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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