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?
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