Don't misunderstand ~ I live in a lovely, large apartment with a terrace and a fixed rent, utilities included. In Cement City, people would literally kill to live in a place like this. It's well-maintained with an excellent service department and beautiful gardens, so my gripe isn't with the co-op and all their stupid rules and regulations (NO DOGS!) but rather the mental cases who call themselves my neighbors. UGH. I'd rather live with squirrels than these gossipy, cliquey morons who are hearty endorsements for those who believe in pro-choice.
Having just returned from what I hoped would be a fast and anonymous trip for necessities, I bumped into The Building Yenta With A Loose Screw, the LAST person in America I wanted to see. After annoying the shit out of me with endless questions, she then began to repeat the latest gossip about an upcoming major (and jack-hammer NOISY) construction job on the Nut House. Loose Screw must have noticed my cold demeanor and asked, "Are you okay? You're not your usual self..."
With a very deep breath to calm my nerves, I slowly replied, "My cat just died last week, my favorite aunt is in the process of dying in Vermont, and now you're telling me that we're going to be assaulted by horrific noise all summer long? What do you think is the 'matter,' dingbat??"
We also have another yenta whom I have nicknamed Cake-Head...she sports a short, short haircut with just enough hair to have CURLS on top...it's like looking at a Drake's Cake with a big fat face beneath it. Gossip extraordinaire and a mean-spirited, truly stupid Republican, I always smile at her and make small talk, if only to keep my name out of her big mouth.
Let's see...we also have the Queen of England, who never appears without her hat and pocketbook. The Filthy Slob whose apartment is so overrun with la cucaracha, I've been told walking through his apartment is like the cockroach version of the parting of the Red Sea. (Thank every spirit in the sky that he lives WAY above me and in a different line, or he'd be dead and I in prison by now.) Then there are the "lifers" who inherited their apartments from their parents and think they own the place, and only recently we lost the idiot on the ground floor who thought it was perfectly okay for the entire lobby to smell like the movie "Pineapple Express" upon entry. Personally, I couldn't care less about that, but have a little discretion, okay? Ever hear of incense?
I once read an article that claimed it is not 'normal' for people to live so close to each other...the piece compared apartment life to egg crates, stacked one of top of another. And I could not agree more, having lived in these egg crates my entire life.
I think it's time for my little log cabin, surrounded by acres and acres and ACRES of woods, my only neighbors cows, crickets and critters of every kind.
Now if somebody out there will only find my writing worthy enough to actually pay me so I may obtain my dream home, I promise I will NEVER complain again.
Maybe. (Probably not!)
