Got a razor blade I can borrow?
I would never advocate vandalizing someone's personal property, but I just saw a sticker in the window of a car that makes be think it might be OK, just this once. All I'd need is a razor blaze to scrape off the sticker, but frankly I would much rather use a brick to take out the whole back window.
The sticker says: "Silly fag. Dicks are for chicks."
I know too many people who disagree with that statement and I take major exception to it. I have gay men and lesbian women in my circle of family and friends and I'm offended on their behalf.
I'm not proud of the fact that I've let far too many off-color comments uttered within earshot go unchallenged. However, I also don't believe that calling someone on their ignorance in public will lead to an epiphany that will lead them to discard their racial/cultural bigotry, gender bias or homophobia in a flash. It will take something bigger and more profound to challenge their misguided and long-held beliefs.
Maybe something like a brick through a window.
OK, that probably won't work either, but just the thought of it makes me feel better.
What kind of asshole dude would put such a sticker on his car window? Come to think of it, would a straight guy put a sticker about dicks on his car? Maybe it's a woman who is professing her affinity for that part of the male anatomy. That seems to make more sense.
I wonder if she's hot? And available?
Well, the sticker still bothers me. I won't ride in her car as long as that sticker is still on the window.
I guess we'll have to take my car.
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
They didn't even say goodbye
I was getting ready to get into my car, but something stopped me, froze me where I stood. I was standing there staring at the front of my neighbors' apartment. Something was out of place, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was.
I scanned the area for a bit and noticed that there were some discolored areas on the patio and suddenly it clicked. All the plants and patio furniture were missing. Then I noticed that the blinds inside the apartment were open. Nothing was visible inside except a couple of small plastic bags filled with trash.
The neighbors had moved.
At first I was relieved. One of the neighbors who loved in that apartment was quite nosy. She reminded me very much of the character of Gladys Kravitz on the TV show "Bewitched." She was always peering out her windows, day and night, or standing on her patio, watching the personal business of seemingly everyone in our complex.
But then, I realized that I had absolutely no clue when the neighbors had moved out. Somehow two old women who lived in this complex for I don't know how many years, were able to disappear in the night, or while I was working, or while I was hiding away behind my closed blinds. And I realized, they were also the only neighbors in this place I actually knew by name and had any sort of interaction with at all, as creepy and uncomfortable as it may have been.
Yea, I'm sort of glad my Gladys and her mother are gone. But I also will sort of miss them too.
I scanned the area for a bit and noticed that there were some discolored areas on the patio and suddenly it clicked. All the plants and patio furniture were missing. Then I noticed that the blinds inside the apartment were open. Nothing was visible inside except a couple of small plastic bags filled with trash.
The neighbors had moved.
At first I was relieved. One of the neighbors who loved in that apartment was quite nosy. She reminded me very much of the character of Gladys Kravitz on the TV show "Bewitched." She was always peering out her windows, day and night, or standing on her patio, watching the personal business of seemingly everyone in our complex.
But then, I realized that I had absolutely no clue when the neighbors had moved out. Somehow two old women who lived in this complex for I don't know how many years, were able to disappear in the night, or while I was working, or while I was hiding away behind my closed blinds. And I realized, they were also the only neighbors in this place I actually knew by name and had any sort of interaction with at all, as creepy and uncomfortable as it may have been.
Yea, I'm sort of glad my Gladys and her mother are gone. But I also will sort of miss them too.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Chump change
I stopped in the apartment complex office after work and got word that indeed my upstairs neighbors have completely moved out. They have turned in their keys. So, I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet while it last.
The reason I stopped in the manager's office was not to get the latest gossip on the upstairs neighbors though. I found an envelope on my front door when I got home from work last night. it told me that I owed the complex 40 cents. Yes, 40 cents.
So I decided to go in and pay off my debt. However, the complex doesn't deal in cash. Well, I sure as hell am not writing a check for 40 cents.
Fortunately the woman working in the office said I could add my delinquent amount on to next month's rent.
I'm guessing that they spent more than 40 cents on the stationary to inform me that I owed less than four bits.
I realize I admitted in a recent post that my financial management skills are suspect, but printing out an invoice for 40 cents? Well, at least they didn't mail it to me. That would have been just too funny.
OK, so it's Wednesday night, and we're on the downhill slide for the week. I'm tempted to go out and raise a little hell. Or at least get some dinner.
I may or may not let you know which way the decision went, depending on how much hell I find.
Neighbors
Apartment living
The reason I stopped in the manager's office was not to get the latest gossip on the upstairs neighbors though. I found an envelope on my front door when I got home from work last night. it told me that I owed the complex 40 cents. Yes, 40 cents.
So I decided to go in and pay off my debt. However, the complex doesn't deal in cash. Well, I sure as hell am not writing a check for 40 cents.
Fortunately the woman working in the office said I could add my delinquent amount on to next month's rent.
I'm guessing that they spent more than 40 cents on the stationary to inform me that I owed less than four bits.
I realize I admitted in a recent post that my financial management skills are suspect, but printing out an invoice for 40 cents? Well, at least they didn't mail it to me. That would have been just too funny.
OK, so it's Wednesday night, and we're on the downhill slide for the week. I'm tempted to go out and raise a little hell. Or at least get some dinner.
I may or may not let you know which way the decision went, depending on how much hell I find.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Don't go away mad...
The upstairs neighbors are moving. At the risk of sounding rude, all I can say is thank God.
If you missed the earlier drama, the upstairs have been the source of noise disturbed several sleepless nights, cigarette butts, beer cans and other trash littered from the second floor, including one house guest.
The upstairs apartment had more traffic running in and out of their door than a crack house on Saturday night. Most of the visitors were people in their late teens and early 20s, and a few EMTs and police officers. Again, not unlike a crack house on a Saturday night.
And when there weren’t people running in and out of the house, they were literally running in the apartment. I swear it seemed like the punks upstairs were playing hockey on the floor few feet above my head.
Nosey Neighbor No. 1 says the boys upstairs started hauling their stuff out a few days ago. As I was leaving for work this morning, the monster boy who drives the 4X4 was loading a mattress and box springs into the monster truck. NN1 said from all appearances, the last of the furniture was carried out this afternoon, and the boys haven’t been back.
I listen upon high for a sign and all I hear is silence.
There is blessed peace in the Willamette Valley at last.
Amen.
Neighbors
Apartment living
If you missed the earlier drama, the upstairs have been the source of noise disturbed several sleepless nights, cigarette butts, beer cans and other trash littered from the second floor, including one house guest.
The upstairs apartment had more traffic running in and out of their door than a crack house on Saturday night. Most of the visitors were people in their late teens and early 20s, and a few EMTs and police officers. Again, not unlike a crack house on a Saturday night.
And when there weren’t people running in and out of the house, they were literally running in the apartment. I swear it seemed like the punks upstairs were playing hockey on the floor few feet above my head.
Nosey Neighbor No. 1 says the boys upstairs started hauling their stuff out a few days ago. As I was leaving for work this morning, the monster boy who drives the 4X4 was loading a mattress and box springs into the monster truck. NN1 said from all appearances, the last of the furniture was carried out this afternoon, and the boys haven’t been back.
I listen upon high for a sign and all I hear is silence.
There is blessed peace in the Willamette Valley at last.
Amen.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Mostly quiet on the neighbor front
It was a relatively quiet night around here. I didn't hear much noise from upstairs, but enough that I turned on the TV in order to finally fall asleep.
The morning paper did release the name of the girl hurt in the fall Monday night, but I won't. I have no need to invade her privacy just because her name is public record.
Neighbors
Apartment living
The morning paper did release the name of the girl hurt in the fall Monday night, but I won't. I have no need to invade her privacy just because her name is public record.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Slow news day in Salem
Lest anyone think I was blowing the incident with the neighbors out of proportion, the local paper posted a short item about the major party foul on their Web site today.
According to the published report, the injured woman was 18 and suffered "neck or spinal cord injuries...". Her medical condition was not known or reported.
Four guys, all under the age of 18 were arrested (read cited and released) for providing alcohol to minors.
Oh, and before I forget, I also got an e-mail today from a reporter from the local paper who wanted to talk to bloggers here in the Salem area for a story she is working on about, what else, local bloggers.
I declined.
But I just realized something. The story on the newspaper's Web site was posted after the reporter accessed my blog and sent me the e-mail.
I wonder if there is a correlation. It seemed odd to me that a paper this size would pick up such an item off of police calls. But after working in Southern California, I realize my news judgment doesn't quit fit with what makes the evening news or the morning papers here in Oregon. Hell, the local paper lists convictions for people who plead guilty for driving under the influence.
I haven't quite figured out if I'm living in a big city or a small town. But with the neighbors making the news a reporter contacting me, today it's feeling like a very small town indeed.
Update 8/10/2005: I heard again from the reporter doing the story on blogs. For the record, there was no correlation in her visiting Digital Fishwrap and the story making about the injured girl making the newspaper's Web site Tuesday and subsequently appearing in Wednesday's edition. Two separate reporters working on two different things. Another lesson that just because there is a correlation between two things does not mean there is necessarily a cause and effect relationship.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Publicity
News
Blogging
According to the published report, the injured woman was 18 and suffered "neck or spinal cord injuries...". Her medical condition was not known or reported.
Four guys, all under the age of 18 were arrested (read cited and released) for providing alcohol to minors.
Oh, and before I forget, I also got an e-mail today from a reporter from the local paper who wanted to talk to bloggers here in the Salem area for a story she is working on about, what else, local bloggers.
I declined.
But I just realized something. The story on the newspaper's Web site was posted after the reporter accessed my blog and sent me the e-mail.
I wonder if there is a correlation. It seemed odd to me that a paper this size would pick up such an item off of police calls. But after working in Southern California, I realize my news judgment doesn't quit fit with what makes the evening news or the morning papers here in Oregon. Hell, the local paper lists convictions for people who plead guilty for driving under the influence.
I haven't quite figured out if I'm living in a big city or a small town. But with the neighbors making the news a reporter contacting me, today it's feeling like a very small town indeed.
Update 8/10/2005: I heard again from the reporter doing the story on blogs. For the record, there was no correlation in her visiting Digital Fishwrap and the story making about the injured girl making the newspaper's Web site Tuesday and subsequently appearing in Wednesday's edition. Two separate reporters working on two different things. Another lesson that just because there is a correlation between two things does not mean there is necessarily a cause and effect relationship.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Publicity
News
Blogging
Saga with upstairs neighbors continues
The ambulance has just pulled away with a young woman strapped to a backboard. She fell out of a second story apartment and landed on the ground just outside my bedroom window -- the victim of a party gone bad.
Earlier in the evening I debated whether to call security or someone because of all the commotion upstairs. As I had convinced myself that yes, indeed, I should call, the commotion seemed to die down. So, I decided to go to bed and attempt to sleep, but I turned on the TV because I knew I would still need something to cover up the noise.
Is I was getting comfortable in bed, trying to relax, I hear a thud outside my bedroom window, which is open a bit for fresh air, since the complex I live in doesn't have air conditioning. The thud is followed by several more thuds and voices.
"It she alright?"
"No she's hurt"
"But is she alright?"
"No, she's not alright! Call 9-1-1."
"Somebody call 9-1-1. But call for an ambulance, not the cops."
"9-1-1 is 9-1-1, it's emergency dispatch, it's all the same thing."
"Don't call the cops."
"We have to call an ambulance, she's hurt."
A chorus of voices, bickering and bantering while someone calls 9-1-1 and a young woman lies on the ground. One person tells a dispatcher what happened. And within a few seconds a siren can be heard in the distance drawing closer.
A couple of guys bicker about whether they should stay around or not. One says he can't stay. I can't quite make out his reason, but it sounded like he may have been on probation or something.
So, the ambulance arrives and I venture outside for a look at the scene, which up til now I had only been able to hear pouring through the windows or pounding through the ceiling.
And ambulance and fire truck arrive and soon two police cruisers arrive as well. The EMTs tent to the wounded girl, who was conscious enough to answer some question to aid in her care.
I walk back around to the front of the apartments, and soon a convention of neighbors gathers to shared their complaints about the occupants and the Party Pad. It seems like people on both sides of the parking lot have complained about the characters parading in and out of that apartment right over my head. So far it seems I have had the highest tolerance for the level of noise. But in typical fashion I maintain my patience and don't complain until I lose all patience. Then I'm done. And I'm so done with this yahoos.
This is the second time in recent weeks cops and an ambulance have been dispatched. I'm tired of finding and picking up their cigarette butts and beer cans around my patio. I'm tired of the juvenile hijinx and noise. And I'm tired of losing sleep over those punks.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Earlier in the evening I debated whether to call security or someone because of all the commotion upstairs. As I had convinced myself that yes, indeed, I should call, the commotion seemed to die down. So, I decided to go to bed and attempt to sleep, but I turned on the TV because I knew I would still need something to cover up the noise.
Is I was getting comfortable in bed, trying to relax, I hear a thud outside my bedroom window, which is open a bit for fresh air, since the complex I live in doesn't have air conditioning. The thud is followed by several more thuds and voices.
"It she alright?"
"No she's hurt"
"But is she alright?"
"No, she's not alright! Call 9-1-1."
"Somebody call 9-1-1. But call for an ambulance, not the cops."
"9-1-1 is 9-1-1, it's emergency dispatch, it's all the same thing."
"Don't call the cops."
"We have to call an ambulance, she's hurt."
A chorus of voices, bickering and bantering while someone calls 9-1-1 and a young woman lies on the ground. One person tells a dispatcher what happened. And within a few seconds a siren can be heard in the distance drawing closer.
A couple of guys bicker about whether they should stay around or not. One says he can't stay. I can't quite make out his reason, but it sounded like he may have been on probation or something.
So, the ambulance arrives and I venture outside for a look at the scene, which up til now I had only been able to hear pouring through the windows or pounding through the ceiling.
And ambulance and fire truck arrive and soon two police cruisers arrive as well. The EMTs tent to the wounded girl, who was conscious enough to answer some question to aid in her care.
I walk back around to the front of the apartments, and soon a convention of neighbors gathers to shared their complaints about the occupants and the Party Pad. It seems like people on both sides of the parking lot have complained about the characters parading in and out of that apartment right over my head. So far it seems I have had the highest tolerance for the level of noise. But in typical fashion I maintain my patience and don't complain until I lose all patience. Then I'm done. And I'm so done with this yahoos.
This is the second time in recent weeks cops and an ambulance have been dispatched. I'm tired of finding and picking up their cigarette butts and beer cans around my patio. I'm tired of the juvenile hijinx and noise. And I'm tired of losing sleep over those punks.
Neighbors
Apartment living
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Mighty neighborly of 'em
I'm about tired of apartment living. My upstairs neighbors are driving me nuts. There are a couple of young guys who live up there, one of whom I've met who works the night shift at Wal-Mart, if that gives you any kind of inclination of the type of place I'm living. Not that I have anything against being young, and I don't have anything against people who work at Wal-Mart for that matter, but it is so different than the place where I am in my life right not.
A couple of weekends ago there was a rowdy party upstairs; the kind that involved people pissing and throwing shit off the balcony and the cops getting called. One partygoer, a girl, got a ride out in an ambulance and at least one guy got a ride out in a cop car according to my nosy nextdoor neighbor. Underage people were there apparently, if the tenants themselves are even of age. If so, it's only barely. And apparently all this started happening about the time I crashed for the night after returning home from a trip to Eastern Oregon and a stopover in Portland.
Tonight when I came home from work, for some reason I came in through the patio door, rather than the main entrance. And there was a bunch of crap scattered on and around my patio like a beer can, cigarette butts and a wasted cigarette lighter, all courtesy of my upstairs neighbors obviously. I haven't cleaned the trash up yet, because I'm debating whether to just throw it up over their balcony railing or to put it in a bag and leave it outside their front door, or completely puss out and toss it all in the trash.
But I had forgotten about my neighbors until about 11 p.m. when there was a whole bunch of commotion upstairs. It sounded like people were running wind sprints in combat boots. Back and forth, back and forth, just a few feet over my head.
Then the drama moved outside. Now, it's summer and it was fairly warm today and I live in an apartment with no air conditioning, so the windows are cracked open. And even over the TV, I could here the distinctive wail of a woman crying. There's a whole white trash late teen melodrama playing out just outside my livingroom window.
As best as I can make out the young woman, who doesn't live here, is upset at her boyfriend, or some guy, and then there are references to another guy, and two guys here talking to the distraught girl. She's pissed at her boyfriend. She may think he's messing around with her roommate or another woman or women, and there are some financial disputes involving money for car insurance and a ring the boyfriend may or may not have thrown out in the grass. And on top of it all, the guys here thought she was pregnant. She says she's not, but wishes she was, and doesn't want to lose the boyfriend.
I don't get it. How can you be in a relationship hopelessly doomed to failure, or emotional abuse, if not physical assault, and still want to father that guy's baby? You know, I've had women tell me I'm too nice of a guy before and I'm beginning to believe it. Maybe I should have hauled off and smacked a woman or two to get there attention. And yes ladies I'm being completely sarcastic, but someone needs to explain to me why women are attracted to dumbfuck asshole losers who couldn't give two farts about them. Do these callous bastards all have big dicks? Is it the danger that's a thrill?
I've never understood those dramatic relationships where people fight all the time, particularly in public venues and draw others, intentionally or unintentionally, into their little two-bit soap operas. I've only been in one melodramatic relationship (OK make that two, but one was a bit of a long distance affair and turning off the ringer on the phone eventually allowed me to get some sleep). But the one face-to-face dramatic pairing was with my ex. Obviously that didn't work out. And yes I was in love with her, but I hated the fights. Came damn closed to breaking it off every time we had one. And maybe that's what she was trying to get me to do, since she eventually broke it off. I've done that little trick before, make your lover think you are an asshole so she'll break it off. You may be an asshole, but at least you aren't the bad guy, if that makes any sense, which of course it doesn't.
But at this point in my life I just want to live in a quiet place of my own without young girls around whose only ambition in life is to get knocked up in an attempt to land a man and young boys around whose only ambition is to figure out when the next party is so they can get fucked up and try to fuck anything with a hole or two between their legs.
Yea, we need a little drama in life, but if I want to be a spectator to drama that what I've got cable TV for.
I think it's about time to start looking for a house. I wonder if the bankers and creditor's will agree.
There's always a fucking catch, isn't there?
Neighbors
Apartment living
A couple of weekends ago there was a rowdy party upstairs; the kind that involved people pissing and throwing shit off the balcony and the cops getting called. One partygoer, a girl, got a ride out in an ambulance and at least one guy got a ride out in a cop car according to my nosy nextdoor neighbor. Underage people were there apparently, if the tenants themselves are even of age. If so, it's only barely. And apparently all this started happening about the time I crashed for the night after returning home from a trip to Eastern Oregon and a stopover in Portland.
Tonight when I came home from work, for some reason I came in through the patio door, rather than the main entrance. And there was a bunch of crap scattered on and around my patio like a beer can, cigarette butts and a wasted cigarette lighter, all courtesy of my upstairs neighbors obviously. I haven't cleaned the trash up yet, because I'm debating whether to just throw it up over their balcony railing or to put it in a bag and leave it outside their front door, or completely puss out and toss it all in the trash.
But I had forgotten about my neighbors until about 11 p.m. when there was a whole bunch of commotion upstairs. It sounded like people were running wind sprints in combat boots. Back and forth, back and forth, just a few feet over my head.
Then the drama moved outside. Now, it's summer and it was fairly warm today and I live in an apartment with no air conditioning, so the windows are cracked open. And even over the TV, I could here the distinctive wail of a woman crying. There's a whole white trash late teen melodrama playing out just outside my livingroom window.
As best as I can make out the young woman, who doesn't live here, is upset at her boyfriend, or some guy, and then there are references to another guy, and two guys here talking to the distraught girl. She's pissed at her boyfriend. She may think he's messing around with her roommate or another woman or women, and there are some financial disputes involving money for car insurance and a ring the boyfriend may or may not have thrown out in the grass. And on top of it all, the guys here thought she was pregnant. She says she's not, but wishes she was, and doesn't want to lose the boyfriend.
I don't get it. How can you be in a relationship hopelessly doomed to failure, or emotional abuse, if not physical assault, and still want to father that guy's baby? You know, I've had women tell me I'm too nice of a guy before and I'm beginning to believe it. Maybe I should have hauled off and smacked a woman or two to get there attention. And yes ladies I'm being completely sarcastic, but someone needs to explain to me why women are attracted to dumbfuck asshole losers who couldn't give two farts about them. Do these callous bastards all have big dicks? Is it the danger that's a thrill?
I've never understood those dramatic relationships where people fight all the time, particularly in public venues and draw others, intentionally or unintentionally, into their little two-bit soap operas. I've only been in one melodramatic relationship (OK make that two, but one was a bit of a long distance affair and turning off the ringer on the phone eventually allowed me to get some sleep). But the one face-to-face dramatic pairing was with my ex. Obviously that didn't work out. And yes I was in love with her, but I hated the fights. Came damn closed to breaking it off every time we had one. And maybe that's what she was trying to get me to do, since she eventually broke it off. I've done that little trick before, make your lover think you are an asshole so she'll break it off. You may be an asshole, but at least you aren't the bad guy, if that makes any sense, which of course it doesn't.
But at this point in my life I just want to live in a quiet place of my own without young girls around whose only ambition in life is to get knocked up in an attempt to land a man and young boys around whose only ambition is to figure out when the next party is so they can get fucked up and try to fuck anything with a hole or two between their legs.
Yea, we need a little drama in life, but if I want to be a spectator to drama that what I've got cable TV for.
I think it's about time to start looking for a house. I wonder if the bankers and creditor's will agree.
There's always a fucking catch, isn't there?
Neighbors
Apartment living
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