More About My Neighbors
I know everyone on my block. Well, almost everyone. I don’t know most of the neighbors and those I do know, I do not like. There’s Thing 1 and Thing 2, the Horrible Dog Owner, and the Bread Thrower. The Horrible Dog Owner used to live in the apartment now occupied by Thing 1 and Thing 2. We thought that would be the last we’d see of Horrible Dog Owner, but no, she moved to an apartment building three doors down. Our terraces are within eyeing distance of each other. Stink-eyeing distance. She has a beautiful friendly dog that she leaves on her terrace in the worst weather conditions. Mr. Dingo and I never have to check the weather report. During the winter, if we can see the dog, we know that it’s freezing with a 100% chance of hail. In the summer, if we can see his thick, fluffy fur, we know that there’s a heat advisory and we’d best stay indoors eating Popsicles and making sure we have enough ice cubes for our Long Island Iced Teas.
I’ve never seen The Bread Thrower. I’ve only seen the aftermath. Occasionally, Mr. Dingo and I will be sitting on our couch watching TV and enjoying our Long Island Iced Teas when we hear a series of thumps on our terrace. Upon investigation, we’ll find partially eaten bagels, crusts of bread, and saltine shards. I have no idea who’s throwing bread out their window. I know it’s not Thing 1 and Thing 2 because I don’t think they’ve eaten a carb since the first Bush administration. Sometimes I’ll hear a window open and I’ll dash to the terrace — but too late. I arrive just in time to be showered in bread and walk back into the apartment pissed off and looking like a chicken cutlet.
The neighbors I like the best don’t actually live in my neighborhood; they either own or work in the shops on my block. There’s the deli where I buy my bagels, the deli where I buy sandwiches (Yes, two delis on one block. This is NYC), the dry cleaners, flower shop, nail salon, and pizza place. I’m on a first name basis with most of them. I know who’s working their way through school and who’s getting married. They know my class schedule and the results of Dingo Girl’s last vet visit. And we all hate the nail salon people. The salon people have an attitude that makes them a pox upon this block. The rest of us are sunshine on Sesame Street and they’re more like a sleep-inducing moonless night on Elm Street.
My favorite neighbor, however, is Michael. Michael works in one of the non-descript buildings on my block. I don’t know exactly what he does but I think it has something to do with the arts/entertainment industry. He’s very cryptic about his line of work but he often has backstage passes for many of the cultural events around the city. This weekend he gave me a ticket to an international photography exhibit way uptown where the ladies who lunch live and work and shop. The exhibit was incredible. It featured everything from mid-nineteenth century daguerreotypes to freaky experimental stuff that I pretended to like because everyone around me was viewing it with slack-jawed awe. Okay, I didn’t pretend to like it, but I did have a slack-jawed look on my face. The price tag on one particularly garish piece was a mere $250,000. See! Your jaws just went slack, didn’t they?! $250,000! One woman was elated that the recession had made the price of art so affordable these days. You see, she was looking for artwork to complement the new Italian marble in the Grande Foyer and the completely renovated Petit Foyer (and yes, she pronounced it “pet-tee foy-yay”). The Petit Foyer was completed last Summer and she’s just positively mortified that it’s Spring yet the Petit Foyer remains barren. I wanted to tell Lady Foy-yay that I just ordered a venti foy-yay and then ask whether her pet-tee foy-yay was for the pets because I would never be caught dead with anything less than a tall foy-yay, and then it would need to be made with whole milk and an extra shot of espresso. I didn’t say any of that, though. I just shrugged and vomited a little when I did.
I left the mewling masses to explore other parts of the exhibit and was completely in awe of photos by Jill Freedman, Minor White, and Ansel Adams. Poking around the nooks and crannies of the exhibit I couldn’t help but think that Ken Gilbert’s photography belonged there. His work is by turns shocking, soothing, introspective, and in your face but it’s all from a very talented eye. If you haven’t checked out his photoblog you are missing out. As I was standing on one side of an L-shaped wall looking at a tiny landscape and trying to convert 1900£ into U.S. currency — unlike Lady Foy-yay, I had forgotten to bring an accountant along — I heard a sound that could only be described as someone trying to play a kazoo filled with Jello. And then came the “ahhhhhh!” And then, the smell. Apparently someone chose to go to an out-of-the-way spot to relieve some gastrointestinal distress.
Imagine a rotten egg wrapped in moldy feta cheese stuck between two layers of decomposing meat. Now imagine baking that in a crock pot for a few hours before just now opening the lid. It came drifting around the corner and wrapped my head in its stink molecules like a tight facial compression wrap. My eyes watered and my throat immediately seized up. The room started spinning and everything began to fade to black. I knew I couldn’t pass out because the olfactory offender would be sure to tell the arriving paramedics that I was the one who forgot my Beano. I don’t know why I was the one who felt embarrassed, but I did. I thought about leaving before the sense assaulter came around the corner. My mama raised me well. Courtesy is about making the other person feel comfortable. But I don’t listen to the mama on my shoulder. I just held my breath and waited for the noxious noisemaker to appear. And appear she did.
Apparently, Lady Foy-yay was also an accomplished player of the ass-trumpet. The butt-ugly piece of art she just bought? $250,000. The look on her face when she saw me standing in her fog of stench? Priceless.
Posted on Sunday, March 29, 2009 at 07:01 PM.
Tags: In The Neighborhood, I Hate Shopping, La Vida Loca
no trackbacks
Submit your trackback to http://www.asiwassaying.com/index.php/trackback/134/3qh670e7/
- Enjoy this post? Share it with others:
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
Comments & Trackbacks
Mysterious Michael sounds like a good neighbor to have… even if he sends you into the lair of the Pretentious Pooter - Lady Foy-ay.
I’d love some of Ken Gilbert’s Sensual Photographic Masterpieces but I think they would spark an epic fap festival and guests would pass out in orgasmic ecstacy right in the Petit Foy-ay which, at the Little House on the Hill is quite Petit indeed!
I had to chortle, ever so slightly, at ‘venti foy-yay.’ Yet, I lost my mind when Lady Foy-yay turned out to be the ‘fluffer.’
Perhaps Lady Foy-yay should invest some of her cashola in some food that doesn’t make her choke out the entire gallery. I hear there are chefs who do wonders in this area. Or perhaps a dietitian? Anyway, I love that this pretentious snob was the offender!
“someone trying to play a kazoo filled with Jello” - there could not be a more grossly perfect description. also, maybe michael can set you up with an exhibit of your photoshopped masterpieces. even if you only charge $100,000 per piece you can retire in style.
OMG!!!! It is an absolute shame that you didn’t have a chance to tell her about this: http://www.flat-d.com/flatdpremium.html
Women are disgusting...guys can get one of those out in stealth mode and be G-O-N-E before anyone knows that the bomb has even been “DEPLOYED”!!!!!
No talent HACKS!!!!
MsDarkstar — I wonder if the Pretentious Pooter would sponsor a gallery opening for Ken? You could come and maybe get a great deal on a photographic masterpiece. Bring your accountant and your calculator.
Tara R. — I’m sure my eyes bugged out when she came around the corner. She was the last person I expected.
Jules — Really? There are chefs who focus on that type of food? My Chef (you may have heard of him, Boyardee?) is into fast meals that taste good. I’ll have to ask him about this new area of culinary prowess.
blakspring — There was actually some photography that used photoshop-like techniques. Not to “toot” my own horn, but I liked my photoshopped stuff better.
Ms. H — That’s just...it’s got to be a gimmick. And I don’t even want to ask how you know about these things.
MTAE — Like the guy who gets on my elevator every day. When he gets on, I get out and walk the remaining flights.
So money does smell…
There is no price on klass-ay, Ms. Dingo.
Awwww...you gave Kenny some love!!!!
I think his picture of the strippers tossing one another’s salads would be perrrrfect for the foy-yay, either petit or grande. It matters not.
I’ll have him send you his card so that next time, you’ll be prepared.
I am laughing so hard it hurts.
That is hilarious - I had a lady venture into my office last week and while she was talking to me she let loose on one of the Silent-but-Deadly kind. It was so bad I couldn’t continue our conversation, I had to excuse myself. Must have been the same woman Foy-yuck.
Marjolein — Yeah, and not as good as you’d expect.
NPW — Apparently, you can’t have too many foy-yays either.
Crissy — I love Ken’s work. His woodland series rivals anything I saw this weekend. That man is talented! If I had foy-ays, I would make sure that I’d pick a Ken Gilbert work to complement my Italian marble.
FreedomFirst — Then my work here is done.
O.G. — She ran you out of her own office with her SBD? Man, that is bad.
“...kazoo filled with Jello.” EEEWWWWWW!
BTW I now love Ken’s work too. Thanks for the link.
You have a way with describing the unloveliest parts of life! Money stinks. Just not usually that literally.
You definitely need to attend this website: http://www.fmylife.com
It’s hilarious, uplifting, and depressing. Some of the stories are just funny. Some make you realize you have it pretty damn good. Some you realize you’ve done before, or at least something like it, and that you’re an asshat for doing so. Enjoy!
But I know how you feel. I’ve got neighbors in Long Beach that ruin a good sleep-in morning every time with their crappy stone age vehicle that looks like it’ll eat you and sounds just as bad but also like it actually died forty years ago and they performed necromantic charms to regain control of it’s condemned, decomposing soul. That and they’re so beyond white trash it’s not even funny. It would be funny except I hate them and their midnight driveway fights over who slept with or drank who under the table. Yeah, I enjoy my time in Long Beach. Haha. *twitch*
I was going to say that I would have “loved to have been there” to see the look on her face, but your description of the odor you had to endure to see it makes me think it just wouldn’t be worth the olfactory sacrifice.
Can you figure out some way to have somebody pay that much money for one of my shots? You know, you being all “involved” in the art scene and all…
Ha, you crack me up. Did you give her the stink eye? Get it stink eye, I know lame pun but isn’t it just a glimpse of how people are just people know matter what class they think they’re in? Just like the saying we all put our pants on one leg at a time. Well, everyone toots!
Holy crap, Dingo; you have a talent for description. Eeeew.
So what you’re saying is she showed you the Grand Fart-ay instead of the Pet-tee Fart-ay? What a stinker.
Thanks for posting this. You know how I love a good fart story. I hope your nose has recovered.
I had a hard time feeling sorry for the top level exec who due to the economy is worried about how to pay for his daughter’s private pre-school tuition. Let me say that again. Private:preschool.tuition. So this woman? I might have had to say WTF? I wish I could have seen the look on her face.
the best part is that you stayed where you were to let her know that you knew it was her. genius.
Oh! You are so funny! I have that thing about needing to make other people feel comfortable and getting embarrassed for them. I don’t know what that is!
Oh no fricken way. There is just nothing in that city that isn’t either a contradiction of itself or is sitting right next to one. I so need to come back there.
So now you know why she needs a pet-tee foy-yay. I just hope the art she purchased isn’t the type to curl up....
Icky. I hate standing in someone else’s stench.
Bwa ha ha!… except I believe that would be ass trump-ay to her.
back in my chair now after falling down laughing. OH God, I would have loved to have seen her pee-tit face when she saw she was busted
Summer — I’m glad you like Ken’s work. If you look at my “art gallery” above you will see some of my favorite Ken Gilbert pictures.
Marian — I wonder if the foul scent of money is the reason why you see pictures of people rolling around in piles of dough like dogs.
Kazuki — I checked out that site, some of those situations are so embarrassing I truly hope that people are making them up.
GeekHiker — I’ll see what I can do but you know I would expect a commission, right?
Toe — I love puns. There are no bad puns. Oh, and I certainly don’t toot. I air out.
Mrs. Chili — Eeeew, indeed.
Mel Heth — Hahahah! Yes, I forgot that you are Queen of the fart stories!
Kori — I overheard someone on the street bemoaning the fact that she had to let her two nannies go because her husband didn’t get his bonus this year. TWO nannies!
Lisa — It was a sacrifice but I had to do it. I had to know the identity of the offender.
Allie — I hate getting embarrassed for people. Most of the time, they aren’t even embarrassed for themselves.
justrun — Yes, you do need to come back here. To live and work. Maybe at an art gallery?
Ree — Luckily, the artwork wasn’t paint. It certainly would have peeled right off the canvas.
k8 — I’ll have to remember that should we ever meet.
Jules — Hahahaha! I’m sure she has a future in the New York Philharmonic’s wind section.
Jessica — The only thing that would have made the whole situation off the charts is if she had done it in the section where the photographer had a series of photographs of people in gas masks.
Dingo: I heard the morning djs on the country station talking about it the other day. The woman dj was horrified....the men were trying to figure out where they could buy one.
MTAE: Down here, in the South? We call that “crop dusting”. (http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2006-06-29-crop-dusters_x.htm)
Ms. H — Should we ever meet, I want you on my team for Trivial Pursuit.
Wait, you have a bread thrower on your block too? Our bread thrower feels the need to get rid of something like 18 loaves every Sunday. She even has a special pillow that she sits on while she throws Wonder into the streets...I just ADORE living in the city!
One of my blogbuddies had a HIGH-larious post today that I thought you’d enjoy:
http://chrysalis53.blogspot.com/2009/03/full-disclousreits-law.html
And about that Trivial Pursuit Team? I’m totally in!! Can you IMAGINE how much fun we’d have?!?!?!?
Hillary — What is with the bread throwing?! And your bread thrower has a special pillow? It must be some cult.
Ms. H — We’d have fun until we switched to Pictionary and you found out that I can’t even draw stick figures.
The people two houses down from me are also horrible dog owners. I don’t understand why anyone would get a dog and then just chain it up outside all day. I don’t know what happened to their previous neglected tiny dog, but I haven’t seen him for a while and now they apparently have a new tiny dog to neglect. The other neighbors and I have reported them to Animal Control many times, but nothing ever gets done. The whole thing makes me hate people even more than usual.
flurrious — I, too, don’t understand people like that. I want to slap them for treating the animal so cruelly. Really, why get a dog if you don’t want to have anything to do with it? Yeah, for you and your neighbors for reporting them! Boo, that nothing ever gets done.
thanks for the tour of your ‘hood.
I do miss living in a big city...the art...the smells
Ladies who lunch too much and leave too much of their animosity to the rest of us and themselves stewing inside need to be relieved every once in a while. But who expects to be outed at an art show? There should be an Outers magazine for this time of offense.
rosie — If I could bottle it, I’d send some to you.
Laura — The thing is, if I’d had a camera with me, I just know that my photo of Lady Foy-yay would have a place of honor at the exhibit.