You'd think I have a life outside of worrying about the felon next door. Oh, wait! I do have a life. This tale wasn't urgent. Not even sure it's Effie-related, but it's awfully suspicious, so I'm recording it herein.
Friday, December 2, 2011, I returned home in my car around 10:30 PM. (Went to the hockey game, of course!) No big, ugly brown Effie-van, and Sweetie had taken his (stress-inducing) truck to visit relatives for a couple of days. So, with the whole space in front of the duplex open to me, I gave it my best guess where the middle was, so Sweetie could park in front of me (he was coming home that night) and Effie could lug her van in back of me. (We don't like her parking in the middle because she's worse at depth perception than I am.)
As I was gathering my things to go inside the house, the neighbor across the street, who knows I love four-footed friends, came over to introduce me to their new puppy. We had a nice greeting, and I distinctly remember folding in my driver's side rearview mirror. It's a habit, but I actually noticed I was doing it as the neighbor, "Lila" (so sweet!) and I said our goodnights.
Sweetie arrived long after I'd gone to sleep, so it was quite dark when he arrived -- and he was tired, too. This matters...
Next morning, we emerged to run some errands. My car had more petrol than his truck had at that point, so we were using mine. He was the one who noticed that my driver's side mirror was hyperextended (best word I can find to describe it) completely the other way from "folded-in." There was no evidence that anyone had hit the car: someone had to have done it by hand in an (angry?) attempt to break off the mirror. (Way to go, Nissan! The mirrors just don't break off!) As I was coming round the front to inspect for myself, I saw that the lower-left corner of my license plate was curled. That had to have been done by hand, too, or maybe the miscreant had a pair of pliers.
These were two distinct acts of (attempted) vandalism, to be certain. Definitely childish...but Effie's van hadn't been anywhere around since I last saw it Friday morning when I took my car. But just because the van isn't visible, we don't believe for an instant she's not home. Not always, anyway.
I did call the Landlady to ask if she'd heard from Effie recently. She hadn't. If Effie had called and complained (again) about the (public) parking situation, I could have pinned these acts of anger on her. But maybe she didn't do it. Just in case, though, I have recorded the story.
Oh, and I just restored the mirror to its proper position and uncurled the plate by hand. Weird, eh!
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Bangity-Bang-Bang-Bang!
Just a quick recordation of the usual banging around occurring in Effie's kitchen. I wonder if sometimes she forgets to bang a cupboard door closed and goes back to re-do it with a hefty bang.
We were out of town Thursday through Saturday, but we took my car, leaving the stress-inducing red truck behind. Some time during our absence, the alarm was set off. It's been set in "silent" mode, but the little indicator light tells all.
It must take a lot of energy to keep up with this negative attitude of hers.
We were out of town Thursday through Saturday, but we took my car, leaving the stress-inducing red truck behind. Some time during our absence, the alarm was set off. It's been set in "silent" mode, but the little indicator light tells all.
It must take a lot of energy to keep up with this negative attitude of hers.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Incident 2 of 3!
Last night, 11/18/11, we arrived home around 7PM to find Effie's favorite rubbish bin decidedly out of its place where it customarily discourages mail theft. Tut-tut. And of course you know we care only because it means she has TWICE failed to return the bin to its place, and the Landlords have given her only three chances. She wasn't home to hear me chirruping about the photos I was taking and asking the bin to give me its best pouty look...
And our hockey team won the away game we were home early to hear on the computer. That was nice.
Oh, and Effie has been banging around more than ever. Sigh.
And our hockey team won the away game we were home early to hear on the computer. That was nice.
Oh, and Effie has been banging around more than ever. Sigh.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Too Quiet on the Western Front
Since the previous post, we are aware of nothing worth mention Effie has done, other than her customary banging around in her kitchen (next to our living room) and her bedroom (next to ours). We saw her go through her front door last night as we approached the duplex on our walk from the bus stop. I can only wonder if she heard me say the word "felonious" as we mused over the non-surgery, to put a Monty Pythonesque spin on her supposed medical plan. But it was apparent she did hear us approach, at least to me.
Tonight, the big, ugly brown van is not in its usual spot. Lots of lights are on in Effie's unit, but we know that doesn't necessarily mean she's not at home. But this time, it seems quiet enough, so we're getting a little respite from the negative energy.
Tonight, the big, ugly brown van is not in its usual spot. Lots of lights are on in Effie's unit, but we know that doesn't necessarily mean she's not at home. But this time, it seems quiet enough, so we're getting a little respite from the negative energy.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Scary Halloween!
Well, October has passed in its entirety and there definitely was no surgery. Unless it was one of those cosmetic things they do with a few injections in an hour. Can't fix the ugly on the inside; may as well forget about the outside.
Effie has been playing loud music and banging around in her kitchen nightly. It seems she also tries to determine when we go up to bed: the sound of upstairs cupboards seems to follow us. Obsessive much?
Sweetie wins a virtual nickel: when we came home Halloween night, "Ms. Neighborly" had every street-facing light off in her side of the duplex. Except for an unattended candle burning in her bedroom window, which is upstairs and faces the street. How do we know it was unattended? Cupboards. Microwave door. You guessed it.
Yesterday morning (11/1), we came out of our door to leave for work, and then we saw that Effie had moved her favorite rubbish bin out of its position (where, if I may gently remind the dear reader, we keep by our porch to discourage mail theft). It was next to our composting and recycling bins in the sawdust area next to the walkway. We're sure it was in its little home when we arrived home the night before; it must have been moved sometime between about 9:30 PM and about 7:45 AM. It didn't just roll there on its own: I had faced it so the wheels were parallel to the walkway. I took photos. This matters: the rule is if the rubbish bin is not replaced as we asked three times, our landlords will use that as grounds for inviting Effie to live elsewhere sixty days after notice is given.
When we arrived home that evening, the bin was technically in place, though it was outside the hockey stick tape guidlines I laid down for her. Sweetie decided not to call that Incident #2. I would have done. I'm not so nice to bullies.
I still don't know why she's still there: if you or I lied about a felony on our rental application, we would have been tossed out WITHOUT due ceremony.
Effie has been playing loud music and banging around in her kitchen nightly. It seems she also tries to determine when we go up to bed: the sound of upstairs cupboards seems to follow us. Obsessive much?
Sweetie wins a virtual nickel: when we came home Halloween night, "Ms. Neighborly" had every street-facing light off in her side of the duplex. Except for an unattended candle burning in her bedroom window, which is upstairs and faces the street. How do we know it was unattended? Cupboards. Microwave door. You guessed it.
Yesterday morning (11/1), we came out of our door to leave for work, and then we saw that Effie had moved her favorite rubbish bin out of its position (where, if I may gently remind the dear reader, we keep by our porch to discourage mail theft). It was next to our composting and recycling bins in the sawdust area next to the walkway. We're sure it was in its little home when we arrived home the night before; it must have been moved sometime between about 9:30 PM and about 7:45 AM. It didn't just roll there on its own: I had faced it so the wheels were parallel to the walkway. I took photos. This matters: the rule is if the rubbish bin is not replaced as we asked three times, our landlords will use that as grounds for inviting Effie to live elsewhere sixty days after notice is given.
When we arrived home that evening, the bin was technically in place, though it was outside the hockey stick tape guidlines I laid down for her. Sweetie decided not to call that Incident #2. I would have done. I'm not so nice to bullies.
I still don't know why she's still there: if you or I lied about a felony on our rental application, we would have been tossed out WITHOUT due ceremony.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Delivery! No, Not Quite That Type, Yet.
Earlier this week, we got a separate recycling bin, as we discovered after some little near-excitement. Today, at 5:10 PM local time (10/29), I personally dragged the extra one over to Effie's side of the yard so it can live with HER rubbish bin, not with ours. Delivered it right to her side of the duplex. I wore my little digi-cam around my neck to have it ready if she came out to get ugly with me. She didn't, but her front door was open when I was walking back across the grass of the front yard. We are not going to be the keepers of all the bins. En't looking at that every day.
Also of note, there are fresh tire tracks on the lawn. I think I wrote in an earlier entry that when Effie first moved in she occasionally drove her big, ugly brown van up onto the front lawn. A couple of times was okay with the landlords, but after they re-seeded the front lawn and learned she'd done it again, they were livid. One of these days, we'll get a photo to prove those are her tire tracks. I have faith.
The only other thing to report is that late in the week and much of today, Effie has been playing her jazz music so loud, I can hear the tune besides the bass. I got tired of it, so I have countered with a nice CD called "Relaxation for the Holidays." Usually, I don't combat noise with noise, but today feels special.
Okay, I swear this is the last thing I'll include in this entry: if Effie is going to have some kind of surgery in October, she has two more days. From all the kitchen noises she's been making all month, I don't believe there's been any surgery, thus far. And I don't believe there is any surgery planned in the next couple of days.
Also of note, there are fresh tire tracks on the lawn. I think I wrote in an earlier entry that when Effie first moved in she occasionally drove her big, ugly brown van up onto the front lawn. A couple of times was okay with the landlords, but after they re-seeded the front lawn and learned she'd done it again, they were livid. One of these days, we'll get a photo to prove those are her tire tracks. I have faith.
The only other thing to report is that late in the week and much of today, Effie has been playing her jazz music so loud, I can hear the tune besides the bass. I got tired of it, so I have countered with a nice CD called "Relaxation for the Holidays." Usually, I don't combat noise with noise, but today feels special.
Okay, I swear this is the last thing I'll include in this entry: if Effie is going to have some kind of surgery in October, she has two more days. From all the kitchen noises she's been making all month, I don't believe there's been any surgery, thus far. And I don't believe there is any surgery planned in the next couple of days.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Its Been a Quiet Week...
Stick-tap to Garrison Keillor and to the guy who writes the hockey blog "Puck Daddy" on Yahoo! who says "stick-tap" to mean "kudos."
Effie was noticeably quiet Sunday night (after she finally arrived home to her doused fire) all the way through to yesterday (10/23/11). She lit another "barbecue" and a candle out on her back patio, but this time she didn't create smoke. She did, however, leave the things burning while she banged cupboards and drawers and her microwave oven door in her kitchen, which is definitely not close enough to be monitoring a fire, in my humble opinion.
Tonight we arrived home at 7:38 (Sweetie saw the time on the microwave clock!). We saw a green "composting" bin on our side of the walkway. It was unattractively close to public view, so Sweetie, knowing the rubbish company is supposed to deliver a separate recycling bin to our duplex (so we won't have to share with the creepy woman), wondered if it was one of two composting bins or it was the one Effie has been hoarding on her side of the grounds. Sweetie was on his way in the pitch black to see if there was another green bin on Effie's side. However, he was only halfway across the front lawn when Effie's big, ugly brown van (aka The Creepmobile) was driving up. She turned off her headlights while still way away, and Sweetie felt as if he were being watched. So he turned around immediately and brought the green bin down the walkway. For the record, Sweetie was not on her front porch, was not peering in her windows (shudder), or anything of a dubious nature. Seriously, he was just trying to ascertain if the mysteriously placed green bin was ours or Effie's. (We're documenting this because we are sure she is going to contact the landlords and claim Sweetie was performing acts of creepitude.) (Paranoid idiot, that Effie is.)
Meanwhile, while Sweetie was on his adventure, I was moving my car from across the street to the "point position" which I think Effe no longer covets, but it's just nice to keep one's car as near to home as possible. I had just arrived at my car when the Big Ugly Brown Van came rumbling up the street. Effie drove on past me. Apparently, she, too wants to avoid having to come up with snarkisms, so she drove 'round the block. So have we... By the time I had my car repositioned and was exiting my car, Sweetie was walking back across the lawn. I thought he was there to keep an eye on me (so selfish!) but he explained his mission to figure out what was up with all the rubbish bins. So I, too, saw Effie dim her headlights and park slowly. I really think she couldn't see him. But we'll find out...later. (LOL!)
Now, she's in her kitchen, banging around with the cupboards, drawers, and microwave door. And she's added loud music (or some facsimile thereof) to the cacophony. Joy.
I wish Garrison Keillor would read these back to me. Might make all of this stress a little easier to take.
Oh, and there has been no evidence of any surgery and we're here on 10/24. She has one more week to make good on that story she told the landlords. (sigh)
One more small observation: for someone who markets herself as a nutrition coach, why do you suppose that microwave oven is always going on?
Effie was noticeably quiet Sunday night (after she finally arrived home to her doused fire) all the way through to yesterday (10/23/11). She lit another "barbecue" and a candle out on her back patio, but this time she didn't create smoke. She did, however, leave the things burning while she banged cupboards and drawers and her microwave oven door in her kitchen, which is definitely not close enough to be monitoring a fire, in my humble opinion.
Tonight we arrived home at 7:38 (Sweetie saw the time on the microwave clock!). We saw a green "composting" bin on our side of the walkway. It was unattractively close to public view, so Sweetie, knowing the rubbish company is supposed to deliver a separate recycling bin to our duplex (so we won't have to share with the creepy woman), wondered if it was one of two composting bins or it was the one Effie has been hoarding on her side of the grounds. Sweetie was on his way in the pitch black to see if there was another green bin on Effie's side. However, he was only halfway across the front lawn when Effie's big, ugly brown van (aka The Creepmobile) was driving up. She turned off her headlights while still way away, and Sweetie felt as if he were being watched. So he turned around immediately and brought the green bin down the walkway. For the record, Sweetie was not on her front porch, was not peering in her windows (shudder), or anything of a dubious nature. Seriously, he was just trying to ascertain if the mysteriously placed green bin was ours or Effie's. (We're documenting this because we are sure she is going to contact the landlords and claim Sweetie was performing acts of creepitude.) (Paranoid idiot, that Effie is.)
Meanwhile, while Sweetie was on his adventure, I was moving my car from across the street to the "point position" which I think Effe no longer covets, but it's just nice to keep one's car as near to home as possible. I had just arrived at my car when the Big Ugly Brown Van came rumbling up the street. Effie drove on past me. Apparently, she, too wants to avoid having to come up with snarkisms, so she drove 'round the block. So have we... By the time I had my car repositioned and was exiting my car, Sweetie was walking back across the lawn. I thought he was there to keep an eye on me (so selfish!) but he explained his mission to figure out what was up with all the rubbish bins. So I, too, saw Effie dim her headlights and park slowly. I really think she couldn't see him. But we'll find out...later. (LOL!)
Now, she's in her kitchen, banging around with the cupboards, drawers, and microwave door. And she's added loud music (or some facsimile thereof) to the cacophony. Joy.
I wish Garrison Keillor would read these back to me. Might make all of this stress a little easier to take.
Oh, and there has been no evidence of any surgery and we're here on 10/24. She has one more week to make good on that story she told the landlords. (sigh)
One more small observation: for someone who markets herself as a nutrition coach, why do you suppose that microwave oven is always going on?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Almost A Whole Incident-Free Weekend! Almost...
Sunday (10/16/11) Effie got really active after taking a few days off, so to speak. During the "quiet" times since last Wednesday, she just banged around in her kitchen (she likes to make noise with her cupboard doors) and played her music juuuuuuusssst loud enough so we could hear the bass through the walls. But nothing out of the ordinary for her. Well, as ordinary as she gets, anyway.
Sunday (10/16/11) she got off to an early start. She had another morning "barbecue"--this one at 7AM. By the way, when I say "barbecue" let it be known that no food is involved. This detail is important.
I've been fighting a cold, so I spent a lot of the day in and out of sleep. While I was awake during the afternoon, at least three times I heard her garage door slide open then closed. Not in an OCD way...as if she were really making trips between her unit and the garage. We noticed that none of the rubbish bins was moved this whole day. So much for her rant about pathway obstruction, eh!
Fast forward to 8:30 PM or so. We smelled smoke. Sweetie recognized the familiar scent of burning paper. First place we checked was our back porch, and sure enough, there was smoke rising from Effie's side of the fence. We couldn't quite tell if the smoke might be coming from outside Effie's enclosure, so we went 'round the front to check. I had the cordless phone in hand. Nice bright white bit of plastic. The smoke was definitely coming from Effie's patio.
But Effie wasn't home.
Couldn't have timed this better if I'd written a screenplay: right then, her big, brown van came slowly around the corner to the east of us and she drove by equally slowly, past the house, in a very creepy way. Sweetie thought she was going to turn around and park, but no go.
I had to decide which was the best course of action. Doing nothing was not an option. To bring the fire department out for such a small SUPPOSEDLY contolled fire would have been overkill. So I dialed up the landlords, per their request for us to report anything weird.
Mr. Landlord (I do need to get him a nice moniker!) was over within five minutes. He knocked on Effie's door twice--no reply. So he confirmed for a fact that Effie had indeed left a fire burning in her backyard.
Mr. Landlord had a look: he said this "barbecue" he could see was nothing more than a cast iron pot full of smoldering twigs. He was going to douse the mess with water and leave her a note that he had been there and done that. He thanked us profusely.
Oh, and mentioned he brought his camera. Ka-cha!
No retributive behaviors to report. Yet.
Sunday (10/16/11) she got off to an early start. She had another morning "barbecue"--this one at 7AM. By the way, when I say "barbecue" let it be known that no food is involved. This detail is important.
I've been fighting a cold, so I spent a lot of the day in and out of sleep. While I was awake during the afternoon, at least three times I heard her garage door slide open then closed. Not in an OCD way...as if she were really making trips between her unit and the garage. We noticed that none of the rubbish bins was moved this whole day. So much for her rant about pathway obstruction, eh!
Fast forward to 8:30 PM or so. We smelled smoke. Sweetie recognized the familiar scent of burning paper. First place we checked was our back porch, and sure enough, there was smoke rising from Effie's side of the fence. We couldn't quite tell if the smoke might be coming from outside Effie's enclosure, so we went 'round the front to check. I had the cordless phone in hand. Nice bright white bit of plastic. The smoke was definitely coming from Effie's patio.
But Effie wasn't home.
Couldn't have timed this better if I'd written a screenplay: right then, her big, brown van came slowly around the corner to the east of us and she drove by equally slowly, past the house, in a very creepy way. Sweetie thought she was going to turn around and park, but no go.
I had to decide which was the best course of action. Doing nothing was not an option. To bring the fire department out for such a small SUPPOSEDLY contolled fire would have been overkill. So I dialed up the landlords, per their request for us to report anything weird.
Mr. Landlord (I do need to get him a nice moniker!) was over within five minutes. He knocked on Effie's door twice--no reply. So he confirmed for a fact that Effie had indeed left a fire burning in her backyard.
Mr. Landlord had a look: he said this "barbecue" he could see was nothing more than a cast iron pot full of smoldering twigs. He was going to douse the mess with water and leave her a note that he had been there and done that. He thanked us profusely.
Oh, and mentioned he brought his camera. Ka-cha!
No retributive behaviors to report. Yet.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Rhinovirons vs. Immunotrons (Sounds cooler than I've Got a Cold)
I've spent yesterday and today working from home. During these two days, Effie has mostly bumped around and played her music, but I can't characterize any of it as unreasonable. Gotta call it like I see it.
However...yesterday she moved both her favorite bin AND one I often forget we have--it's blocking the street view of the more public side of our porch. It's one we brought with us from the place we previously rented. Sweetie has put water in the bottom to weigh it down against windstorms...and nerve-damaged neighbors. Effie pulled it out into the sawdust area of the walkway apparently without trouble. I don't know why: we had it placed directly below the mailbox, and it doesn't project out from our porch more than an inch. Which now that I think of it is about how far Effie's favorite bin projects.
For the record, she moved the bins out of place at 10:30 AM, then back near their proper locations about 5:25 PM. It rained fiercely off and on yesterday, so I don't know how she managed her boxes with all that rain AND having to move the bins. Life's rough, eh.
However...yesterday she moved both her favorite bin AND one I often forget we have--it's blocking the street view of the more public side of our porch. It's one we brought with us from the place we previously rented. Sweetie has put water in the bottom to weigh it down against windstorms...and nerve-damaged neighbors. Effie pulled it out into the sawdust area of the walkway apparently without trouble. I don't know why: we had it placed directly below the mailbox, and it doesn't project out from our porch more than an inch. Which now that I think of it is about how far Effie's favorite bin projects.
For the record, she moved the bins out of place at 10:30 AM, then back near their proper locations about 5:25 PM. It rained fiercely off and on yesterday, so I don't know how she managed her boxes with all that rain AND having to move the bins. Life's rough, eh.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Catching Up
We got a phone call Thursday night on the answerphone from the landlady. She said she just wanted to "touch base." We were just arriving from having dinner/watching the Ducks win a football game, so it was a bit too late to return her call.
Sweetie tried during the day on Friday, but was able only to leave her a message on HER voice mail. We caught up with each other Friday evening, around 8PM.
Landlady (whose name I do not use here...must find a nice moniker for her) reported that Effie had complained to her that we had written her legal name in chalk "all over the sidewalk." I have photos of the artwork with the hockey stick tape and the chalk. It's confined to about a 1.5 foot square, and it's down our walkway, just to the left of our porch, which is at the side of this duplex. Not in common public view, in other words.
Landlady also reported that Effie complained Sweetie had "yelled" at her through her open kitchen window Sunday night (10/2/11). Fact break! As recorded in an earlier post, Sweetie said only loudly enough so she could hear him, "Thanks for putting the garbage can back." Sweetie told Landlady how the exchange REALLY went. (Apparently, Effie didn't hear me wish her a good night with her legal first name.) Oh, and apparently she has no sense of time: it was Friday night, 9/30/11. (See earlier post!)
Upshot of the conversation: Landlady wants us to call and tell her as soon as possible after any exchange with Effie--and to tell her exactly what is said and how it's said. Effie is bullying these good people into thinking she's going to sue them. Landlady is also "fearful" that Effie wants to sue us for harrassment. Good luck with that. I don't see a felon with a drug crime on her record really wanting to do that, but okay. We'll report.
So, here are the antics of the weekend. We came home Friday night a bit later than usual, and, after Sweetie and the Landlady talked, we went out again. When we arrived home, Sweetie was driving my car--and we saw her van just pulling into "her" parking space on the street in front of the duplex. Sweetie and I did not want to listen to her snarky comments to us, so we chose to round the corner and give her time to haul in some bags of who-knows-what--shopping bags of some sort. How's this for harrassment? WE didn't want to go to our own home because she was there. We parked and went inside our unit after we saw her front door (fully visible from the street without being creepy) close.
Saturday afternoon, we heard Landlord (need a nice moniker for him, too--Mr. Landlady won't do) using a leaf blower on the little walkway that goes past our door and the famous rubbish bins. Later that afternoon, we called Landlady in answer to a later message she left Friday night, asking if she should go ahead and order more rubbish bins than the ordinary duplex gets so we wouldn't have to share recycling or yard debris bins with Effie. Sadly, that costs extra. I think Effie should have that added to her rent. But for her actions, we wouldn't feel bullied into having to order our own bins. Funny moment: Landlady apologized: the leaf blower had blown the hockey tape off the walkway. It was never really well stuck in the first place. It's mostly for show. I replaced it with more tape, more glitter, and this time I wrote in BLUE chalk, "Return Bin Here, (Effie's initials), thanks."
Saturday night we went to another hockey game. Came back around 10:30. Effie wasn't home when we arrived--or rather her VAN wasn't parked out front. I heard some sounds through our bedroom wall around 11:30, including some music. The music ended before 1AM. It wasn't loud enough that I could identify the tune or even the genre, but it was loud enough to hear over the telly. And this is the same common wall we shared previously with a young family's toddlers. Their screaming child was barely audible some nights. (He had nightmares, poor kid.)
Sunday went by without incident. We went to an earlier hockey game and came home from that and the grocery store around 9PM. The latest tape and chalk message were still out there.
Tonight, we got home around 7PM. Some of the tape was still there, so we thought maybe the rain had just interfered with the bit that was out of place. But then Sweetie noticed the bin was placed backward from the way we usually keep it for our convenience. Just out of spite, I guess. I took photos. And I moved the bin. Dry underneath...no chalk, no glitter. Got lots.
I've considered green and purple for the next message, but I'm waiting. Among the interesting things Landlady said in her Friday chat with Sweetie was that if Effie fails to return the bin to its proper place three times, she will consider that grounds for eviction. So why should I make it any easier for Effie not to perform her little passive-aggressive dance with the bin, eh?
I'm so glad I've been taking photographs. I could take recordings of our little exchanges, but unless a felony is being committed, I have to inform her. No fun in that.
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!
Sweetie tried during the day on Friday, but was able only to leave her a message on HER voice mail. We caught up with each other Friday evening, around 8PM.
Landlady (whose name I do not use here...must find a nice moniker for her) reported that Effie had complained to her that we had written her legal name in chalk "all over the sidewalk." I have photos of the artwork with the hockey stick tape and the chalk. It's confined to about a 1.5 foot square, and it's down our walkway, just to the left of our porch, which is at the side of this duplex. Not in common public view, in other words.
Landlady also reported that Effie complained Sweetie had "yelled" at her through her open kitchen window Sunday night (10/2/11). Fact break! As recorded in an earlier post, Sweetie said only loudly enough so she could hear him, "Thanks for putting the garbage can back." Sweetie told Landlady how the exchange REALLY went. (Apparently, Effie didn't hear me wish her a good night with her legal first name.) Oh, and apparently she has no sense of time: it was Friday night, 9/30/11. (See earlier post!)
Upshot of the conversation: Landlady wants us to call and tell her as soon as possible after any exchange with Effie--and to tell her exactly what is said and how it's said. Effie is bullying these good people into thinking she's going to sue them. Landlady is also "fearful" that Effie wants to sue us for harrassment. Good luck with that. I don't see a felon with a drug crime on her record really wanting to do that, but okay. We'll report.
So, here are the antics of the weekend. We came home Friday night a bit later than usual, and, after Sweetie and the Landlady talked, we went out again. When we arrived home, Sweetie was driving my car--and we saw her van just pulling into "her" parking space on the street in front of the duplex. Sweetie and I did not want to listen to her snarky comments to us, so we chose to round the corner and give her time to haul in some bags of who-knows-what--shopping bags of some sort. How's this for harrassment? WE didn't want to go to our own home because she was there. We parked and went inside our unit after we saw her front door (fully visible from the street without being creepy) close.
Saturday afternoon, we heard Landlord (need a nice moniker for him, too--Mr. Landlady won't do) using a leaf blower on the little walkway that goes past our door and the famous rubbish bins. Later that afternoon, we called Landlady in answer to a later message she left Friday night, asking if she should go ahead and order more rubbish bins than the ordinary duplex gets so we wouldn't have to share recycling or yard debris bins with Effie. Sadly, that costs extra. I think Effie should have that added to her rent. But for her actions, we wouldn't feel bullied into having to order our own bins. Funny moment: Landlady apologized: the leaf blower had blown the hockey tape off the walkway. It was never really well stuck in the first place. It's mostly for show. I replaced it with more tape, more glitter, and this time I wrote in BLUE chalk, "Return Bin Here, (Effie's initials), thanks."
Saturday night we went to another hockey game. Came back around 10:30. Effie wasn't home when we arrived--or rather her VAN wasn't parked out front. I heard some sounds through our bedroom wall around 11:30, including some music. The music ended before 1AM. It wasn't loud enough that I could identify the tune or even the genre, but it was loud enough to hear over the telly. And this is the same common wall we shared previously with a young family's toddlers. Their screaming child was barely audible some nights. (He had nightmares, poor kid.)
Sunday went by without incident. We went to an earlier hockey game and came home from that and the grocery store around 9PM. The latest tape and chalk message were still out there.
Tonight, we got home around 7PM. Some of the tape was still there, so we thought maybe the rain had just interfered with the bit that was out of place. But then Sweetie noticed the bin was placed backward from the way we usually keep it for our convenience. Just out of spite, I guess. I took photos. And I moved the bin. Dry underneath...no chalk, no glitter. Got lots.
I've considered green and purple for the next message, but I'm waiting. Among the interesting things Landlady said in her Friday chat with Sweetie was that if Effie fails to return the bin to its proper place three times, she will consider that grounds for eviction. So why should I make it any easier for Effie not to perform her little passive-aggressive dance with the bin, eh?
I'm so glad I've been taking photographs. I could take recordings of our little exchanges, but unless a felony is being committed, I have to inform her. No fun in that.
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Defacing My Art?!
By the way, you DO know this blog is actually a documentation of all of her antics, don't you? No one said all documentation had to be stuffy. If someone did, I disagree.
Effie is way too predictable. I won a virtual nickel from Sweetie for my prediction that she would have pulled up the Canadian flag-festooned hockey stick tape marking her favorite rubbish bin's spot by the time we got home.
Sure enough, around 8:00 PM we got home, turned on our porch light and behold! The tape was moonched up on our porch. It's raining, and fairly heavily tonight, but not enough to have scrubbed off the pink-chalk message, "It goes here, (real first name)." The glitter is no longer confined just to the spot where the bin goes.
NOT TO WORRY, Dear Friends! I have MILES of hockey stick tape and can get more in various designs when this runs out. I've laid down some more tape, even though it doesn't really stick to the wet pavement. I'll re-tape it tomorrow morning, when the space under the bin has dried. My only dilemma is which color of chalk to use to reinforce the message. As promised, it will say, "It goes here, (first name) (middle name)." There's not a lot she can complain about: I haven't written her real last name out, which would enable ANYONE to Google her full legal name and discover her little episode with the heroin smuggling.
How fortunate she is I don't just spell the message out in hockey stick tape. I could make it fit, though it wouldn't be in that nice little space. And I have enough tape...I already said that.
How about blue? And I can outline it in this really cool neon green chalk that's included in the box! And I'll reload the glitter content in the taped area!
Effie is way too predictable. I won a virtual nickel from Sweetie for my prediction that she would have pulled up the Canadian flag-festooned hockey stick tape marking her favorite rubbish bin's spot by the time we got home.
Sure enough, around 8:00 PM we got home, turned on our porch light and behold! The tape was moonched up on our porch. It's raining, and fairly heavily tonight, but not enough to have scrubbed off the pink-chalk message, "It goes here, (real first name)." The glitter is no longer confined just to the spot where the bin goes.
NOT TO WORRY, Dear Friends! I have MILES of hockey stick tape and can get more in various designs when this runs out. I've laid down some more tape, even though it doesn't really stick to the wet pavement. I'll re-tape it tomorrow morning, when the space under the bin has dried. My only dilemma is which color of chalk to use to reinforce the message. As promised, it will say, "It goes here, (first name) (middle name)." There's not a lot she can complain about: I haven't written her real last name out, which would enable ANYONE to Google her full legal name and discover her little episode with the heroin smuggling.
How fortunate she is I don't just spell the message out in hockey stick tape. I could make it fit, though it wouldn't be in that nice little space. And I have enough tape...I already said that.
How about blue? And I can outline it in this really cool neon green chalk that's included in the box! And I'll reload the glitter content in the taped area!
Monday, October 3, 2011
Weekend Antics
What is a confronted bully to do?
Friday night, we arrived home around 10:30 to find Effie had left her favorite rubbish bin out of its "home" position. Sweetie, in a moment of fed-uppedness, addressed the open kitchen window and Effie standing at her kitchen sink, "Thanks for putting back the garbage can."
"You're welcome," came the snarky answer.
"You didn't put it back," he responded.
"Good night," she said as she slid the window shut a little harder than necessary.
"Good night, (real first name)!" I said in the neighborlyest voice I could muster.
And then I went inside, got my hockey stick tape, and taped a simple line around the base of her favorite rubbish bin. The tape has red maple leaves on a white background, so it looks nice and Canadian. Added to this, as promised, I scratched in pink chalk, "It goes here, (real first name)." And then, also as promised, I sprinkled lots of my glow-in-the-dark glitter inside the square created by the tape. I took a couple of photos. Thank heavens for the "night" setting on my little digi-cam.
I'm writing this on Monday evening; the bin has gone unmoved since Friday night. It's been raining, and there's a tell-tale dry spot in my taped square.
Saturday, we were out most of the day. When we arrived home late, again (we go to hockey games when our team plays at home), as we turned my car onto our street, Sweetie noticed the driver's side door of Effie's van was open. I decided to drive round the block to give her a chance to go inside without feeling the need to say something snarky at us. When I came back round, she still had her head in the van, and after we parked and headed toward our door, we could see that a man (!!) was in her doorway with either a bottle (like a beer bottle from which he may have been drinking) or a video camera in his hand. I wasn't going to gawk long enough to figure it out. None of my business.
That was, again, around 10:30 PM. By 11:00 or so, we were in bed with the telly on. I failed to look at the clock, but defnitely all the way during SNL (11:30PM - 1:00AM), there was a rythmic pounding on a wall coming from her side of the duplex. The pounding wasn't directly against the wall that separates each units master bedroom; but it was enough to be noticeable.
Sadly for Effie, I grew up in an apartment that had been built in haste. It had walls much thinner than these we have here. We both fell asleep with the pounding still going.
Sunday morning, Sweetie and I got up around 10AM. I think it was around 10:30 when we could hear Effie get up (you CAN hear a squeaky bedframe through these walls). The pounding resumed! With syncopation! By the time we went downstairs to go out for our errands, it sounded like the pounding was going on in her kitchen (right next to our living room). For a while, it sounded like she was hanging a picture.
Why hang a picture when you hate the place so much, you're planning to move?
Me, neither.
Friday night, we arrived home around 10:30 to find Effie had left her favorite rubbish bin out of its "home" position. Sweetie, in a moment of fed-uppedness, addressed the open kitchen window and Effie standing at her kitchen sink, "Thanks for putting back the garbage can."
"You're welcome," came the snarky answer.
"You didn't put it back," he responded.
"Good night," she said as she slid the window shut a little harder than necessary.
"Good night, (real first name)!" I said in the neighborlyest voice I could muster.
And then I went inside, got my hockey stick tape, and taped a simple line around the base of her favorite rubbish bin. The tape has red maple leaves on a white background, so it looks nice and Canadian. Added to this, as promised, I scratched in pink chalk, "It goes here, (real first name)." And then, also as promised, I sprinkled lots of my glow-in-the-dark glitter inside the square created by the tape. I took a couple of photos. Thank heavens for the "night" setting on my little digi-cam.
I'm writing this on Monday evening; the bin has gone unmoved since Friday night. It's been raining, and there's a tell-tale dry spot in my taped square.
Saturday, we were out most of the day. When we arrived home late, again (we go to hockey games when our team plays at home), as we turned my car onto our street, Sweetie noticed the driver's side door of Effie's van was open. I decided to drive round the block to give her a chance to go inside without feeling the need to say something snarky at us. When I came back round, she still had her head in the van, and after we parked and headed toward our door, we could see that a man (!!) was in her doorway with either a bottle (like a beer bottle from which he may have been drinking) or a video camera in his hand. I wasn't going to gawk long enough to figure it out. None of my business.
That was, again, around 10:30 PM. By 11:00 or so, we were in bed with the telly on. I failed to look at the clock, but defnitely all the way during SNL (11:30PM - 1:00AM), there was a rythmic pounding on a wall coming from her side of the duplex. The pounding wasn't directly against the wall that separates each units master bedroom; but it was enough to be noticeable.
Sadly for Effie, I grew up in an apartment that had been built in haste. It had walls much thinner than these we have here. We both fell asleep with the pounding still going.
Sunday morning, Sweetie and I got up around 10AM. I think it was around 10:30 when we could hear Effie get up (you CAN hear a squeaky bedframe through these walls). The pounding resumed! With syncopation! By the time we went downstairs to go out for our errands, it sounded like the pounding was going on in her kitchen (right next to our living room). For a while, it sounded like she was hanging a picture.
Why hang a picture when you hate the place so much, you're planning to move?
Me, neither.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Confronting the Bully
I realize today that Effie is a bully.
This morning, my Sweetie and I had to return to our abode to retrieve a forgotten bus pass. Effie was fussing in ...well, it's not even really part of her garden. It's part of that extra four feet of walkway she fails to recognize.
"That's a nice smile," she said--all the snark in her voice, as usual.
And then I let her have it. "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone."
In her complaint to the landlady, she said I was shouting. Nope, just a clear enough voice so I could be sure she was hearing. Definitely not my infamous "hockey-fan" voice.
"Leave YOU alone? You leave ME alone!" she retorted. Note here, please, that she repeated my command back to me, so I *knew* she heard it.
My Sweetie did the logical thing, namely asking what we'd done to her, "What exactly have we done to you?" And then she made her threat: "Oh, you'll find out later." (Sorry, she wasn't more specific, but a woman knows when another woman is making a threat.) Her voice was movie-sinister!
I repeated my command. "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone," and then encouaged Sweetie to follow me into the house, telling him in a softer voice, "We know who she is and what she's done. You'll never get a reasonable answer out of her." (Ref: The heroin drug mule charge from 1980. More on that later.)
We retrieved the bus pass and headed back out our door. By this time, Effie had passed our door. She said something about our needing a mirror to see our faces. (??) I repeated my command a third time, "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone." And then we turned and walked on our way back to our bus stop.
I was so proud of myself for standing up to the bully with the one weapon she couldn't fight: her real name.
***
I spent much of today wondering what her retaliatory activity would be. I should remember that she waits about two weeks for retaliation.
My Sweetie assuaged my worries by putting together an after-work conference call with the landlady. Indeed, as soon as Effie got back into her side of the duplex, she wrote a (probaby nasty) email to her, accusing the landlady of having shared her personal information with us. (Nope, Google!)
The upshot of our conversation: the landlady knew Effie's real name and about the house foreclosure. A background check showed "something minor." Apparently, the background check gave no details. She didn't know about the heroin and the drug mule charges. But it's logical that if she ratted out someone up higher in the supply chain, of course she would do it to get her own situation improved. Landlady (name) seemed surprised and interested to learn my evidence we have a true felon living next door. (I don't care what deals she made with the justice system; she was committing a felony and that's that!) She was also oddly amused at Effie's 6 AM "barbecue"--she, too, wondered what that was all about!
We're home now. Oddly, no evidence of tampering with our property has occurred. But it's dark, and we haven't gone out to the back patio. I fully expected something done to our vehicles. But even her favorite rubbish bin was left where the collectors would have left it.
Oh, and the landlady confessed she and her husband want to evict her--our state requires 60 days' notice based on the length of her tenancy. But they believed some story that Effie was going to have surgery of some sort in October. I en't buying it, of course. They were going to wait until January. They haven't yet promised a date, but they have agreed that it shouldn't wait that long, and that they should tell us as soon as they inform her, so we can watch out for the building and the property for them.
Meanwhile, the landlords are living in fear that Effie will destroy this property somehow. Ever see that movie, "Pacific Heights"? Weird tenant manages to completely destroy a rental property--and even take it over legally. Strange movie, but not completely impossible. But Effie has a record, so that's a little different.
Sweetie predicts Effie will leave the landlords no choice but to enact an "FED" (Forced Eviction Decree), which ties up money and time. Over a year, he says. (He used to work for a local county...knows a lot about this stuff.)
Shhh! Don't tell her!
This morning, my Sweetie and I had to return to our abode to retrieve a forgotten bus pass. Effie was fussing in ...well, it's not even really part of her garden. It's part of that extra four feet of walkway she fails to recognize.
"That's a nice smile," she said--all the snark in her voice, as usual.
And then I let her have it. "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone."
In her complaint to the landlady, she said I was shouting. Nope, just a clear enough voice so I could be sure she was hearing. Definitely not my infamous "hockey-fan" voice.
"Leave YOU alone? You leave ME alone!" she retorted. Note here, please, that she repeated my command back to me, so I *knew* she heard it.
My Sweetie did the logical thing, namely asking what we'd done to her, "What exactly have we done to you?" And then she made her threat: "Oh, you'll find out later." (Sorry, she wasn't more specific, but a woman knows when another woman is making a threat.) Her voice was movie-sinister!
I repeated my command. "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone," and then encouaged Sweetie to follow me into the house, telling him in a softer voice, "We know who she is and what she's done. You'll never get a reasonable answer out of her." (Ref: The heroin drug mule charge from 1980. More on that later.)
We retrieved the bus pass and headed back out our door. By this time, Effie had passed our door. She said something about our needing a mirror to see our faces. (??) I repeated my command a third time, "(Real first name) (real middle name) (real last name), leave us alone." And then we turned and walked on our way back to our bus stop.
I was so proud of myself for standing up to the bully with the one weapon she couldn't fight: her real name.
***
I spent much of today wondering what her retaliatory activity would be. I should remember that she waits about two weeks for retaliation.
My Sweetie assuaged my worries by putting together an after-work conference call with the landlady. Indeed, as soon as Effie got back into her side of the duplex, she wrote a (probaby nasty) email to her, accusing the landlady of having shared her personal information with us. (Nope, Google!)
The upshot of our conversation: the landlady knew Effie's real name and about the house foreclosure. A background check showed "something minor." Apparently, the background check gave no details. She didn't know about the heroin and the drug mule charges. But it's logical that if she ratted out someone up higher in the supply chain, of course she would do it to get her own situation improved. Landlady (name) seemed surprised and interested to learn my evidence we have a true felon living next door. (I don't care what deals she made with the justice system; she was committing a felony and that's that!) She was also oddly amused at Effie's 6 AM "barbecue"--she, too, wondered what that was all about!
We're home now. Oddly, no evidence of tampering with our property has occurred. But it's dark, and we haven't gone out to the back patio. I fully expected something done to our vehicles. But even her favorite rubbish bin was left where the collectors would have left it.
Oh, and the landlady confessed she and her husband want to evict her--our state requires 60 days' notice based on the length of her tenancy. But they believed some story that Effie was going to have surgery of some sort in October. I en't buying it, of course. They were going to wait until January. They haven't yet promised a date, but they have agreed that it shouldn't wait that long, and that they should tell us as soon as they inform her, so we can watch out for the building and the property for them.
Meanwhile, the landlords are living in fear that Effie will destroy this property somehow. Ever see that movie, "Pacific Heights"? Weird tenant manages to completely destroy a rental property--and even take it over legally. Strange movie, but not completely impossible. But Effie has a record, so that's a little different.
Sweetie predicts Effie will leave the landlords no choice but to enact an "FED" (Forced Eviction Decree), which ties up money and time. Over a year, he says. (He used to work for a local county...knows a lot about this stuff.)
Shhh! Don't tell her!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Muttering...Muttering...Muttering
We took the car with us when we left the house on Friday morning. Usually, we go out the back way to shave a little time off the walk to the bus stop, but as you know, the vehicles are INconveniently (for Effie) at the front.
There she was, doing Heaven Knows What in her little front porch garden. She knelt in--this is hard to erase from my memory--a very short red bathrobe of some sort. I remember bare legs. Sadly. As we walked past, minding our own business, she muttered, "Friendly neighbors!" as she rose and disappeared through her front door.
All we can think is that in that short getup she was airing out the, er, drug transport equipment. Shudder.
She fussed with her favorite bin three days in a row last week, but left them alone at the weekend. Tonight, the bin is where it belongs. I did buy that pink chalk and glow-in-the-dark glitter. No need for it today.
Yet.
There she was, doing Heaven Knows What in her little front porch garden. She knelt in--this is hard to erase from my memory--a very short red bathrobe of some sort. I remember bare legs. Sadly. As we walked past, minding our own business, she muttered, "Friendly neighbors!" as she rose and disappeared through her front door.
All we can think is that in that short getup she was airing out the, er, drug transport equipment. Shudder.
She fussed with her favorite bin three days in a row last week, but left them alone at the weekend. Tonight, the bin is where it belongs. I did buy that pink chalk and glow-in-the-dark glitter. No need for it today.
Yet.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Fun & Games & a Camera
Effie has been playing with our rubbish bins, again, yesterday and today. Sweetie also thinks she may have been fussing with his mail. (He didn't really say fussing.)
Never mind: I've got photos! Been carrying my faithful little digi-cam with me to capture the essence of Effie's antics.
I plan to buy some sidewalk chalk. I don't know if I have to choose a color, but I'm hoping to find pink. And glitter. Lots of glow-in the dark glitter! I plan to draw an outline around where her favorite bin belongs and write, "It goes here, (real first name)." If she "forgets" to put the bin back a second time, I'll add her real middle and last names. Third time, Heaven help us all, Sweetie will write a really businesslike "cease and desist" letter.
I do keep in mind we have reason to believe she's a felon and we know she's unbalanced. But I can't resist the call of the pink chalk and GLITTER! And a photograph of my artwork!
Never mind: I've got photos! Been carrying my faithful little digi-cam with me to capture the essence of Effie's antics.
I plan to buy some sidewalk chalk. I don't know if I have to choose a color, but I'm hoping to find pink. And glitter. Lots of glow-in the dark glitter! I plan to draw an outline around where her favorite bin belongs and write, "It goes here, (real first name)." If she "forgets" to put the bin back a second time, I'll add her real middle and last names. Third time, Heaven help us all, Sweetie will write a really businesslike "cease and desist" letter.
I do keep in mind we have reason to believe she's a felon and we know she's unbalanced. But I can't resist the call of the pink chalk and GLITTER! And a photograph of my artwork!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Rambling Epistle of August 2011 (with Facts!)
My partner has graciously granted me permission to transcribe the most recent Rambling Epistle (the one that led to my Google search) as I see fit. So, with no further ado, I shall present the text minus some of the crudities and real names.
Oh, and I'm doing my best to preserve the typos and poor punctuation practices. The whole, whiny missive gets a big "(sic)."
To The (misspelled)s, X and X
in the back unit of duplex at
from
(Alias First, Alias Last)
Tenant Obstruction and Lack of Civil, Courteous Communication
This morning as you left your house at 8 am I heard your door slam very loudly, and the female voice said "Leave my (stuff)alone". I thought you were having a domestic argument. So did some of my friends when I told them. I heard this just outside my kitchen window (4 feet from your door) while washing dishes. Then I thought, 'was that directed at me ?' Usually when a neighbor wants to tell another neighbor something, a phone call ora door knocking happens. The ONLY time you have EVER knocked upon my door in the two years I have lived here, was in October of 2009, when you wanted sympathy for your garage door being crow-barred open, its glass scattered and damaged in our back-alley parking spots. I notice since that day, your red truck and your other car never stays back there at night. It used to be there all the time because you do not use it. Mine van never did stay back there. Alleys are dangerous. I only load things there. Now you crowd all of our cars with the red truck and cause a lot of stress by leaving it there and rarely using it at all. It's hard for me to park around you. Three cars now stay in a spot which should only hold two; one for each unit of the duplex. It has always been ALL about YOU these last two years! Must be fun to feel so much more important that everyone else. I have to tell you - It's an illusion.
Quite frankly, your behavior remnds me of two teenaged girls in junior high school. Vindictive, arrogant, uncommunicative, plotting and ambushing in a passive aggressive manner. When I went out at 9 am this morning, I found my yard debris can moved to the street, directly in front of my car so that the other car could not move. I had to chuckle to myself again, ...teenagers, up to their tricks. You moved it - I watched you do it.
Okay, we need to stop here for a moment for a Fact Check.
1. "We" meaning my sweetie, knocked on her door on that one occasion not for sympathy, but rather to alert her to a crime. (The police came and took photos, btw. They were very nice.)
2. We NEVER placed the yard debris bin WE SHARE on the street. Not our style.
3. There's plenty of space for all three vehicles in the public street parking. There is no legal requirement to park in front of a particular building OR NOT. It's a popular complaint, but really, you can't require people not to park in front of your house. At least not in this jurisdiction.
4. Oh, and the "I watched you do it" part is the primary reason we avoid her: she's creepy and stares at us.
Back to the letter...
Why can't you simply be mature in your middle age and have a face to face discussion? If Landlady (name)can do it, why can't you? A kind voice asking a question of me, or making a request is something in two years of my residency here, I have NEVER heard out of you! That is, except for the very first day when you 'kindly instructed' me how ot talk to cats, after I told you that one tried to get in my door. You should know that I have great experience with all animals (hands on as well as observance) and their behaviors. Zoology and Naturalist studies figured large in my schooling. I told you that I was not a "cat person", but I should have said that I'm not a 'cat fanatic'. I was trying to be polite.
1. I was trying to be polite when I told her how to get rid of the cat without having to touch it--she indicated she was allergic to them. Oh, right, Cesar Millan doesn't cover cats.
2. One more reason we avoided her: from the "Day One" conversation, she hinted very strongly that she wanted my sweetie and me to carry her belongings in her move. Sweetie is in his fifties. He will risk his back for his friends, not a stranger from whom he got the creeps IMMEDIATELY. She made it clear that helping her move fell into her definition of "neighborly."
(Sweetie)'s letter written in early Fall of 2009, in reponse to my friendly, hand written, hand delivered note (which was clearly just meant to clarify what to do about the walkway and a couple of other shared issues), was quite arrogant and authoritarian in its demands and statements about our shared areas, and did not allow for a getting to know you as a neighbor, or your issues and feelings on a neighborly basis.
Another Fact Check
1. The Fall 2009 letter to which she refers (we'll hunt it down so you can see the text later) was neither friendly nor "neighborly." Rather, it was demanding and wildly off base--including her fantastical demand that we leave our porch light on for her all night, every night. (I referred to that in an earlier post.) That was also when she accused my sweetie of "storing" his vehicle in the public parking spot she coveted at the time--well before the garage door incident.
2. My sweetie's response was businesslike and took care to address issues that included potential liability risks we cared not to take. She asked if he were a lawyer. I'm so proud of his writing!
3. "Hand delivered" in her words actually translates to she placed it in our mailbox. That's a federal crime.
That's something I usually have with my neighbors.
Fact: All the neighbors around here are so mad at her, we still don't know who she means here. This includes those "friends" she claimed to have in the first paragraph.
Instead, it set a tone of rigid- mindedness. Don't you know that attitudes are contagious? You clearly were not at all interested in my issues with access on the sidewalk to my garage which passes right in front of your front door. You place trash cans there, on the 4 foot wide walkway, which obstruct anyone walking back to the garages - of course YOU do not need to access your garage, carrying things, from the back, so you could not care less about anyone else needing to. The trash cans obstruct the 4 foot path leaving only 22 INCHES in which I and my friends can move our pass, carrying boxes back and forth to my front door.
Fact Check
1. In Sweetie's letter, he stated quite clearly she was welcome to move the bins, and requested she please put them back when finished. The bins are placed there to discourage mail theft: packages are left in clear view on our front step.
2. Fact she actually got right: we are not at all interested in any of her issues. She is spot-on: attitudes are contagious: hers. You worked that one out, right?
3. Her measurements are fairly accurate, however she takes into account only the cement portion of the walkway. She fails to acknowledge that there is a sawdust-covered area parallel to the cement that affords another four feet of passable walkway that has no plants. Maybe it's a gardening thing. She IS the botanist...
4. We have yet to see her actually carry a box. Just sayin'.
22 inches is just not acceptable!!!. I have moved your trash cans many, many times, and put them back, as you wished. Once in a while, I forget because of a phone call or other distraction or the need to continue moving boxes that same day. I'm usually pretty considerate of others.But whenI have to listen to a screaming high-school banshee saying..." Put theback----PUT IT BACK!! " I can only feel sorry for someone who never grew up and learned common courtesy. And then I have to laugh at the whole situation and the ridulousness of it all! What a waste of energy.
Fact Check
1. You get the bit about the walkway. There are EIGHT feet of unobstructed walkway, except where our porch steps and the offending rubbish bins occupy the same spots they did before she moved in.
2. The only reason I shouted my instruction to her was because she's waaaay too creepy to approach. And I remembered the aforementioned landlady's husband discovered she doesn't like coarse language. She had been on my last nerve. Whats a barking banshee to do?
3. "What a waste of energy." Um...you mean like a rambly, whiny letter?
Ha! I have been wanting to move away from here for a long, time. Since February of 2010.knows this. I stopped looking for the place, which has what I need, when I hurt my foot. Now, with other health issues pending, I have to postpone a little while longer -so- that's unfortunate for ALL of us. The know I am leaving and you can get your info from them.
Fact Check
1. The landlords told us she pushed six months' rent in cash at them when she moved in--as we now know after her foreclosure. She was going to be out in six months. Her constant complaining moved the landlord, who is not mentioned in this missive, invited her to move the out. I believe he told us about that episode within her first month here.
2. The landlords have also told us that her "needs" include a lack of stairs. Both units in this duplex are on two levels. She knew that when she moved in. Her house had a basement, but maybe she didn't use it. One of her more entertaining claims was that she found a place to live, but it burned down! And then she was interested in another place but somehow the owners' divorce got in the way. It's hard to find a place when you're living under an alias, I guess.
3. Oh, and one more little thing: if she wants to move out, why did she plant a garden along her front porch and a few plants in the alley way? And why is she asking that a large, well-established Douglas Fir tree be removed from the alley way. If she's moving, it's not her problem.
4. She has volunteered with "Friends of Trees." LOL.
This neighborhood has more loud, barking dogs and dog fights constantly, (-every day an devery night and all day long), and it has more ignorant people in close proximity to me who do not know how to rehab a neurotic dog than I have ever lived around in my entire life. They have never even heard of Cesar Millan. Even some of the neighbors bark too much! There is no sun to grow my plants; there are insects and black aphids dropping from the weeping willow tree on the plants in my rockyscrabble soil, shaded on my tiny patio pad -- heick! There is not much to keep me interested in living here! So worry not! I am going away. You will still have to be considerate to the next tenant who uses that sidewalk that you blithely obstruct. I highly recommend that you approach them face to face "in person" and do not write an arrogant, aloof, ice-cold, postal delivered letter to get your way with your co-tenant whose door is 10 steps away from your own and who has tried to be friendly and civil with you.
Getting your own way at a duplex is insanity. A duplex has common areas and is meant to be shared. Parking and walkways, in our case. People need to communicate and to compromise in a pleasant way. When you don't, it makes for discord. Do you like discord? Its time to grow up and stop trying to get your way by stomping your feet, shouting and swearing and slamming doors. You must be way over 40 by now. Time to join the adult world.
By the way, I am constantly answering my doorbell when males ring it asking me over and over again about your ubiquitous Red Truck. I'm getting tired of that. Its been two years now. Put a sign in the thing, saying NOT FOR SALE, will you, please? Your truck is right in front of my door.
I'm also tired of hand delivering some of your endlessly arriving packages to your doorstep when a careless mail delivery person drops them at MY door! It's happened more than 7 times in two years. Thats too much to do for unfriendly people. Do I get a "thank you" ? Or should I return to sender?
Fact Check
1. If we're not aware which packages she drops on our doorstep with the correctly delivered packages, how do we know for what we should express gratitude?
2. She fails to recall the ONE large box of hers that landed on our doorstep. Sweetie placed it gently on her front porch and CALLED (!!) her to notify her that it was there, since it was early evening and she failed to answer a KNOCK on her door and a DOORBELL RING.
3. "Getting your own way at a duplex is insanity." Gosh, I wish I had that first "neighborly" demand letter right now to agree with her 100%. She walked into that one.
You are very lucky that I am not a bar-hopping alcoholic, because if I was, I would be going all over town and talking about your behavior.
Fact Check:
1. Huh? When did alcohol come into this? I've taken great pains in this blog not to be drinking alcohol and not to mention names or identifiable locations. I know what libel is! Does she know what slander is?
2. I think I've failed to mention that the landlords both have observed drunken behavior from Effie. We suspect she was in that particular state when she composed this diatribe. Just speculation.
You might have more problems than just an occasionally moved trash can to deal with. Like perhaps your doorbell being rung at all hours of the night.
Make up your mind, Effie! Doorbell? No doorbell? The "males" can't see the red truck in the dark.
I'll be out of here before you know it and then you can live happily ever after. Please be considerate to whomever shares your duplex after me. Visiting grief upon a fellow neighbor is illegal. Peaceful enjoyment is my right. Between you barking and parking, and the neighbor to the west with the incessantly yapping rat dogs, I have not had much enjoyment in two years. Congratulations. Job well done.
thank you,
cc/
Let's review:
To date we have done the following:
Not played loud music or telly.
Not burned anything on our back porch.
Not done anything to prevent her from moving the infernal rubbish bins.
Not held ANY parties, let alone loud parties.
Not been nuisances in any way--unless avoidance is a type of nuisance?
Not given in to her demands. (I'll find that first epistle!)
I shouted at her at least two weeks prior to this missive. On only two occasions, well during daylight hours. I could have been shouting at the "yapping rat dog" for all anyone would care. (The dog does bark, but that's her way of communicating. It's not constant; it's no more than a human would talk.)
Her claim that we have in any way infringed upon her right to peaceful enjoyment is completely baseless. Except in those two occasions, for which I am not in the least sorry.
BTW: If she places one more "neighborly" letter in our mailbox illegally, I will personally call the postal customer service and let them send her the "cease and desist" letter they told me about. Addressed to her real first, middle, and last names to be certain there is no mistaking who we mean.
Oh, and I'm doing my best to preserve the typos and poor punctuation practices. The whole, whiny missive gets a big "(sic)."
August 24, 2011Tenant to Tenant Letter - August 2011
To The (misspelled)
in the back unit of duplex at
from
(Alias First, Alias Last)
Tenant Obstruction and Lack of Civil, Courteous Communication
This morning as you left your house at 8 am I heard your door slam very loudly, and the female voice said "Leave my (stuff)
Quite frankly, your behavior remnds me of two teenaged girls in junior high school. Vindictive, arrogant, uncommunicative, plotting and ambushing in a passive aggressive manner. When I went out at 9 am this morning, I found my yard debris can moved to the street, directly in front of my car so that the other car could not move. I had to chuckle to myself again, ...teenagers, up to their tricks. You moved it - I watched you do it.
Okay, we need to stop here for a moment for a Fact Check.
1. "We" meaning my sweetie, knocked on her door on that one occasion not for sympathy, but rather to alert her to a crime. (The police came and took photos, btw. They were very nice.)
2. We NEVER placed the yard debris bin WE SHARE on the street. Not our style.
3. There's plenty of space for all three vehicles in the public street parking. There is no legal requirement to park in front of a particular building OR NOT. It's a popular complaint, but really, you can't require people not to park in front of your house. At least not in this jurisdiction.
4. Oh, and the "I watched you do it" part is the primary reason we avoid her: she's creepy and stares at us.
Back to the letter...
Why can't you simply be mature in your middle age and have a face to face discussion? If Landlady (name)
1. I was trying to be polite when I told her how to get rid of the cat without having to touch it--she indicated she was allergic to them. Oh, right, Cesar Millan doesn't cover cats.
2. One more reason we avoided her: from the "Day One" conversation, she hinted very strongly that she wanted my sweetie and me to carry her belongings in her move. Sweetie is in his fifties. He will risk his back for his friends, not a stranger from whom he got the creeps IMMEDIATELY. She made it clear that helping her move fell into her definition of "neighborly."
Another Fact Check
1. The Fall 2009 letter to which she refers (we'll hunt it down so you can see the text later) was neither friendly nor "neighborly." Rather, it was demanding and wildly off base--including her fantastical demand that we leave our porch light on for her all night, every night. (I referred to that in an earlier post.) That was also when she accused my sweetie of "storing" his vehicle in the public parking spot she coveted at the time--well before the garage door incident.
2. My sweetie's response was businesslike and took care to address issues that included potential liability risks we cared not to take. She asked if he were a lawyer. I'm so proud of his writing!
3. "Hand delivered" in her words actually translates to she placed it in our mailbox. That's a federal crime.
That's something I usually have with my neighbors.
Fact: All the neighbors around here are so mad at her, we still don't know who she means here. This includes those "friends" she claimed to have in the first paragraph.
Instead, it set a tone of rigid- mindedness. Don't you know that attitudes are contagious? You clearly were not at all interested in my issues with access on the sidewalk to my garage which passes right in front of your front door. You place trash cans there, on the 4 foot wide walkway, which obstruct anyone walking back to the garages - of course YOU do not need to access your garage, carrying things, from the back, so you could not care less about anyone else needing to. The trash cans obstruct the 4 foot path leaving only 22 INCHES in which I and my friends can move our pass, carrying boxes back and forth to my front door.
Fact Check
1. In Sweetie's letter, he stated quite clearly she was welcome to move the bins, and requested she please put them back when finished. The bins are placed there to discourage mail theft: packages are left in clear view on our front step.
2. Fact she actually got right: we are not at all interested in any of her issues. She is spot-on: attitudes are contagious: hers. You worked that one out, right?
3. Her measurements are fairly accurate, however she takes into account only the cement portion of the walkway. She fails to acknowledge that there is a sawdust-covered area parallel to the cement that affords another four feet of passable walkway that has no plants. Maybe it's a gardening thing. She IS the botanist...
4. We have yet to see her actually carry a box. Just sayin'.
22 inches is just not acceptable!!!. I have moved your trash cans many, many times, and put them back, as you wished. Once in a while, I forget because of a phone call or other distraction or the need to continue moving boxes that same day. I'm usually pretty considerate of others.But whenI have to listen to a screaming high-school banshee saying..." Put the
Fact Check
1. You get the bit about the walkway. There are EIGHT feet of unobstructed walkway, except where our porch steps and the offending rubbish bins occupy the same spots they did before she moved in.
2. The only reason I shouted my instruction to her was because she's waaaay too creepy to approach. And I remembered the aforementioned landlady's husband discovered she doesn't like coarse language. She had been on my last nerve. Whats a barking banshee to do?
3. "What a waste of energy." Um...you mean like a rambly, whiny letter?
Ha! I have been wanting to move away from here for a long, time. Since February of 2010.
Fact Check
1. The landlords told us she pushed six months' rent in cash at them when she moved in--as we now know after her foreclosure. She was going to be out in six months. Her constant complaining moved the landlord, who is not mentioned in this missive, invited her to move the
2. The landlords have also told us that her "needs" include a lack of stairs. Both units in this duplex are on two levels. She knew that when she moved in. Her house had a basement, but maybe she didn't use it. One of her more entertaining claims was that she found a place to live, but it burned down! And then she was interested in another place but somehow the owners' divorce got in the way. It's hard to find a place when you're living under an alias, I guess.
3. Oh, and one more little thing: if she wants to move out, why did she plant a garden along her front porch and a few plants in the alley way? And why is she asking that a large, well-established Douglas Fir tree be removed from the alley way. If she's moving, it's not her problem.
4. She has volunteered with "Friends of Trees." LOL.
This neighborhood has more loud, barking dogs and dog fights constantly, (-every day an devery night and all day long), and it has more ignorant people in close proximity to me who do not know how to rehab a neurotic dog than I have ever lived around in my entire life. They have never even heard of Cesar Millan. Even some of the neighbors bark too much! There is no sun to grow my plants; there are insects and black aphids dropping from the weeping willow tree on the plants in my rocky
Getting your own way at a duplex is insanity. A duplex has common areas and is meant to be shared. Parking and walkways, in our case. People need to communicate and to compromise in a pleasant way. When you don't, it makes for discord. Do you like discord? Its time to grow up and stop trying to get your way by stomping your feet, shouting and swearing and slamming doors. You must be way over 40 by now. Time to join the adult world.
By the way, I am constantly answering my doorbell when males ring it asking me over and over again about your ubiquitous Red Truck. I'm getting tired of that. Its been two years now. Put a sign in the thing, saying NOT FOR SALE, will you, please? Your truck is right in front of my door.
I'm also tired of hand delivering some of your endlessly arriving packages to your doorstep when a careless mail delivery person drops them at MY door! It's happened more than 7 times in two years. Thats too much to do for unfriendly people. Do I get a "thank you" ? Or should I return to sender?
Fact Check
1. If we're not aware which packages she drops on our doorstep with the correctly delivered packages, how do we know for what we should express gratitude?
2. She fails to recall the ONE large box of hers that landed on our doorstep. Sweetie placed it gently on her front porch and CALLED (!!) her to notify her that it was there, since it was early evening and she failed to answer a KNOCK on her door and a DOORBELL RING.
3. "Getting your own way at a duplex is insanity." Gosh, I wish I had that first "neighborly" demand letter right now to agree with her 100%. She walked into that one.
You are very lucky that I am not a bar-hopping alcoholic, because if I was, I would be going all over town and talking about your behavior.
Fact Check:
1. Huh? When did alcohol come into this? I've taken great pains in this blog not to be drinking alcohol and not to mention names or identifiable locations. I know what libel is! Does she know what slander is?
2. I think I've failed to mention that the landlords both have observed drunken behavior from Effie. We suspect she was in that particular state when she composed this diatribe. Just speculation.
You might have more problems than just an occasionally moved trash can to deal with. Like perhaps your doorbell being rung at all hours of the night.
Make up your mind, Effie! Doorbell? No doorbell? The "males" can't see the red truck in the dark.
I'll be out of here before you know it and then you can live happily ever after. Please be considerate to whomever shares your duplex after me. Visiting grief upon a fellow neighbor is illegal. Peaceful enjoyment is my right. Between you barking and parking, and the neighbor to the west with the incessantly yapping rat dogs, I have not had much enjoyment in two years. Congratulations. Job well done.
thank you,
cc/
Let's review:
To date we have done the following:
Not played loud music or telly.
Not burned anything on our back porch.
Not done anything to prevent her from moving the infernal rubbish bins.
Not held ANY parties, let alone loud parties.
Not been nuisances in any way--unless avoidance is a type of nuisance?
Not given in to her demands. (I'll find that first epistle!)
I shouted at her at least two weeks prior to this missive. On only two occasions, well during daylight hours. I could have been shouting at the "yapping rat dog" for all anyone would care. (The dog does bark, but that's her way of communicating. It's not constant; it's no more than a human would talk.)
Her claim that we have in any way infringed upon her right to peaceful enjoyment is completely baseless. Except in those two occasions, for which I am not in the least sorry.
BTW: If she places one more "neighborly" letter in our mailbox illegally, I will personally call the postal customer service and let them send her the "cease and desist" letter they told me about. Addressed to her real first, middle, and last names to be certain there is no mistaking who we mean.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Barbecue at 6AM?
This very morning, in the pitch-black darkness, my sweetie stepped out on our back patio to perform acts of tobacco inhalation. No lights were on in either our patio or Effie's. This is important.
He observed flames shooting up at least four feet high (no exaggeration here), visible through the fence that divides our patio from hers. The flames died down a bit, but then picked up again. There was no noise, such as the sound of lighter fluid cans being squeezed or any type of rustling about. He did much better than I would have done when he asked, POLITELY, "May I ask what you are doing?"
There was no immediate reply, which concerned him. He thought it may be an arsonist. Our back alleyway was recently targeted by an arsonist who set fire to a neighbor's shrubbery, so his concern was not unfounded.
Quietly, the sarcastic response came over the fence, "If you're talking to me, I do have a name."
Oh boy, do we EVER know her name! Here we must digress for a few moments.
After Effie wrote that recent Rambling Epistle, which included her first and last names (first time we had that bit), I did a little Google search. Not only did I find she's living under an alias, she also apparently has a record! Short version: a woman bearing her same (legal) name was detained in a major west coast airport (that just happens to be in the same city where Effie grew up) for seven hours on a return from Thailand before the customs folk got a search warrant and an x-ray after which she opted to remove the packet of HEROIN from her, er, nether regions.
Interestingly enough, my Google-ventures also led me to find an interesting gap in (definitely Effie's) Linked In profile during that same time and a few years afterward. Also, she mentions having traveled to Thailand. Thus far, I have been unable to prove myself wrong. I have serious reason to believe our girl is a drug mule felon!
Less interestingly, she moved here because her house -- which she had to buy under her legal name (small world!) -- was foreclosed on in the Countrywide scam. If she were nicer, I'd feel sorrier for her. I do feel a little sorry for her. Very little. Oh, and so much for her story about having to sell her house...that was from Day One.
Back to this morning's encounter.
Effie: "If you're talking to me, I have a name..."
and some grot about "you've never been nice" and "it could have been so much better if you had been nice..."
Sweetie "My niceness is immaterial."
Effie: Of course it's immaterial. It's always all about you.
Sweetie: Listen, I saw open flames and was concerned. (Good on him for not biting on her attack!)
Effie: "It's a barbecue I've had for years."
???
He said, "Well, thank you," and left it at that and went into the house.
We're waiting for another shoe to drop. She tends to wait several days before doing something stupid in retaliation for imaginary affronts. Or was this an "ambush?" I can't keep up with her twisted imagination and flights of fancy. Maybe I shouldn't use the word "flight" in conjunction with her...
Stay tuned!
He observed flames shooting up at least four feet high (no exaggeration here), visible through the fence that divides our patio from hers. The flames died down a bit, but then picked up again. There was no noise, such as the sound of lighter fluid cans being squeezed or any type of rustling about. He did much better than I would have done when he asked, POLITELY, "May I ask what you are doing?"
There was no immediate reply, which concerned him. He thought it may be an arsonist. Our back alleyway was recently targeted by an arsonist who set fire to a neighbor's shrubbery, so his concern was not unfounded.
Quietly, the sarcastic response came over the fence, "If you're talking to me, I do have a name."
Oh boy, do we EVER know her name! Here we must digress for a few moments.
After Effie wrote that recent Rambling Epistle, which included her first and last names (first time we had that bit), I did a little Google search. Not only did I find she's living under an alias, she also apparently has a record! Short version: a woman bearing her same (legal) name was detained in a major west coast airport (that just happens to be in the same city where Effie grew up) for seven hours on a return from Thailand before the customs folk got a search warrant and an x-ray after which she opted to remove the packet of HEROIN from her, er, nether regions.
Interestingly enough, my Google-ventures also led me to find an interesting gap in (definitely Effie's) Linked In profile during that same time and a few years afterward. Also, she mentions having traveled to Thailand. Thus far, I have been unable to prove myself wrong. I have serious reason to believe our girl is a drug mule felon!
Less interestingly, she moved here because her house -- which she had to buy under her legal name (small world!) -- was foreclosed on in the Countrywide scam. If she were nicer, I'd feel sorrier for her. I do feel a little sorry for her. Very little. Oh, and so much for her story about having to sell her house...that was from Day One.
Back to this morning's encounter.
Effie: "If you're talking to me, I have a name..."
and some grot about "you've never been nice" and "it could have been so much better if you had been nice..."
Sweetie "My niceness is immaterial."
Effie: Of course it's immaterial. It's always all about you.
Sweetie: Listen, I saw open flames and was concerned. (Good on him for not biting on her attack!)
Effie: "It's a barbecue I've had for years."
???
He said, "Well, thank you," and left it at that and went into the house.
We're waiting for another shoe to drop. She tends to wait several days before doing something stupid in retaliation for imaginary affronts. Or was this an "ambush?" I can't keep up with her twisted imagination and flights of fancy. Maybe I shouldn't use the word "flight" in conjunction with her...
Stay tuned!
Monday, September 12, 2011
One More Thing
I've begun taking photos of where we find our rubbish bin. I think I've figured out how to post a photo, but for reasons to be explained in a separate post, I shan't do it just today. Hint: she's more than just a nutter; she's a nutter with a past. Found it using the Google.
Oh, the Things I Forgot!
As you know from the sparse information I've provided thus far, Effie likes to complain about the (public) parking sitch. It occurred to me recently that I forgot about the time we had a complaint about her parking. And I have photos.
According to my camera, on 10 August 2010 we arrived home from work to find she had backed herself so close to the bumper of my sweetie's pickup truck (just a little Nissan jobbie, not one of those that is indicative of discomfort with his hairline)...well, let's just say with that kind of laser-measurement precision we weren't buying her argument in that first letter that she had any kind of "nerve damage" we'd heard of.
(Sorry for the disjointed blogging, but in her letter in which she first complained of the parking, she claimed to have nerve damage and limited ability to see out of her nearly-windowless van.)
If memory serves, her van was in the "front" spot, truck was behind that, and my car was behind that (illegally in the curb cut, but there's no driveway and no one has enforced). This is important because he was truly blocked in. If I hadn't been there with my keys (only one set...I know, not smart), he couldn't get out.
Okay, so he called her on the phone. I heard his voice getting a little agitated--but he was remaining polite and businesslike. When I heard him comment something like, "That's completely beside the point," I started channelling my departed father, an attorney. What would he suggest? Yup: Get photos!
All he asked was for her to move up her van a couple of feet. We found out that she had (this still makes me laugh til my abs feel in really great shape) "lined up her passenger window with the front walk" so we understood why she had left such a ridiculous amount of space in front of her. But she was refusing to move the vehicle until it was convenient for her. We're talking about 8:00 PM; it wasn't quite completely dark, yet.
Long story much shortened: it's amazing how fast a van can be moved when a camera flash is visible.
Since then, she's been parking in the curb-cutout spot, even when BOTH of our vehicles are out.
Oh, even if I could figure out how to post the best photos here, I'm afraid to do it. That's for another post.
According to my camera, on 10 August 2010 we arrived home from work to find she had backed herself so close to the bumper of my sweetie's pickup truck (just a little Nissan jobbie, not one of those that is indicative of discomfort with his hairline)...well, let's just say with that kind of laser-measurement precision we weren't buying her argument in that first letter that she had any kind of "nerve damage" we'd heard of.
(Sorry for the disjointed blogging, but in her letter in which she first complained of the parking, she claimed to have nerve damage and limited ability to see out of her nearly-windowless van
If memory serves, her van was in the "front" spot, truck was behind that, and my car was behind that (illegally in the curb cut, but there's no driveway and no one has enforced). This is important because he was truly blocked in. If I hadn't been there with my keys (only one set...I know, not smart), he couldn't get out.
Okay, so he called her on the phone. I heard his voice getting a little agitated--but he was remaining polite and businesslike. When I heard him comment something like, "That's completely beside the point," I started channelling my departed father, an attorney. What would he suggest? Yup: Get photos!
All he asked was for her to move up her van a couple of feet. We found out that she had (this still makes me laugh til my abs feel in really great shape) "lined up her passenger window with the front walk" so we understood why she had left such a ridiculous amount of space in front of her. But she was refusing to move the vehicle until it was convenient for her. We're talking about 8:00 PM; it wasn't quite completely dark, yet.
Long story much shortened: it's amazing how fast a van can be moved when a camera flash is visible.
Since then, she's been parking in the curb-cutout spot, even when BOTH of our vehicles are out.
Oh, even if I could figure out how to post the best photos here, I'm afraid to do it. That's for another post.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Still Obsessing Over Rubbish Bins
A couple of days ago, we got another missive placed in our mailbox. (Illegal, btw.) Another diatribe written on her computer. I'd like to post the entire content, but it wasn't technically addressed to me. At least it seems that despite my failing to preface my remarks to her through the magic of Hockey-Fan Voice with "DumbA$$" she managed to get the message I don't want her messing with our, er, stuff. Meaning our rubbish bins, to use the splendid Englishism.
Effie has outdone herself. The letter starts with a complaint about the "loud female voice" (thank you, two weeks later) outside her kitchen window (where she likes to watch our comings and goings--our front door is right next to it) and wanders off into accusations of "ambush" and passive aggression. She accuses us of acting like teenagers. So funny. I need to carry a mirror with me so she can see who's really to blame for her own misery. She never once mentioned the part in which I also told her in that "loud female voice" to stop staring at us long enough to leave our (stuff) alone.
She goes on to accuse all of our neighbors of having barking dogs and being too ignorant to have heard of Ceasar Millan. Apparently, she's a cable telly watcher. Miss Smarty-Pants apparently hasn't balanced her source of truth with Victoria Stilwell or Temple Grandin. Yup, read 'em, even though I've never owned a dog. I should mail her my copy of "Animals Make Us Human" in which Grandin directly disagrees with Millan. Too high-brow a thought? Maybe.
Best part of all of this: the letter is copied to the landlords--but only to the wife. The husband is subject to these same accusations, too!
Time for us to hire a U-Haul truck and let her think we're moving. We have enough stuff to donate; it would be worth the money.
Effie has outdone herself. The letter starts with a complaint about the "loud female voice" (thank you, two weeks later) outside her kitchen window (where she likes to watch our comings and goings--our front door is right next to it) and wanders off into accusations of "ambush" and passive aggression. She accuses us of acting like teenagers. So funny. I need to carry a mirror with me so she can see who's really to blame for her own misery. She never once mentioned the part in which I also told her in that "loud female voice" to stop staring at us long enough to leave our (stuff) alone.
She goes on to accuse all of our neighbors of having barking dogs and being too ignorant to have heard of Ceasar Millan. Apparently, she's a cable telly watcher. Miss Smarty-Pants apparently hasn't balanced her source of truth with Victoria Stilwell or Temple Grandin. Yup, read 'em, even though I've never owned a dog. I should mail her my copy of "Animals Make Us Human" in which Grandin directly disagrees with Millan. Too high-brow a thought? Maybe.
Best part of all of this: the letter is copied to the landlords--but only to the wife. The husband is subject to these same accusations, too!
Time for us to hire a U-Haul truck and let her think we're moving. We have enough stuff to donate; it would be worth the money.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
No Kindergarten Background, I guess
We can QUANTIFY stupid on this one.
Effie failed to put our trash bin back after she moved it to do Heaven-knows-what this past Monday. So, of course, I shouted in my most convincing voice. I'd prefer not to repeat the language here, but suffice it to say, I recommended she spend less time staring at us and more time leaving our (stuff) alone.
For the past couple of evenings, the bin has been in its customary place, but it's been turned 90 degrees in one direction or another each time. We can add childish to the descriptors for her.
Effie failed to put our trash bin back after she moved it to do Heaven-knows-what this past Monday. So, of course, I shouted in my most convincing voice. I'd prefer not to repeat the language here, but suffice it to say, I recommended she spend less time staring at us and more time leaving our (stuff) alone.
For the past couple of evenings, the bin has been in its customary place, but it's been turned 90 degrees in one direction or another each time. We can add childish to the descriptors for her.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Too Much to Catch Up!
In the nearly-year since I last blogged, "Effie" has done some HILARIOUS things.
- Wanted us to leave a particular PUBLIC STREET parking spot for her. (And lots of it.)
- Wanted us to leave our porch light on for her use. (Not accepting that exciting opportunity or that liability, thanks.)
- Gave up on the first parking space she wanted, especially because she realized there's a utility wire directly overhead. Now she wants the owner of the house next door to have her utility wires moved so birds won't leave "presents" on her van. (That's what your garage is for, Effie.)
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