Tag Archives: neighbors

Stuck In the Middle with You

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I live in kind of an odd neighborhood.  The houses are new, big and cheap, by California standards.  (I saw a sign the other day for a 6000 sq ft luxury home for $230k — madness!)  The neighborhood overall is pretty quiet (except for when the middle school down the street lets out and all the little pubescent hooligans are walking home) and in general, I like it.

I really like our house, but the surrounding commercial/retail area is kind of… meh. Shabby. Run down. I call it a Living Ghost Town because there was so much development and expansion in this area pre-Bush, but when the economy bottomed out, it hit North Las Vegas pretty hard.  So there are lots of new commercial buildings and strip malls that are empty with for lease signs all over.  The only close grocery is Walmart because all the others couldn’t compete and closed down. It’s a little depressing.  But, I just keep telling myself that I’m spoiled coming from Southern California. San Diego is probably one of the best cities in the world, certainly in the United States,  and a fairly affluent one at that, so I’m trying not to judge.

You can stop laughing.

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The Friendly Pedophile

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So, I have this neighbor –  he’s an older man, probably in his late 60′s, maybe even 70′s.  I sometimes run into him on the stairwell or in the parking lot, bringing in our groceries or whatever.

He’s always been super friendly. My front door is right at the top of the stairwell, so I often see him walk by through my ‘ice cube glass’ windows near my desk.  When I moved in, he complimented me on the happiness my yellow hibiscus brought him when it bloomed.  And I thought how nice it was that someone even noticed besides me.  He looked like a nice old man, what I envision a “grandpa” to be.

Cut to a week or so later, when I’m tempted into downloading a Sex Offender Locator app for my iPhone. You can see where this is going.  Grandpa indeed.

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Mr. No-No and the 4 a.m. Honker

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Last May, I moved into a new apartment complex.  It’s kinda schmancy and overall, I have very little to complain about except perhaps the rent price and the dude downstairs who has a penchant for action movies and a deep, personal relationship with his surround sound.  And maybe the Tacky Water People.  And the Friendly Pedophile.  But I digress.

When I moved in, I was given one covered parking space on the end, very close to my stairs. Score! To my right is parked a white Miata, circa 1992 or so. It’s in 1992 condition… not bad, but certainly not cherry.

The day after I moved in, while I was unloading things from my (2009) Matrix, a man in a pith helmet with the mullet flaps on the back sidles up to me with this hands clasped behind his back, like he was ice skating in a Rockwell painting.

“So you just moved in, huh?” he says.

“Yes, just yesterday,” I replied.

And then, with a weird knowing grin and the tone of someone hosting a children’s storytime, he said, “Ok, well, don’t you go dinging my car now.”  (wink) “I keep a close eye on my baby,” gesturing to the Miata.

I laughed politely and ribbed him a bit back, assuming he was just trying to be cute. “It’s a deal. Wouldn’t want to mar such a classic!”  Then I wished him a good day and off I went up the stairs.

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Prickafornia

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So can we talk about my neighbors some more?  It seems no matter where I go, I end up with at least one subpar neighbor.  I had to ask mikey if maybe it was me — perhaps I’m doing something that makes the neighbors jerky, or maybe I have unrealistic expectations, but he insists it’s them.

Remember the Tacky Water Bottle people from across the hall?  Well, last Friday, I received a notice on my door from the apartment management, letting me know I’m in violation of their “common areas” policies with my water bottles.  While I wasn’t thrilled to hear this — I mean, where else are you supposed to keep them in an apartment? — if that’s their policy and I’m in violation, fine. I’ll figure something out.

So I called the office to let them know I was going to comply and ask for suggestions on where I might keep them, since it’s a month’s worth of water.  I was connected with the manager, who informed me that I was issued the violation primarily because there were “several complaints” about my water bottles “blowing over and rolling down the hallways very noisily” and neighbors were having to “round them up” for me.

I like to consider myself a lady, but I have to quote my father here and cry, “Horseshit!”  Total, utter nonsense.  And I told her so. I said, “I’m happy to comply with your policies if that is the case. It’s not the most convenient thing, but if that’s your rule, that’s how it goes.  However, I can tell you with about 99.9% accuracy that those ‘reports’ are hogwash. I am home all day, every day and my desk is right on the other side of the ice cube glass window/wall from those bottles.  I sit right there.  If there were anything blowing anywhere, especially noisily, I would have heard it. If there were someone out there rounding up my anything, I would have seen them.  I know you can’t tell me who it is, nor do I really want you to, but if it’s the neighbors across the hall, I have an idea of what this is about. “  Then I briefly recapped the interaction on the 4th of July.

She told me I can store the bottles on my patio and I, as obviously retaliatory as it was, informed the management that “if we’re going to go there”, then the neighbors across the hall aren’t exactly angels, rummaging around in their storage unit (in the common area of the hallway) loudly at 1am every night. I also mentioned the constant stream people going in and out of their apartment loudly (which is directly across from the ‘ice cube glass’ wall, so I’m constantly distracted by it), multiple times, at all hours of the day from dawn until midnight, causing me to speculate how many people actually live there.  I also mentioned that their guests occasionally peer in my glass wall/window, sometimes even putting their hands up to block the side glare.  Into my apartment! They can’t see anything, even with the lights on, except shapes, but I feel kind of skeeved by that!   I told her that other than that one interaction, I’d never spoken with them and didn’t want to start a feud with my neighbors, but that I wouldn’t stand for fabrications and again, “if we’re going to go there”, then I would also no longer stand for morons peering into my apartment.

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If It Were On Cinderblocks, She Might Have a Case

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So I was just climbing the stairs to my apartment and while on the second landing, I heard a bunch of people coming down from the third floor, where I was heading. I paused politely to wait for them to come down so there wouldn’t be a traffic jam.

I hear them talking and one of the women says REALLY snidely, “Oh my GOD, someone keeps their water bottles on their front porch? How TACKY!”, then they all start filing down the stairs. When they see me, they all say excuse me cordially and one woman was extra sweet — Texas style. Meaning, covered in bullshit, bless her heart.

I smiled back and said jovially, “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m just the woman with the tacky water bottles on her porch.”

They looked uncomfortable and kept walking. But at the bottom of the stairs, I heard one of the women exclaim, “I am SO embarrassed.”

Good, lady. If you’re going to talk shit, keep your voice down or be prepared to be called on it. They’re 5 gallon bottles of delivered spring water, where do you suggest I keep them? Those capris you’re sporting are tacky, but you don’t hear me complaining.

I feel a little bad for firing back and embarrassing her in front of her friends — I could have let it go. But… I didn’t.

No high road for me today I guess. Given the expression on their faces, the low road is more scenic.

To a Deeee-luxe Apartment in the Sky

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Since our last episode of Neighbors Who Suck, I have moved.  I loved my view and I will miss it, but after much soul (and apartment) searching, I found a place and gave my notice. I just couldn’t take one more midnight wildebeast dance party or one more liason with the snatch banshee next door.

My last place was probably one of the “coolest” placed I’d ever lived, in terms of hipness. For the most part, I’d lived in larger complexes that were fairly organized, well-maintained and suburban (though I did my fair share of couch surfing and car sleeping in my late teens and 20′s).  The last place was an old vintage building that I loved so much and the area was close to downtown and had a beautiful view.  It was a “cool” place to live, in terms of the area of town.

When GFI lived upstairs, it was fun — we had a good time and socialized fairly regularly, though we were always sensitive to the other’s need for space. But when she moved, aside from the view, there was really no reason to stay.  Now that I have Lulu, I needed a bit more space and I started to feel my stuff closing in on me.  Plus, with all the turnover in the building, the other tenants, newer tenants, live a “younger” lifestyle than I do (late nights, lots of noise, unpredictable schedules, Miller Lite for chrissake). Not that I’m old, but I’m certainly not twenty-four anymore and we were all just a little too close for comfort. Continue reading →

Godzilla, Lord of the Dance

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I figured I’d blog today… you know, to give a update to the patient people who still keep up with this blog or who don’t follow me tweets.  Matey.  That should have said “my tweets”, but we have this thing where if we typo “me (something)” we follow it with “matey”, no matter what.  So I did and… well, now you know.

For those who don’t know, I’m moving out of my apartment in a week and a half.  I am really going to miss Casa Cocktail and all the good things about it, but lately the crap has started to outweigh the good things.  To start, Slick (a.k.a. Guitar Hero) picked up the electric guitar and bass as a hobby, which he played  every day at 4pm for 2-3 hours.  Is it not bad enough that his girlfriend made sex sounds like a caffeinated baboon, he had to fancy himself The Edge at least 5 days a week?  But… a blessing!  He moved out in April and took Ape Escape with him.

But then, GFI moved out.  I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is just moving out and having a life and stuff. I mean, god, lady. Don’t you know everything revolves around my happiness?  Obviously I’m kidding, but I miss her as a neighbor.  She never made a peep, we were BNF: Best Neighbors Forever.  I could text if she needed help when I heard she might’ve dropped something, she could text me to ask if I had margarita mix, we could sit on the patio and gossip about the neighborhood and I never, ever had to hear her pee. Continue reading →

Pressing Matters

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I have gone on many, many times about my quest for the perfect coffeemaker. I’ve gone through several since I started blogging.  Each time I griped about this coffeemaker or that, someone would tell me to get a French press and  I would politely decline.

A French press? How can I possibly achieve that hot, delicious fresh-brewed cup of joe without a coffeemaker? Pour water in, press it down, voila! Great coffee?  Nooo… surely they must be mistaken. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can be quite stubborn.

My Coffee PressSo how, you might ask, did I end up not only purchasing, but loving my new French press?   A desire for better aesthetics in my kitchen.   Hey, all things can’t be noble. Sometimes you just want things to look pretty.

GFI and I have identical kitchens since she lives directly above me.  We have them set up similarly, too, because we’re dorks like that and we took cues about what worked and what didn’t in each other’s space. For example, we both have our microwaves on top of the refrigerator to save space and we both have tiny lamps scattered around the kitchen for more ambient lighting because we hate the overhead fluorescents. My issue was that GFI’s kitchen always seemed so much cleaner and brighter to me. Same amount of lamps  (two small IKEA colored numbers), pretty much the same amount of stuff on the counter… what gives?

The difference?  GFI no longer had her coffeemaker on the counter. I, on the other hand, still had my big black Mr. Coffee (which doesn’t make very good coffee anyway and chirps annoyingly).  She sang the praises of the coffee press, insisting it produced the most delicious coffee and insisted I go buy one with the Starbucks giftcard she got me for Christmas.

So, for once, I actually did what I was told. I caved in and bought a French press gift set the very next morning on holiday clearance and it was the best thing I ever did.  Coffee-wise, anyway.

It’s easy, it takes no time (4 minutes!), little energy, it’s quiet (which ideal first thing in the morning), I get just the right amount of coffee and the flavor is beyond compare. It’s almost creamy the way it foams and creates this rich froth on the top.  I also have to heavily endorse my new favorite Starbucks blend, Sumatra Extra Bold (press grind).  It makes the most delicious cup, in my opinion, though I have an arsenal of coffee in my cabinet to try. You can use an all-purpose grind, though so far I’ve found the press grind to make the very best brew.

So to everyone who has ever recommended I get a French press, I owe you an apology.  You spoke the gospel and I, too brainwashed by Mr. Coffee, turned the other cheek.  I don’t know why we allegedly don’t like the French, but for the coffee press alone I’d have to declare vive la France!

The Matrix Loaded

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Whenever I say the name of this car, I expect two things: someone will make a crack about Keanu knowing Kung Fu or similar or that Duran Duran will jump out from behind something and start doing a bastardized rendition of The Reflex.  These are the things that go on in my head from moment to moment.

I bought this car today. cheese  It’s a 2009 Toyota Matrix and she’s red and I like her a lot.  I’m also quite proud of my haggling. I brought mikey with me because I didn’t want to get bamboozled. Not that I couldn’t hack it myself, but car salespeople are professional manipulators (no offense to any car-slingin’ readers I might have) and there is safety in numbers. I would have brought GFI, too, but she’s in Panama getting tan.

I’m honestly surprised it only took 3.5 hours. Normally a car purchase is an all-day affair, but this was a cakewalk.  I went in knowing what I wanted and I have to say, the folks at Mossy Toyota, especially Theresa, were really helpful.  She had all the cars and/or colors I said I was interested in, with the appropriate features, ready for me to test drive when I got there.  And when I refused to budge from my deposit amount (I had a number, people, and I wasn’t paying a penny more!), she and her GM were more than willing to get it down to my number without changing my monthly rate.

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