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. 

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.

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.)

It's too much.  I'm laughing too hard to continue.

Effie's Excellent Move

Effie called and asked us to move our cars the next day to make room for a truck.  On our answerphone, while we were at work.  So we did.  She never said HOW FAR she wanted us to move the cars.  Second answerphone message was her complaining we hadn't made enough room for a REALLY BIG truck.  While we were at work.

Clueless?

Let's Meet Effie, Botanist Extraordinaire!

Here it is! Another blog I've been intending to write.

I think life isn't truly complete 'til you've been in love and had a nutty neighbor. Not necessarily at the same time.

Current nutty neighbor should have a name. Let's call her Effegenia. Effie for short. Appropos on a dodgier level. I'm trying not to go there.

Effie moved into our duplex about a year ago. She moved in literally on the heels of the family with small children that moved out only hours before her arrival. She introduced herself that day. Boy, did she ever.

That day, my partner and I were surrounded by CDs we were reorganizing. We made a point of introducing ourselves, and she proceeded to tell us she was living alone, had needed to sell her house quickly, and that she had an educational background in botany. And everything else small talk brought up. But her specialty apparently was plants! And she wanted to get the landlord to let her have the entire front landscaping removed so she could 'redo' it. We didn't share quite so much information with her. Thank Ceiling Cat.

Within the first week, she had hacked off branches from a cherry tree in the front yard and parked her big, ugly brown van on the front lawn.

Plant expert, eh?