediate proximity, who may not necessarily like having a living room full of noxious smoke, and being subjected to the audio equivalent of waterboarding, listening to the same 1-2 CDs on an endless loop for SIX hours, at LABIA VIBRATING decibels with the accompanying assholes all now in a full-tilt chatter yelling OVER the music. SIX-FUCKING-HOURS.
Which then of course, prompted me to send the text to our on-site property manager. Please, behold! BEHOLD that STELLAR response time.
Also bears sharing that once dusk hit, these fuckers didn't limit their open flames to the charcoal and lighter fluid. Once dusk hit, these assholes brought out FUCKING TIKI TORCHES. (Picture also sent to on-site property manager, which went unacknowledged.)
Mind you: I am an owner. I do not rent. This is not low-income housing. My monthly maintenance fees I pay, PAY THIS ASSHOLE'S PAYCHECK. If he's not going to look into it? OWN THAT. If he's off site on vacation? OWN THAT, TOO. If someone from the condo board of managers should be contacted instead? OWN THAT AND LET ME KNOW WHO TO CALL. Do not DO NOTHING for six fucking hours... DO NOT DO NOTHING FOR THREE WHOLE DAYS OF A HOLIDAY WEEKEND.
So imagine my abject HORROR when, AGAIN. RINSE. REPEAT. IGNITE. AGAIN. WTF? So much for "I will look into it." Obviously, he hasn't. And again, the above photo was sent on Saturday (now day TWO), which also went unacknowledged. At this point, my husband took me out for dinner and a movie, just to remove me from the situation, but the reality was, all I wanted to do this weekend was a nice, QUIET weekend at home, which of course implied a weekend of not being for all intents and purposes SMOKE BOMBED out of my house.
At this point, I called the non-emergency phone # for our local fire department, which of course, WENT TO FUCKING VOICEMAIL. So no resolution on that end. I called the main office for our condo, and again, no resolution. The husband of course, sent an email to the property managing company's headquarters, but hello, after 5 on a holiday weekend? Yeah, no resolution on that end either.
When Day Three came upon us, again, I zapped a text. I truly hate being THIS PERSON, but wtf? Should I just do nothing, and let these fuckers potentially light my balcony on fire?
On top of all this, our downstairs neighbors seemed to be hosting their own version of the Fresh Air Fund, and suddenly, out of no where it seemed, four small children were out there running around, making a fuckload of noise, and for all intents this appeared to be the first time they have ever encountered A LAWN. As they all played and sat and rolled around on the grass, I was in bliss knowing how many dogs shit and piss right in that spot. BLISS, I TELL YOU!
And not to be outdone with the FUCK FIRE CODES, another batch of assholes decided FUCK IT, I DO WHAT I WANT! And decided to park however the fuck they wanted, as if, yanno, we're in the 'hood, and can park however they want, without consequences...
All this particularly chaps my ass when you factor in, when I first moved here ten years ago, on a particularly ideal day to hang gauzy kurtas up to dry, some bucktoothed hag from the condo board appeared AT MY MOTHERFUCKING DOOR to inform me "This isn't Hooterville," and then had the audacity to try to gain entry to my condo "to help take them down," (when I know the only reason she wanted access to my condo was to see OUR STUFF and to gossip about me).
This IS ALSO on top of the fact that July 2013, I was fined $25 for a fucking plant stand that had a dead plant in it. Yet open flames and flagrant assholeish parking? Yeah, good times.
Bottom line is, when we bought our condo we were assured that it was going to be nice and quiet, as end units tend to be, and well? In the ten years we've been here, we haven't had a moment's peace. And shit like this only brings out my inner Bruce Banner, "You won't like me when I'm angry. Don't make me angry."
ETA: 2:30 p.m., FOUR DAYS LATER, finally the manager at the property management HQ replied to my emails, wanted the photos, and said he'll send a letter (a letter, of which, no doubt, will go unread). In the meantime, I have a call in to the Town Clerk's office, specifically, the building department, which oversees fire code enforcement. Waiting to get the call back, to find out how I can report the next BBQ, because you and I both know that is most-definitely going to happen again, letter or no letter.
ETA: 3:43 p.m. FOUR DAYS LATER, I got a call back from the township building inspector who handles fire code enforcement. Apparently ground floor units CAN have grills, provided they are 10 feet from the building (see photo, clearly NOT 10 feet from building, you can see it is immediately beneath my balcony). For future incidents during off-hours, I should call the police, who will in turn notify the fire marshal who will come out to inspect (hopefully AS IT IS STILL HAPPENING).
In our household, we've instituted the tradition of dinner and a movie out, so we can avoid the bulk of trick or treaters. And looks like we have to do something similar for the Fourth of July. Our downstairs neighbors are a drunken, loud, smokey lot. Imagine an ESL version of Cartman from South Park (I do what I want!). Loud, rude, and have zero awareness or regard that, yanno, there are other people in their immediate proximity, who may not necessarily like having a living room full of noxious smoke, and being subjected to the audio equivalent of waterboarding, listening to the same 1-2 CDs on an endless loop for SIX hours, at LABIA VIBRATING decibels with the accompanying assholes all now in a full-tilt chatter yelling OVER the music. SIX-FUCKING-HOURS.
 |
| So, imagine my anger, when the first plumes of smoke followed by the tell-tale stink of too much lighter fluid first made its presence known. |
Also bears sharing that once dusk hit, these fuckers didn't limit their open flames to the charcoal and lighter fluid. Once dusk hit, these assholes brought out FUCKING TIKI TORCHES. (Picture also sent to on-site property manager, which went unacknowledged.)
Mind you: I am an owner. I do not rent. This is not low-income housing. My monthly maintenance fees I pay, PAY THIS ASSHOLE'S PAYCHECK. If he's not going to look into it? OWN THAT. If he's off site on vacation? OWN THAT, TOO. If someone from the condo board of managers should be contacted instead? OWN THAT AND LET ME KNOW WHO TO CALL. Do not DO NOTHING for six fucking hours... DO NOT DO NOTHING FOR THREE WHOLE DAYS OF A HOLIDAY WEEKEND.
At this point, I called the non-emergency phone # for our local fire department, which of course, WENT TO FUCKING VOICEMAIL. So no resolution on that end. I called the main office for our condo, and again, no resolution. The husband of course, sent an email to the property managing company's headquarters, but hello, after 5 on a holiday weekend? Yeah, no resolution on that end either.
When Day Three came upon us, again, I zapped a text. I truly hate being THIS PERSON, but wtf? Should I just do nothing, and let these fuckers potentially light my balcony on fire?
And not to be outdone with the FUCK FIRE CODES, another batch of assholes decided FUCK IT, I DO WHAT I WANT! And decided to park however the fuck they wanted, as if, yanno, we're in the 'hood, and can park however they want, without consequences...
This IS ALSO on top of the fact that July 2013, I was fined $25 for a fucking plant stand that had a dead plant in it. Yet open flames and flagrant assholeish parking? Yeah, good times.
Bottom line is, when we bought our condo we were assured that it was going to be nice and quiet, as end units tend to be, and well? In the ten years we've been here, we haven't had a moment's peace. And shit like this only brings out my inner Bruce Banner, "You won't like me when I'm angry. Don't make me angry."
ETA: 2:30 p.m., FOUR DAYS LATER, finally the manager at the property management HQ replied to my emails, wanted the photos, and said he'll send a letter (a letter, of which, no doubt, will go unread). In the meantime, I have a call in to the Town Clerk's office, specifically, the building department, which oversees fire code enforcement. Waiting to get the call back, to find out how I can report the next BBQ, because you and I both know that is most-definitely going to happen again, letter or no letter.
ETA: 3:43 p.m. FOUR DAYS LATER, I got a call back from the township building inspector who handles fire code enforcement. Apparently ground floor units CAN have grills, provided they are 10 feet from the building (see photo, clearly NOT 10 feet from building, you can see it is immediately beneath my balcony). For future incidents during off-hours, I should call the police, who will in turn notify the fire marshal who will come out to inspect (hopefully AS IT IS STILL HAPPENING).
Friday, January 17, 2014
My Shitty Neighbors: Parking Edition
FWP? Perhaps. Such is life in suburbia. Condo Life sucks ass, since we're all packed together like sardines in our development, each person's assholeishness is amplified and felt quite directly.
The person who parks like this, is a certifiable, "Grade A" asshole, the likes of which has bells and whistles on it. We shall hold a parade in honor your ass-i-tude! Seriously, go fuck yourself. CLEARLY, this neighbor has zero fucks for which to give.
Note: The fury is for the KIA to the left, which is parked NOT in a spot, partially blocking the Honda to the right, and the BMW to the left (out of view). Because the ENTIRE WORLD rotates on its axis SOLELY for the convenience of this asshole.
Note: This is not the only lot for our development. They are just supremely lazy. What would have been utter bliss would have been if it were garbage day, as this would no doubt have prevented department of sanitation workers from accessing the dumpsters.
I. HATE. PEOPLE.
The person who parks like this, is a certifiable, "Grade A" asshole, the likes of which has bells and whistles on it. We shall hold a parade in honor your ass-i-tude! Seriously, go fuck yourself. CLEARLY, this neighbor has zero fucks for which to give.
Note: This is not the only lot for our development. They are just supremely lazy. What would have been utter bliss would have been if it were garbage day, as this would no doubt have prevented department of sanitation workers from accessing the dumpsters.
I. HATE. PEOPLE.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
My Shitty Neighbors: Stroller Edition
Slapping this pic up here for posterity. Yet another example of anti-neighborly, shit bag behaviors, which of course, went without any intervention by the condo board management. Look at all that shit in the hallway. And when it wasn't this shit, then it literally was their garbage or bags of shitty diapers waiting to go out to the dumpster. And of course, these assholes came and left without so much as the management darkening their doorstep, yet, guess who got a $25 fine for a SINGULAR PLANT STAND? Yep. You guessed right. FUCK ME RUNNING. I hate this fucking place.
End note: Our building's "fairy godmother" who goes around getting all the proxies from those of us who are unable to attend condo board meetings is STILL AGHAST over the fact I was fined for my fucking plant stand. At least I'm not alone in my righteous indignation.
My Shitty Neighbors: Coney Island Whitefish Edition
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
My Shitty Neighbors: The Shrieking Lunatic Edition (or the BMW Bitch, for short)
Preface:
With the exception of four owners (out of the eight) on our end of the building, I operate on the premise that the remainder of my neighbors do not exist, or are classified as "persona non-grata" due to their individual, unneighborly assholeishness.
I'm going to have to work my way backwards and post a series of the "myriad of ways my neighbors suck." However, I'll start this series off with an interaction that happened JUST THIS MORNING, nearly an hour ago.
10 p.m. in the dark of night, I pull into the south entrance to my parking lot and am executing a left turn to hopefully find the last spot in the lot (given the time of day, it's a crap shoot), only to have a BMW (which entered thru the north entrance) CUT. ME. OFF. to get what they presumed to be the last spot back by the dumpster, leaving me no recourse but to park between two rather large oversized trucks, both of which were parked on the right most and left most lines of their parking spots, respectively. I seriously wanted to go Tawandaaaaaaaaaa!! On that bitch.
Pan forward to 9:25 a.m. today. I'm dressed for work, have my ID badge on, am lugging a load of laundry, my feed bag and tote bag, and CLEARLY on my way if not to work, but to someplace else, when a wild eyed lunatic approaches me. Without introducing herself (Hi, I'm so-and-so, from such-and-such unit in the same building), the interaction goes thusly:
Her: Is the office open today?
Me: Why wouldn't it? (walk a few paces)
Her: Can I use your cell phone?
(I assess her as a lunatic, a lunatic who is dressed as if she went out for a run. Yeah. Let me give a stranger who RUNS my brand new phone, when I, very clearly, AM NOT A RUNNER.)
Me: I don't have it on me. (walk a few more paces)
Her: (getting even more agitated) I need to get a ladder so I can get into my condo. (I am still walking)
Her: (doing her best, "I won't be ignored, Dan!!!" voice) Yanno, I'd help YOUUUU if the shoe were on the other foot. (in the back of my mind, I'm having a conversation with myself, "Is this really happening?" And thinking of course, of about ten different ways this could play out, all ten different ways end badly.)
Me: First, I told you I don't have my phone on me. Second, I'm CLEARLY on my way to work. And THIRD, WHO THE FUCK *ARE* YOU?
Her: (verbatim, shrieking it out) I AM NOT AN ANIMAL. I AM A HUMAN BEING!!! (Yeah, just like John Merrick, aka The Elephant Man. JUST. EFFING. LIKE IT.)
So I get in the car, and the Maharajah starts railing me:
Him: You picked a great day to socialize, when we're late for work.
Me: THAT was not socializing. That woman is a lunatic. And before I tell you what happened, I already know you're going to be angry with me because I flat out refused to help someone. (I tell him the exchange w/the lunatic.)
Him: You know who she is. She's the bitch with the BMW (now mind you, he doesn't even KNOW about how the BMW cut me off last night). How did she react when your phone rang? I called you to see what the hold up was.
Me: My phone didn't ring. Fortunately I have it on silent.
Him: By the way, did the big red truck park AFTER or BEFORE you came home last night? Me: After.
Him: WTF. Why did you park here? And how the eff did you get out of the car?
Me: It was the only spot left and I had groceries to lug inside, and oh, by the way… (I commenced regaling him w/the BMW cutting me off in the parking lot). So yeah, hilarious, isn't it? There she is demanding I do something to help, to be a good neighbor; however, most people would agree that cutting off a neighbor in a shared lot would not constitute being "neighborly." FUCK HER.
Him: Fuck her!
Me: I hate people.
Him: Me too.
Me: I love you have a great day, babe!
And off to work we both go.
Backstory: How did the bitch come to possess the aforementioned BMW? By successfully suing our condo management for one thing or another over the years. Yes, while she was awarded $$$ and bought the BMW with it, and insists on parking ASKEW, taking up two spots in an already crowded lot, her actions also have led to our maintenance fees GOING UP. Also? The only awareness I had of her before this little interaction, and beyond the BMW, was the fact that every time we walk past her condo, she's in there SHRIEKING like a lunatic to her mother, who is housebound and handicapped. End Note: Turns out the person she shrieks at isn't her mother, who I've come to learn has been long-dead, but is with whomever she happens to be on the PHONE.
With the exception of four owners (out of the eight) on our end of the building, I operate on the premise that the remainder of my neighbors do not exist, or are classified as "persona non-grata" due to their individual, unneighborly assholeishness.
I'm going to have to work my way backwards and post a series of the "myriad of ways my neighbors suck." However, I'll start this series off with an interaction that happened JUST THIS MORNING, nearly an hour ago.
10 p.m. in the dark of night, I pull into the south entrance to my parking lot and am executing a left turn to hopefully find the last spot in the lot (given the time of day, it's a crap shoot), only to have a BMW (which entered thru the north entrance) CUT. ME. OFF. to get what they presumed to be the last spot back by the dumpster, leaving me no recourse but to park between two rather large oversized trucks, both of which were parked on the right most and left most lines of their parking spots, respectively. I seriously wanted to go Tawandaaaaaaaaaa!! On that bitch.
Pan forward to 9:25 a.m. today. I'm dressed for work, have my ID badge on, am lugging a load of laundry, my feed bag and tote bag, and CLEARLY on my way if not to work, but to someplace else, when a wild eyed lunatic approaches me. Without introducing herself (Hi, I'm so-and-so, from such-and-such unit in the same building), the interaction goes thusly:
Her: Is the office open today?
Me: Why wouldn't it? (walk a few paces)
Her: Can I use your cell phone?
(I assess her as a lunatic, a lunatic who is dressed as if she went out for a run. Yeah. Let me give a stranger who RUNS my brand new phone, when I, very clearly, AM NOT A RUNNER.)
Me: I don't have it on me. (walk a few more paces)
Her: (getting even more agitated) I need to get a ladder so I can get into my condo. (I am still walking)
Her: (doing her best, "I won't be ignored, Dan!!!" voice) Yanno, I'd help YOUUUU if the shoe were on the other foot. (in the back of my mind, I'm having a conversation with myself, "Is this really happening?" And thinking of course, of about ten different ways this could play out, all ten different ways end badly.)
Me: First, I told you I don't have my phone on me. Second, I'm CLEARLY on my way to work. And THIRD, WHO THE FUCK *ARE* YOU?
Her: (verbatim, shrieking it out) I AM NOT AN ANIMAL. I AM A HUMAN BEING!!! (Yeah, just like John Merrick, aka The Elephant Man. JUST. EFFING. LIKE IT.)
So I get in the car, and the Maharajah starts railing me:
Him: You picked a great day to socialize, when we're late for work.
Me: THAT was not socializing. That woman is a lunatic. And before I tell you what happened, I already know you're going to be angry with me because I flat out refused to help someone. (I tell him the exchange w/the lunatic.)
Him: You know who she is. She's the bitch with the BMW (now mind you, he doesn't even KNOW about how the BMW cut me off last night). How did she react when your phone rang? I called you to see what the hold up was.
Me: My phone didn't ring. Fortunately I have it on silent.
Him: By the way, did the big red truck park AFTER or BEFORE you came home last night? Me: After.
Him: WTF. Why did you park here? And how the eff did you get out of the car?
Me: It was the only spot left and I had groceries to lug inside, and oh, by the way… (I commenced regaling him w/the BMW cutting me off in the parking lot). So yeah, hilarious, isn't it? There she is demanding I do something to help, to be a good neighbor; however, most people would agree that cutting off a neighbor in a shared lot would not constitute being "neighborly." FUCK HER.
Him: Fuck her!
Me: I hate people.
Him: Me too.
Me: I love you have a great day, babe!
And off to work we both go.
Backstory: How did the bitch come to possess the aforementioned BMW? By successfully suing our condo management for one thing or another over the years. Yes, while she was awarded $$$ and bought the BMW with it, and insists on parking ASKEW, taking up two spots in an already crowded lot, her actions also have led to our maintenance fees GOING UP. Also? The only awareness I had of her before this little interaction, and beyond the BMW, was the fact that every time we walk past her condo, she's in there SHRIEKING like a lunatic to her mother, who is housebound and handicapped. End Note: Turns out the person she shrieks at isn't her mother, who I've come to learn has been long-dead, but is with whomever she happens to be on the PHONE.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
No Good Can Ever Come From
This might as well be a companion piece to this previous post.
No good can ever come from the husband finding out about my (now, not-so-) secret stash of dog poop on the balcony*. He has been telling me, repeatedly, how I'm a psychopath, and how he anticipates his disembodied head to be in the freezer any day now.
*Full disclosure: Dog poop to be strafed in the area outside my balcony, to form a field of fecal land mines, to help thwart/repel the feral spawn of inattentive condo owners. The aforementioned spawn have a club house, basketball court, swimming pool, and playground all at their disposal. Where do they congregate to make their RUCKUS (up until 9 p.m., no less)? Yes. Outside my balcony, thus ensuring I can never sit out there to enjoy my balcony and the greater outdoors in relative peace and quite. My dog poop stash is a fecal fuck you.
End note: 6/26/13 Dog poop as a passive-aggressive tool works. At least in the short term. For once in the seven years I have lived in my condo, I was finally able to enjoy sitting out on my balcony, relaxing in a lounge chair, in peace and quiet.
No good can ever come from the husband finding out about my (now, not-so-) secret stash of dog poop on the balcony*. He has been telling me, repeatedly, how I'm a psychopath, and how he anticipates his disembodied head to be in the freezer any day now.
*Full disclosure: Dog poop to be strafed in the area outside my balcony, to form a field of fecal land mines, to help thwart/repel the feral spawn of inattentive condo owners. The aforementioned spawn have a club house, basketball court, swimming pool, and playground all at their disposal. Where do they congregate to make their RUCKUS (up until 9 p.m., no less)? Yes. Outside my balcony, thus ensuring I can never sit out there to enjoy my balcony and the greater outdoors in relative peace and quite. My dog poop stash is a fecal fuck you.
End note: 6/26/13 Dog poop as a passive-aggressive tool works. At least in the short term. For once in the seven years I have lived in my condo, I was finally able to enjoy sitting out on my balcony, relaxing in a lounge chair, in peace and quiet.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Fuckwit Neighbors & A Pellet Gun
Beating the Doucheitude Horse “deader”…
View, 8:45 a.m.:
Three additional cars met the same fate in our condo parking lot. A few cars over on a neighboring street did as well
.
The culprit? Some asshole gave their child a B.B. GUN. From what I’ve pieced together, Barnaby Jones style, is some teen was ambling up our street (perhaps with a friend who lives in our condo complex), and when they got to our parking lot, as they walked through, POP POP POP POP! with the B.B. gun. And then cut through someone else’s yard to get to the next street over (hit some more cars). I suspect the perpetrator lives one more street beyond.
The rear windshield was hit several times. Couple that up with the normal expansion and constriction which takes place on glass during normal evening/early morning frost. I got in my car. Slammed the door. And the friggin’ windshield just imploded.
At first I thought what type of parent would let their kid have a B.B. gun in this day and age when school violence is so prevalent. Then it occured to me that it could very well be a teen or an ADULT. This made me steam even more. Two years into this condo, and I’m hating it. The “fuck you” attitude in this particular area rests on the palate about as welcoming as a pre-puke bad penny taste.
Each of us stayed home (can’t drive it in that condition); two personal days lost. Close to $300 to get the windshield repaired.
Wanna know what would be priceless? If somewhere down the line Westco Med Center ends up with someone in the ER with a B.B. gun perma-wedged up someone’s ass.
And to further compound the unneighborly doucheyness…
I recognized one of the other cars as being one owned by someone who has been “friendly enough” with me. So I went to her condo to let her know about the car, just in case she hasn’t seen it. “Oh yes, I noticed it yesterday a.m., and noticed your car and two others…”
Um? You noticed yesterday? And this didn’t warrant a knock on my door to give me a head’s up?
It’s not that hot of a village we live in. One mile by one mile square. It’s really more like a “pass through” armpit of a village people drive through on their way to someplace else. Might as well be called “Anyplace But Here.” No sidewalks. No fantastic curb appeal on the main thoroughfare. Mindboggling traffic to get out of this area to get to work or “anyplace but here.” Yet, we bought the condo because it was in good condition, and the school district is fantastic… which really seems moot when you think about my custer-flucked ovaries.
I wish we bought a HOUSE. Communal living like apartments, condos or co-ops suck rank dingleberry-dangling, festering fistula horse ass.
View, 8:45 a.m.:
Three additional cars met the same fate in our condo parking lot. A few cars over on a neighboring street did as well
.
The culprit? Some asshole gave their child a B.B. GUN. From what I’ve pieced together, Barnaby Jones style, is some teen was ambling up our street (perhaps with a friend who lives in our condo complex), and when they got to our parking lot, as they walked through, POP POP POP POP! with the B.B. gun. And then cut through someone else’s yard to get to the next street over (hit some more cars). I suspect the perpetrator lives one more street beyond.
The rear windshield was hit several times. Couple that up with the normal expansion and constriction which takes place on glass during normal evening/early morning frost. I got in my car. Slammed the door. And the friggin’ windshield just imploded.
At first I thought what type of parent would let their kid have a B.B. gun in this day and age when school violence is so prevalent. Then it occured to me that it could very well be a teen or an ADULT. This made me steam even more. Two years into this condo, and I’m hating it. The “fuck you” attitude in this particular area rests on the palate about as welcoming as a pre-puke bad penny taste.
Each of us stayed home (can’t drive it in that condition); two personal days lost. Close to $300 to get the windshield repaired.
Wanna know what would be priceless? If somewhere down the line Westco Med Center ends up with someone in the ER with a B.B. gun perma-wedged up someone’s ass.
And to further compound the unneighborly doucheyness…
I recognized one of the other cars as being one owned by someone who has been “friendly enough” with me. So I went to her condo to let her know about the car, just in case she hasn’t seen it. “Oh yes, I noticed it yesterday a.m., and noticed your car and two others…”
Um? You noticed yesterday? And this didn’t warrant a knock on my door to give me a head’s up?
It’s not that hot of a village we live in. One mile by one mile square. It’s really more like a “pass through” armpit of a village people drive through on their way to someplace else. Might as well be called “Anyplace But Here.” No sidewalks. No fantastic curb appeal on the main thoroughfare. Mindboggling traffic to get out of this area to get to work or “anyplace but here.” Yet, we bought the condo because it was in good condition, and the school district is fantastic… which really seems moot when you think about my custer-flucked ovaries.
I wish we bought a HOUSE. Communal living like apartments, condos or co-ops suck rank dingleberry-dangling, festering fistula horse ass.
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