Tag Archives: apartment living

Drama of Apartment Hunting

We thought we might want to move into a new apartment.  Save some more money, move into a location that has more green area and basically go see what’s out in the wide world of Massachusetts apartments .  We’ve been in our current location for 3 years, but our rent keeps going up and it’s a bit absurd….so we thought we’d go look.

In reality, we miss thunderstorms.  Where we live now, we’re a weather vortex.  No thunderstorms.  Very little snow.  Notta.  In three years, I can count on one hand how many thunderclaps we’ve had here.  Everyone else gets them, but not us.  After studying the weather patterns, it’s obvious we need to move north or west.

So there you have it….the search is on for a thunderstorm location.

I have been using an online app that allowed me to filter by every requirement imaginable:

Location, cost, allowable pets, travel time to work, a/c in unit, how many bedrooms… etc.

On the weekend, we set off with a list of 6 apartments, we visited 5.  Came home with one potential.  Out of the others, the 6th location’s office was closed due to a showing and we waited but they didn’t return.  I was okay with this as one set of homies were hanging out in the back of a pick up truck and the another set of homies were having a party in the commons.  The other three, as you may guess, provided blog material that I couldn’t make up.

Let me walk you through the contestants.  Mind you, on the app, these looked like winners!  And yes, the communities have had their names changed to protect the innocent, or not so innocent…so it appeared.

Contestant #1: Castle in the Woods.  Going north of town…the online description was lovely.  You could even rent units that had a turret!  I want a turret.  We arrived and proceeded to do our customary drive through the development.

All the buildings were set within a wooded development.  It was a very cute tudor style concept.  We drove around and around.  Kids playing in the pool.  Several areas for grilling with picnic tables.  A few people of various nationalities walking around the development.

We go to the office, explain our requirement:

  1.  Washer and dryer in the unit
  2.   Access to outside via balcony for The Girls
  3.   Air conditioning

Everything else we can kinda work around, but these are must haves, without question.  Without these, we don’t move forward.

We are then taken on a tour of an available 2 bedroom apartment. Great, one is available, so this is perfect, as looking at the model is never ideal.  As we make our way over to the unit, the manager tells us, “All 2 bedrooms with w/d are on the first floor.” By first floor, I mean, subterrain.  Yes, as in underground.  This defeats our number 2 requirement of, “we have to have a porch or balcony for The Girls.”

Huh.  Okay.  We proceed into the building where you could have popped open the “security door” with a screw driver.  Inside the apartment, the laminate floors were bubbling up and the musty/mildew smell hit you like the odor of strong blue cheese.  Not to mention the rotting wood on the outside of the building.

We inquire when the buildings were constructed.  1971.  Oh, so these are retro original designs?  Great.

Upon the conclusion of the tour, we get back into the car and I’m trying to be somewhat positive about the whole experience.  “Well it had a lot of cabinet space.  We could make the stackable washer and dryer work.”  The Mister looks at me after awhile and says, “It was a shit hole.”

Whew, what a relief, cause I didn’t want to live there.

Contestant #2: Fields of Fancy.  We next drive to the location,  west of the city, as I had found a cute little development that had HUGE balconies.  Perfect for The Girls.   The website mentioned newly renovated interiors and the property is next to a big state park!  Sounds perfect.

We make the 45 minute drive, from the northern apartment hunting locations and drive through the development for first inspections.  Several red lights begin to flash in my mind:

  • Some units have curtains that are sheets or blankets – not usually a good sign.
  • There’s also some screens on the ground and some rain gutters as well.  Warning sign number two in my book.

However, we drove all the way over, so it’s worth stopping in to at least check it out so we can say we saw them.

After a few minutes, we find the leasing office, park the car and make our way inside.

  • Warning sign number 3 shot through the air like a flare,  when we saw the note posted on the door indicating that access to the pool was an additional charge.  What?

We go inside anyway.

The leasing agent currently has someone at her desk and the resident is very upset.  The Mister and I try to give them some privacy, which is hard to do, when you’re standing in an office area as big as an elevator car.  Luckily they had a coffee area off to the side, so we made our way over there to view the floor plans that were posted on the wall.  The Mister proceeds to make a coffee and the conversation begins unfolding like a movie.

His concerns went something like this:

“If you don’t do something.  If something happens to my wife.   If something happens to my dogs.  I will sue this entire company.  I am calling the police!  I will bring ICE in here and haul out the illegals by the truck load!”

At this point, I look at THE Mister, shake my head and tell him NO.  He says, “I’m not going until I get my coffee.”

The resident continues, “My wife’s right bumper of her car has already been pulled off and there is a scratch on her car!  She is a legal resident of the United States.  I am going to sue this place if anything happens to her or our dogs.  I even spoke to the woman who lives downstairs and she’s happy I’m doing something because those guys in the car are nothing but trouble.  I will bring ICE in here!”

I give The Mister the look again. This is getting awkward.  We need to go before we become part of something.

Without looking back, we make our way to the door and exit.  The Mister, with his coffee in hand, of course.

We get to the car, The Mister advises, the coffee is nothing but dark colored water….and he dumps it out.

Obviously,  Fields of Fancy is a big nope.

Contestant #3: Welcome to Paradise. Another western development, that looked gorgeous online and was advertised as spacious homes was Welcome to Paradise.  All two bedrooms faced a green belt, it’s near the commuter rail, has granite kitchens, theatre room on site etc.  I truly thought, this could be a good possibility.

However, when we pulled up, we should have taken our cue when an unattended car, left in reverse, rolled into one of the employees’ cars….which rolled into a resident’s car….and dented the shit out of it.  But you know, accidents happen.

We were off to a great start.  They have limited 2 bedrooms come open due to their popularity – a good sign.  But they may have something when we are looking to move.  The agent advises she does have one unit open for viewing, A9, the new tenants are due to move in next week, so it’s currently vacant.  It’s the exact floor plan we’re interested in so we can quickly go view it.

Fantastic!  She advises, “since the last tenant has just moved out and the new ones have not yet moved in, we haven’t turned it yet, so it will be a little messy.”  By turning it, she means they haven’t had the professional cleaner come into the apartment yet to prep for the new tenants.  Not to worry, we won’t care.

The three of us head over to the building next door and head up to the 9th floor to see the unit.  It’s like going to a fancy hotel.  Very she-she.  You walk into the main lobby and they have a big round reception table with flowers and then a bank of elevators behind that.  On the 9th floor, we get off and step on plush carpet and the walls are a beige and royal blue color – very nicely chosen.  I think, I could do this.  Very nice.

Once at A9, the agent knocks on the door, just to make sure and then inserts the key.  She opens the door and the first thing that catches our eye is a Whole Foods shopping bag.

?

She opens the door a bit more and yells out, “Hello?!  Welcome to Paradise management, is anyone here?”

She opens the door a bit further and we see several pairs of shoes and flip flops and an areas obviously set up for a baby.

?

Then a voice comes from the back of the apartment, “Yes?”

The agent says, “I’m with Welcome to Paradise management, is it okay if we enter?”

The voice and now person, who is a young man…with baby crying in a bedroom in the back somewhere says “Yes.”

I look at The Mister and think, “SQUATTERS!”   Then I take a step back and think, “We aren’t really going to go in are we?”

Next thing I know the agent it going in and apparently so are we.

OMG.

The previously tenants very obviously had NOT moved out at the end of their lease, 3 days ago.  This gentleman had apparently been sleeping, by the looks of it and was caught completely off guard.

Not to mention, so are we!

Here we were standing in his hallway as the agent explained the layout of the apartment.

All I could think was:

  1.  I’ve never seen so many pots and pans in my life piled up in a kitchen.
  2. I don’t know what to say.
  3. I don’t even know where to look.
  4. Could the earth open up and swallow me?

We get past the pot & pan collection center, to the living room area and all I could utter was, “it’s remarkable how spacious it appears.”  Then I wandered over to the sliding glass door to look outside.  Yep, there’s trees out there.

At that point, the agent advised we wouldn’t be seeing the bedrooms.  Heavens no, I thought.  This poor man is about to have a coronary right here on the spot.

We all thank him and go back to the hall.  She locks the door and then we all look at each other, “Well that was awkward.”

While I can’t say that our apartment hunting was a failure, it gave us some great stories and we found one possibility up north!  Most people would only be lucky enough to experience just ONE of these experiences on an apartment hunting mission.  Leave it to us…..we get multiples.

I’m almost afraid as to what will happen the next time we go in search of our next nest.  We are creating the next list, stand by.

 

 

 

 

Tweet. Tweet. ….One Two….Got You!

We have three children.

Furry.  Four legged.  (Note: we also have 2 lizards….which makes is five chidren.)

Image 3  Liggy, the eldest at 16 years, could give a rat’s ass about anything but her dinners

Image 6  Monkey, the middle child, quickly approaching 2 years on Halloween, is the typical scaredy cat.

Image 5  Taku, the youngest at 1.5 years old, is the pisser and will kick your ass.

It’s important to note, the only one with a UFC fight name is, “LIGGGGGYYYY the KIBBBLE SNATCHER.”

Seriously.

The other two, haven’t earned their names yet.

Until today.

REWIND:  For some history.

About a month ago, I bought a brick of bird food and put it into a feeder on our third floor balcony.  Occasionally a bird came and snacked.  A little nibble.  After 30 days, 3/4 of this brick is still there.  Obviously, we are not a birding hot spot.

Last week I was looking out at the balcony.  Surveying our domain, what little we have in our rental …. Pondering the world.

WHEN.  A tiny little hummingbird came up and was trying to get sugar water from our sea glass globe lights.

!!!!!!!!

For those of you who know me, I have a history with hummingbirds.  It’s a running awkward moment.  But hysterical for a later date.

Of course, hummingbirds….need to buy a feeder.  Small birds.  Small feeder.

Consider it done.  This weekend, I roll up to my local Lowe’s and buy a hummingbird feeder.

And why not….let’s get one of these huge tube bird feeders with 6 channels on it.

Yep.

Came home, filled them and hung them up on the balcony.

The next day…within 30 minutes of watching the feeders, I had 3 hummingbirds,  4 finches and a woodpecker come to visit the feeding stations.

A

WOODPECKER!

Seriously.

Love my little feeders.

Next morning, I get up.  There are hummingbirds at the feeder.  LOVE.

I go outside and sit in the chair.  The kids (cats) join me.

Liggy, the eldest, as usual, could care less.  Just let me sleep in my box.

Taku, is sitting next to me on the chair and when a bird approaches, she tries to hide behind me.

Seriously, Taku?  You’re the ass kicker in the family.

Monkey, the “Don’t look at me, I’m afraid of EVERYTHING” cat….watches the birds and chatters at them.  And chatters.  Chatters.  And chatters.

She wiggles her butt and thinks about leaping at them, until I give her the TSK TSK comment.  To which she immediately thinks, “Shit.  You are SUCH a party pooper.”

Throughout the morning I watch and our little feeders are turning into the aviary version of a 7-Eleven.  One bird, two bird, one bird, one bird, a fly by, two bird, a fly by, hummingbirds….I am delighted.

———————————-

Monday morning rolls around and the Monkey is anxious, as usual, to go out on the deck.  She has been like this since we rescued her.  She was a beach kitten.  Water is her thing.  Find something she likes?  Here, let me put it in the water bowl.  Paper, rubber bands, twist ties, little jewelry bags, toys, treats…into the water they go.

Monkey and Taku like to go out and sun themselves.  Liggy, only if it’s convenient and her box is set up.

I don’t open the door until I’m out of the shower and running back and forth around the apartment.  At least I can keep a 50% eye on everyone.   Checking in on Monkey’s position, Liggy’s sleeping pattern and Taku’s give a shit attitude.  50% is more than enough.   They are fine.

Until today.   (CUE:  The Jaws theme music. )

Mondays suck by nature.  Nobody wants to go back to work.  You’re dragging your ass trying to get out the door.  Only half the coffee cup has been inhaled.  Your hair isn’t done right.  The outfit you have on…well, meh….at least your shoes will be comfortable.  Seriously, why can’t we do 4 day work weeks?  I’d work 10 hours to get an extra one off.  Seriously.

I get dressed into my work clothes and race across the hallway to go back into the master bath and start my hair.

STOP.

HALT.

SKIDDING SIDEWAYS!

WHAT THE FUCK?!

no.  sorry.  i’m not seeing this.  that’s not what i think.  no. no. no.no.no.nonononononononoNONO

M O N K E Y!

And there sits Monkey (the scaredy cat) in our bedroom….outside the master bathroom.  With a bird at her feet.  I swear it looks like it is 6 inches long….tip to tail.

Little Monkey is so proud of her accomplishment.  LOOK MOMMA!  FOR YOU!  Isn’t is wonderful? It’s soft and warm.  It makes noise and guess what?!  I caught it just for you!

I manage to get my tongue back out of the back of my throat and say::::: “MONKEY!” I’m too stunned to throw either my bathrobe or t-shirt over the stunned bird.  Her response?  

Grab the bird and head under our king size bed.

My response? Turn around.  March calmly out of the bedroom.  Walk into the living room.  Put my head between my knees.

Are you fucking kidding me?

REWIND:   There was a moment.  Briefest moment.  Like what happens right before you slam your fingers in a door.  You know this is going to be a bad move.  Yeah, well…..I thought “I really shouldn’t open the door to the balcony….I won’t be sitting there to watch Monkey….and she might catch a bird.  But you know what?  It’ll be fine.  I mean really, it’s M O N K E Y.  Like she’s going to catch a bird.  She’s afraid of everything!”

Yep.  Truth.

So I stood out in the hallway and pondered what to do next.

All I remembered was being a small child and we had a Robin that got into the house.  The pandemonium I created…..as a small person…..flapping my arms and screaming about the bird being loose in the house….leaping off of furniture.  (I was the one leaping off the furniture.) Terrible.  THIS is what I remembered at 7:50AM….I do not have a good rescue relationship with birds.

At least I didn’t run around in circles this morning.  Although it did cross my mind about 4 times.  Swiftly followed by a thought of, “YOU are the adult here!”  WHEN did I become an adult? Shit.  This is my issue now.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

I go back into the bedroom.  There is a feather on the floor.  I pick it up and put it into the bath trash can.  There’s no sound or movement.  Gulp.

I carefully kneel down on the floor and pick up the bed skirt.  God help me if anything come rushing at me….is what I’m thinking.

There’s Monkey…..her eyes glowing in the dark.  Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

There’s the bird in front of her.  On it’s side.  Obviously, not blinking.

I go back to the living room and grab a Priority Mail box the girls used to sit in.  I put a few paper towels in the bottom.  I will put the bird in this and take it outside.  I grab the broom.

Ok.

Well fuck.  Now what?  It’s a king size bed. I grab the end and P U L L — nothing.  Except there was a pop in my lower back to which I thought, “nice crack!  Who needs a chiropractor when you have birds under your bed!”

I grab the side and P U L L – nothing.

F U C K.

I text a friend, “Monkey caught a bird and is under the bed with it.”  Hey.  At 7:55 in the morning, you need to be in hysterics with someone with a bird under the bed!

In the meanwhile, I text my boss advising I’ll be late, due to cat catching a bird.  Now there is a late excuse if I’ve ever heard one!  He is going to think I’m nuts!  Please, feel free to use it….seriously!

Although for a fleeting moment, I did ponder just leaving and going to work.  Seriously.  Also pondered having to take an injured FINCH to the vet.  So go figure….which extreme do you prefer?

My friend responds back five minutes later, “How did Monkey catch a bird?”

“On the balcony.”  Blink. Blink.

Let’s all take a deep, deep knee bend everyone….cause….here…..we….go!

I go change into crap clothes, as I can see this is going to be a process.  I’m already sweating in the nether regions.   I grab the broom and head back into the bedroom.  All the while, Taku kitty, is following me as my back up.

Thank You, Taku.  The Bad Ass….but with a humane heart apparently.

I shake the broom under the bed.

Nothing.

I ponder getting the vacuum out….scares all the cats.  But then decide to shake the broom from another angle….this isn’t like sucking up yellow jackets or wasps…..which I did this weekend.  I have even sucked up roaches and the dreaded Floridian Palmeto Bug with this vacuum.  I can’t use it on a little bird.

.

.

.

.

Taku then goes under the bed.  OH HELL NO!  We will NOT be having two cats and one bird under the bed!   Not on this episode of, “Who Needs Coffee on Mondays!”  I slam the broom back under the bed and wave it frantically, top to bottom trying to make as much racket as I can.

All the while thinking…. God help me if that bird comes to life and flies out at me…..

Monkey takes off like a shot out the bedroom door.  I chase after her.  All the other rooms were closed off so the only place she had was the living room.

I don’t see her anywhere and so I lay down on the floor.  Sure enough, she’s under the couch.

I move the coffee table.

I move the end table.

I move the couch away from the wall.  She moves with the couch.

Of course, typical Monk.

I move the couch literally into the middle of the room….and the Monkey takes off under the dining room table.  She doesn’t have the bird.

????

I lay down on the floor.  No bird under the couch.

????

I go back into the bedroom and shut the door.

Taku is still hiding between boxes under the bed.  Her eyes are are big as Silver Dollars.  Poor thing.  She’s terrified and doesn’t know what to do.  I start pulling the 4 boxes, which are at the foot of the bed….they’re not very big,  out from under the bed.  Taku remains firmly planted in the middle.

Sigh.

Guess what?  No bird.

Where the hell is the damn bird?

I go out of the bedroom.  Shut the door…..leaving Taku to deal with the bird if it’s in there.  She’s the bad ass cat in this family….step up.  You’ll be fine.

I text my friend, who by this time, we’ve also had a quick conversation about the situation.  I tell her…Monkey is out of the bedroom, I can’t find the bird and Taku is under the bed.

Her response.  “Damn.  Double Damn.  Could the bird be under a blanket and Monkey is saving it for later?”

Seriously.  M O N K E Y!

Taking all 8 pillows off.  One.  At.  A.  Time.

I search the couch.  Heaven help me, I think….as sweat forms on my eyebrows and upper lip.

No bird.

It has to be in the bedroom.  By this time, I’m sweating so much I swear there are marks on my pants and in my pits.  Did I brush my teeth yet?  I feel like I’ve taken a chunk of Sasquatch fur and rubbed it all over my teeth.  Mahwahaherroooarwaaaahh….is how I feel.

What the hell am I going to do?  It’s 8:35AM and I call the complex’s maintenance line.  No answer.

Now, armed with a bath towel….correction….not just any bath towel….this is a Costco bath SHEET…..made for giants.  It’s so enormous, cause I thought I had a Pterodactyl trapped!

….I go back into the bedroom.

Taku has burrowed herself under the covers.  Only done when she is cold in the winter or scared.  I lift up the comforter and she looks at me like I’m an alien.  All the while backing away from me.  I snatch her up by the scruff on her neck and she look slightly relieved.  Out the bedroom door she goes.

I turn to face the room.

St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, please help me.

Nothing.

????

I little voice then says to me, “look by the night stand.”

Before I even move the table cover, I see something out of the ordinary.   Only like a 1/4 inch out of the ordinary.  I start to lift the cover.  All the while thinking, “so help me, if something flies up at me….I will run away like a screaming 4 year old.”

I pull up all the table cover.

Hold my breath.

Shit.

There’s the little bird.  It looks like it’s right wing is broken….as it tries to take off to the side.  Image 2

Well, how did you get over here?  Did Monkey hide you here?  I put the table cover back down.  Because, honestly, that was enough discovery for the moment.

I went back out of the bedroom.

Closed the door.

Sat down on the stairs.

Ok.  Thank goodness it isn’t a woodpecker.  It’s just a little finch.

The bird was stuck between our king size bed and night table.  Oh wait.  It’s not any kind of night table.  It’s a floor safe.  HA. Ha. ha..– not funny.  There’s a few inches between them, but not enough for the scoop into the box rescue.  I can’t move the bed stand.

I text my friend that I found the bird.  She asked if it was alive, if all the cats are out of the room and the ceiling fan turned off.

Yes.  Yes.  Yes.

JUST LIKE Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones movies….there is always Plan B!  I grab a clean dish towel.  Put on a leather driving glove, in case the bird bites me.  ????  The beauty of it was I only could find the right glove so I was having a very Michael Jackson moment at 8:50AM.

“‘Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about to
Strike
You know it’s thriller, thriller night
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer
Thriller tonight!”

I summon up my inner St. Francis again and here we go to rescue the bird!

I pull back the table cloth and the little bird is right where I left him.  I lower the dish towel and try to close my hand around him.  He’s so tiny.  I can’t tell if I have him or not.  I am not suited to this type of work.  The little bird is not happy either…. and he starts to chirp and flutter to the sides……

SHIT.

Okay…..I put the table cloth back down.  March out of the room

Houston we need a moment.

At this point in the program, I’m so upset that my bowels are too.  THIS is why we always have two bathrooms.  In case the first one becomes unusable for some reason.

CUE the elevator music….thank you.

——–> 15 minute intermission <————-

Stomach still in an uproar, but we have to solve this problem.

I march out of my apartment, down the hall and look out the driveway to see if I see any maintenance people around.

Nobody except some construction workers doing cabinet work on the first floor —- SHIT.

In my bare feet….I march back up into the apartment.  ( I don’t care if I get foot fungus at this point, thank you…..cause I’m going to have to take a shower after this ordeal anyway!)

Deep breaths.

I summon up my St. Francis…..again…..come on buddy…..need you now!

Put my glove on.  (Because I’m bad…you know it!    Thank you  M.J.)  Image 1

Grab my box and dish towel.

Head back into the bedroom.

Little bird is right where I left him.

I lower the cloth.  He pitches a fit when I try to pick him up.

He scurries to the left and starts coming at me from under the dish towel.  I think, “PERFECT!  Two hand gathering technique!”  He is between the table cloth, box flap and the dish towel is overhead.

FOUL!

Bird.

In.

Flight!

IN FLIGHT!

FLYING!

AROUND THE ROOM!

(note:  at this point I had an out of body experience, where I said, SELF: THIS COULD BE A PROBLEM.)

Yep.  Little finch figured out how to maneuver and get around me.  Fly around the room and head towards the closed door.

He lands, cause he can’t get out.

His little head is tucked in between the baseboard and door frame.

Little bird.  Little bird.  Please.  Let me help you.  I am here to help you.

This is all I can think to say out loud.

I can’t whistle, so this is as good as it gets.  Come on St. Francis, help me out here.

First try.

He digs in further to the corner.  Head burrowed.  So scared.

Buddy, I’m scared too.  It’s going to be okay.  Trust me.  I know I’m an alien, but I’m a good alien.  Not like that damn Monkey alien.

With my leather hand and dish towel, I can hardly feel him.

On my second attempt, I scoop from the bottom.  I think I have something.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!    I HAVE THE BIRD!  I HAVE THE BIRD!

I drop the dish towel into the box, fold the flaps down and I’m running to the front door of the apartment.

He was so small.  So light.  Of course, I didn’t expect him to weigh in like a remote control but still….so nothing!  I only knew I had him cause I could feel his little feet.

I race down three flights of stairs and towards the woods.

I put the box down and lift the flaps.  Little bird, was stunned again for the second time in less than 90 minutes…poor thing.   I drop some bird food into the grass around him.  Open the dish towel and wait.  He opens his eyes and POOF…..one, two, three……I’m outta here!

Little bird flies away into the woods.

Thank.  You. Sweet. Jesus.

I walk up the three flights of stairs to our apartment and realize.  I’m shaking.

The adrenaline of rescuing a wild animal, scary.

The worry of a maimed or injured animal, scary.

The disbelief of the Monkey catching an animal, stunning.

The fret of catching a scared animal, stunning.

The realization, I did it, by myself, without any harm —————————  shocking.

It was a tiny bird.  Who thought it was dead by a predator, to be scared into corners by scared human, to be rescued by scared human…..aka……an alien…….to awaken in the woods……and fly away……priceless.

Yeah tiny bird!

And I stood in the dining room and looked at my shelf with the ceramic finch with a blue berry in it’s beak. I thought, little bird……I was able to save you today.  Bless.  I hope you have a happy life.   I’m sorry, I didn’t watch the Monkey closer.   We all learned a lot today.  And I saved a little bird.

Although, it nearly made me poop my pants and I had to take another shower…….. I saved a little bird.

Little bird and I both had a tough morning.  I thought a lot about that little bird.  I was the big scary alien trying to help, why was I scared of a little tiny bird?  It was the unexpected reaction.  Who knows what will happen…..even if one is trying to help.

St. Francis, thank you and bless that little creature.

Heaven help me when I run into something bigger than that needs saving from MONKEY, the BIRD SNATCHER!
Of course, when I came home this evening.  Monkey was ready to go back outside.  Sorry Monk. I have your number…..that’s not happening without my supervision. Nice try though….so practice your patience my little feline!

Then I saw the grey shape on the rug, which stopped my heart.

It was a stuffed mouse toy.

Damn cat toys.

Image

I need a drink.

Did I Already Tell You About…..

Years ago…. like almost 8 years ago….I got divorced and bought a cute little condo out in Auke Bay, Alaska.  It was a tiny little place.  So small you had to go outside if you wanted to change your mind.

It was all mine.

All 600 square feet.

I could sit out on the deck and watch my favorite birds – Blue Herons – fish in the wetlands.  When bored, just throw some herring up in the sky and watch the Bald Eagles come swooping in to pick up their snacks.  Talk about excitingly scary!  It was awesome.

When I moved in on a Saturday morning a bunch of people came to help me carry in the boxes.  My new upstairs neighbor happened to arrive during our moving chaos.  I yelled out a hello to her and introduced myself.  We’ll call her Mary.  Right about this time one of my oh so funny friends decided it would be hilarious to loudly inquire where to put my box of sex toys.

I nearly swallowed my tongue.

MY —

WHAT?

We all got a good laugh out of it.  Mary didn’t know what to say and immediately went inside her condo.

Let me give you a visual of Mary.  About 5’3 and probably about 150 pounds.  Thick calves.  Outfit of choice?  Skirts and colored tights.  Shoulder length corse black hair – wavy.  Coats two sizes too small.  Probably mid-late 20’s somewhere in there.  Works half the year for the government and half the year at a bank. Sure.

Got it?

Good.  You’ll need it later.

Along with the sex toys.

Six months went by or more.  One day I look out the window and I see Mary coming up to the building wearing exercise tights.  She had obviously gone running.  Huh.  Okay.  Well, I’m not a runner so good luck with that one.

A few days later I notice Mary with a guy.  We’ll call him Josh.  Now you need a visual of Josh.

Think Hobbit.

That should do it.

Okay, you need more visual assistance?  He is about 5’3 also.  Wears baggy sweat pants and t-shirts.  Constantly has that Don Johnson 5:00PM shadow going on.  His laugh is atrocious.  Down right ridiculous.  Like a hyena.  This guy thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips….sadly he isn’t even the stale pickle (without snap) on the plate.

Not to mention he walked around like a Neanderthal.   I mean really Hobbit Man can you do something about those lead bricks you call your feet?  Even elephants don’t make that much noise.

The guy made me weary and I never actually met him.

Over the next few weeks the Hobbit comes and goes from her condo.  He’s obviously visiting from somewhere else and isn’t local.  He’s always over visiting on the weekends. I’m thinking maybe he’s a fish processor or miner.  Maybe he works on a barge or something.  Who the hell knows?  I don’t care.

Suddenly one day the Hobbit shows up and he has a beat up Toyota truck.  Rusty and a total POS (please read as Piece of Shit).  He’s here for a week and gone for a week.  Here for a week and gone for a week.

One night I hear him on the phone – cause he’s stupid loud.  Now, he’s just pissing me off. Going on and on about starting up some business.  Later, out at the dumpster I see boxes and cartons from some manufacturing company for “Buzz Bites” energy bites.

Hobbit + POS + Buzz Bites = you have to be kidding me.

Please note:  You are going to need to reflect back on both of their visuals, the idea of Buzz Bites and yes, the sex toys.

Finally, one day I go upstairs and knock on their door.  The music was so loud, even the people in my head were vibrating around.  The Hobbit answered the door as Mary wasn’t home.  I politely ask him to turn down the vibes before my chandelier becomes a nightlight.  I also explained how the noise travels very easily and if he / they could be a little more considerate that would be fantastic.

Oh, yeah, sure.  Not a problem.  Sorry.  Sorry.  Sorry.

Weeks go by and I’m sound asleep in my snuggly little bear bed one morning.  Slowly I drift out of my sound slumber and I’m like, “what the hell is that noise?”  I am half asleep and it starts again.

What the hell?

*More noise*

Now I am sitting up in bed.  The noise stops.

Huh.

I lay back down.

*Noise starts again.*

Wait.  One.  Minute.  You.  Pain.  In.  My .  Ass.  Neighbors.

I am fully awake.  The Hobbit and his thick calved girlfriend are screwing.  After a yodeling like crescendo….the Hobbit yells a Tarzan like yelp:

“OUTSTANDING!”

Then….Hobbit leaps off the bed (I know this because the change in my piggy bank rattled on the floor and I’m pretty damn sure T-Rex is extinict) and takes off running for the bathroom with her right behind him.

Good lord of mercy give me a break.   You have to be kidding.

On my way to work, I go upstairs and tape a note to their front door.  I left no doubt in mind what I was talking about as I simply wrote, “Good morning!  Just so you know I do hear EVERYTHING downstairs.”

Being kind and polite can go a long way.  Emily Post and Sarah Lee both think so as does Dear Abby.  I am certain this will solve the problem.  Don’t we all want to be good neighbors?

A couple days go by and guess what….I am sound asleep….in my snuggly bed…..again.

T   H   U   M   P

*

*

Thump.

Thump.

*

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.Thump.

 

“I’M THE MAN!” 

 

Oh my god.  News Flash: No, you aren’t.

I am so not even kidding – I nearly fell right out of my bed with laughter and disbelief.  Yes, he yelled that.  Out loud!    Did  I fall down an acid lined rabbit hole when I wasn’t looking and I’m on a trip?  What the hell….can I rewind that?  What did you just yell?  Really?

Am I on Fear Factor?  No, wait it’s Candid Camera.  Oh – wait…I got it!  I’m on America’s Got Talent……. Snap.

I’M

THE

MAN

!!!

 

Who says these things?  Buzz Bites…..heavy calves….baggy sweatpants….

Really?

That’s it.  I’m ready for the next event.  I have my game plan.  You ignored my note.  I tried to be nice.  Now, I’m putting on the latex and grabbing my whip.  I’m so excited I feel like I should be the one yelling out.  Let the games begin.

Tick.  Tock.  Tick.  Tock.

It didn’t take long.  That night I climb into bed and before I can get into my dream sequence involving the ocean and floating along with the currents….BAM.

Hit the rewind button from earlier….

T   H   U   M   P

*

*

Thump.

Thump.

*

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.Thump.

Cue the yodeling.

Cue the Alaskan Minxy:  FINALLY – MY MOMENT HAS ARRIVED!

I leap up out from under the covers.  Standing in the middle of my bed…..jumping up and down like a two year old….I begin a rousing round of applause while yelling at the very top of my lungs:

“BRAVO!  BRAVO!  GOOD JOB!  BRAVO!  BRAVO!  EXCELLENT JOB!  BRAVO!”

Silence.  Cue the crickets.  Silence…………………………………………………

Then a burst of laughter for like two seconds – then silence.

Problem solved.  Never another peep.  Every time I ran into Mary from there on out – she never made eye contact.  Well, what’s awkward for you, is not awkward for me.  Thank you very much.

Lesson:  don’t mess with the Minxy.

Answer:  What?  No, I’m not telling you if I actually have a box of sex toys.