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.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
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.
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