Thanks for Nuttin’
Hola, Innernetz! I know, I know, I promised to announce the winner of the Nobel Works Cards Giveaway ages ago, but things got a little busy around here, what with dodging bullets, intercepting gang communications, and negotiating a hostage release or two amidst all the other opportunities for community involvement my new slayborhood presents. Actually, I’ve been curled up on the couch nursing my aching ovaries with a heating pad and Super-Extra-Strength-This-Had-Better-Work-Or-I’m-Going-to-Punch-Somebody-Midol. Normally, my ovaries only ache (in a good way) when I see pictures of puppies. Or cream cheese frosting cupcakes. But over the past two weeks my normal PMS symptoms have been exacerbated by the stress of living under the clamorous womb weasels upstairs. My ovaries staged a revolt. Bitchiness, Moodiness, and Irritability joined the insurrection. But, I have figured out how to deal with abdominal anarchy: naps. Naps are the way to deal with your painful monthly visit from Aunt Flo. It’s like every other family get-together. Excuse yourself during Thanksgiving dinner and hibernate until January 1st.
So, I’ve been napping, or trying to. Sleep is hard to come by around here. Some of you had wonderful passive-aggressive suggestions for dealing with my noisy neighbors. Just my style. Dingo talks a good game, but when it comes down to it, I am embarrassingly non-confrontational. I’d rather tattle and let someone else deal with the Furby’s and Baby Mamas of the world. But SOME of you suggested that I bang on the ceiling with a broom. Now Innernetz, is that any way to be neighborly and avoid getting stabbed in the face? I would have to wear a Jason Vorhees mask at all times.
Last week, as I lay on the couch moaning about my stupid bitchface reproductive organs and bemoaning the fact that the exorcisms on Paranormal State don’t result in head-spinning, pea-soup spewing fabulousness, the percussion posse above me decided to turn their apartment into a roller derby of the damned. “Sweet baby jebus, you splooge sprogs,” I silently cursed to myself. How am I supposed to distinguish your thumps, bumps, and screams from the ones on TV? The folks at Paranormal State were trying to exorcise Redneck Demon and I was missing it! When Redneck Demon refuses to leave your double-wide, you are in a whole heap o’ hurt. You may wake up in the middle of the night to your mounted talking fish saying something hurtful about NASCAR. Glaring at the ceiling, I turned up the volume. So did they. Oh, no you din’t! I thought, “What would Innernetz do?” And I knew, I knew what you would do, Innernetz.
So, I stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the broom. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! I pounded on the ceiling. My bad ass Swiffer meant swift justice. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! The ceiling started to crack. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Paint and plaster began to form a lead paint and asbestos laden fog around my head and shoulders. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Shut. The. Fuck. Up! Shut. The. Fuck. Up! This. Is. Sparta! Shut. The. Fuck. Up! And it worked, Innernetz! It worked! I partied like the Canadian Women’s hockey team.
And then there was a knock on my door. Oh shit! They’ve come to kill me. I whispered to Dingo Girl, “Go bark at the door! Go bark at the door!” She rolled over on the couch and farted. She’s a great watch dog, educated in only the most modern of urban warfare — stealth bombs — but she’s not a good early warning system. In fact, as I was freaking out and looking for my Jason Vorhees mask, she rolled off the couch and ambled to the bedroom leaving a trail of mustard gas in her wake.
Trying not to make a sound, I tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole.
¡Ay Dios Mío! The Thing was standing at my door. The Thing was ginormous — as wide as she was tall — and as ugly as sin. And she was staring right at me through the peephole. Or at least one eye was. She had one lazy eye that scampered to the left as she leaned toward the door, and that eye drifted toward her ear so she probably got a better view of the hinges. Suddenly, she whipped her bulbous noggin’ to the side. Something had caught her attention. She froze, hackles raised, eyes unlazy eye narrowed as she honed in on the intruding sound. We both waited, she tense with adrenaline of the hunter and I, knees knocking like cornered prey. The ping from the elevator cast a tinny echo down the hallway. Help, oh, help! I sent a soundless plea down the hallway that was answered by a slamming door. My fate was sealed.
And then, Dingo Girl came to my rescue. Either alerted to my danger or waking up from a bad dream, she raced out of the bedroom and began growling at the door. The Thing backed away, shaking her head as if in a daze. I stepped away slowly and was walking toward the living room when BOOM!, the door shook in its frame like a lie detector connected to Sarah Palin. Dingo Girl’s bravado spent, she raced back to the bedroom. I followed. We were just tucking under the covers when the noise upstairs started again. I don’t know how long Dingo Girl and I were hiding napping when Mr. Dingo came home.
“What’s this?” he said, waving a piece of paper in the air. “It was stuck to the door.”
“What does it say,” I asked. But I already knew.
Mr. Dingo handed me the note. And there, in handwriting that punctured the paper in its fury was the note:
“Shutt the fuk up.”
So, thank you, Innernetz, for your advice but I will no longer be needing your services. You tried to get me stabbed. In my face.
Which brings me to the winner of the Noble Works Gift Card Giveaway! Brazen Bare Toe, come on down! Your ass-kissing and passive-aggressiveness warmed my heart and tickled my funny bone. For this comment:
I will always call on St. Bitch the Fierce for any problems I have that need a passive aggressive fix too. Also you could use your side kick Dingo Girl and leave a nice little present in front of their door everyday. Just after the ol’ walky walk I’m sure you have a nice bag of leavings you could just accidentally drop in front of their door. And of course leave a calling card: Card 7253 “FIERCE”. Inside you could write “Shut the hell up or the many plagues of St. Bitch the Fierce will descend upon you!”
Plauge 1: Shit
Plauge 2: More Shit
Plauge 3: So Much Shit
And so on.
I think this is a much better way of dealing with The Thing and her linoleum lizards. Dingo Girl and I WILL have our revenge. Toe, you will receive the Noble Works gift card. Email your info to me and you, too, can send snarky cards to all your friends and family. But, if you do, you just might want to wear your Jason Vorhees mask the next time you answer the door.
*****
If you are not sick of hearing about my moving woes, head on over to The Greenists.
Posted on Tuesday, March 02, 2010 at 11:54 PM.
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Comments & Trackbacks
I am somehow not surprised at The Thing’s lack of literacy. Those are the type who spawn little demons who then run amok and create havoc. I’m glad The Thing didn’t get you and Dingo Girl and I hope that sooner rather than later you can perhaps relocate to somewhere a little less frightening. (But, I havve the feeling that you’re in the same boat I am and even if finances improve, affording another move anytime soon is somewhat out of the question).
If I thought The Thing could read, I’d have you draft a letter full of lawyery things to her about “right to peaceful living conditions” and “intentional infliction of emotional trauma” and “cease and desist”. But The Thing would probably just end up using it as a wick for the molotov cocktail she’d attach to your door. ::SIGH::
I’m glad you’re still on the green (albeit noisy) side of the grass!
Glad you’re okay.
Well shit. Who knew that the THING upstairs was MORE Fierce? Have you thought about offering her tutoring services??? The spelling in that letter.....YIKES.
And really, that broom thing worked on ‘Friends.’
MsDarkstar — Literate or not, I lament the lack of common courtesy and common sense in today’s society. Now, get off my lawn!
Mr.POSSLQ — I’m fine although I am getting a little tired of wearing this Jason Vorhees mask.
Jules — You gave me advice from ‘Friends’?! No wonder it didn’t work. Next time offer suggestions from Ultimate Fighting.
Yikes! I like the St. Bitch the Fierce plague curse though, it may be time to bring the shit.
I can’t believe you didn’t scan that note for us. It’s killing me - was the note written in crayon? Broken pencil? Feces (human or otherwise)?
Inquiring minds want to know!
Get a gun.
“Excuse yourself during Thanksgiving dinner and hibernate until January 1st.”
I love you. 
I once had a neighbor who stomped on the floor if I so much as sneezed after 9PM. In order to not awaken the wrath of the stomper, I had to keep the volume so low that I’d basically have to press my ear to the TV speakers so I could still hear. I’m really not a loud person. It was ridiculous.
One night, when her stomping pushed me a little too far, I called complex security and told them that I thought she might have fallen or something, because she was stomping a lot. That pretty much solved it.
That settles it. You and Dingo girl and whoever and whatever else necessary are coming to stay with me in wonderful west virginia. The spelling is no better, but we respect everyone’s boundaries. Shotguns and guard dogs will do that.
I know I am not supposed to laugh, but… quit making me laugh! It sounds to me like your new neighbors and my new neighbors should actually be neighbors. Not a week has gone by that the future Eminem (but with less whiteness and a lot less talent) hasn’t produced some sort of noise that rattles the walls, the WORLD, and makes me want to run over there and beat someone down. If only it meant I wouldn’t get stabbed in the face. And, hell, I DIDN’T EVEN MOVE. So, basically, what I’m saying is, I hear you. Pass the wine. We can share.
Your hassles are of great entertainment, so there’s that, right? I liked the Candian Women’s hockey team reference. I used to party like it’s 1999, but from now on, I’m partying like the Canadian Women’s hockey team.
Tara R. — I’m going to feed Dingo Girl franks and beans tonight. We’ll be ready for Operation Bring the Shit at 0900.
saratogajean — Pencil. But probably one of those 12” super thick pencils we used in K-5.
K8 — I have a glue gun. Does that count?
Allie — I love your solution. Where were you when everyone else was suggesting that I use a broom?!
Shania — Woohoo! I mean, yehaw! Wait! Didn’t your house burn down? Are you just trying to get free labor? I’m a hard worker but Dingo Girl is a lazy ass.
LesleyG — Get your own wine. I need every last drop.
bretthead — And as an added bonus, we will already have masks!
Sorry. I didn’t realize that you weren’t up for ghetto confrontation. You’re clearly not gangster enough to live there, Punkin. You need to learn to bob and weave whilst talking nine different kinds of bullshit! Then you can’t be stabbed. In your face. BTW, Redneck Demons are serious shit!!
I believe Redneck Demons are haunting the house next door to me, only they’re still alive, unfortunately. I cannot have them exorcised.
Did I tell you they have TWO huge dogs shitting on my lawn now?
Yeah. I picture their faces when I’m doing my Turbo Jams.
My, my, I am so glad I don’t live where you do. I have the hardest time even SEEING any of my neighbors, much less having to deal with their noise.
I am in awe of Brazen Bare Toe’s idea. It is so much better than anything I would have come up with, hehe. I will be stealing it if I ever have neighbors like yours.
Dingo my Darling, I think it’s time you just give in and move to LA.
See, you could spice up the passive aggressive notes with bad spelling, they would never suspect the Gringo Girl downstairs of having such bad spelling so you are free and clear. Also, I suggest scratching up some dough and possibly investing in a stereo system. I turn mine on full blast when I want the neighborhood to know I’m not messing around with my noisiness.
Oh and Squee I won! Seriously though, now they know you have a dog it might not be a good suggestion. Do you know anyone with a cat? That would confuse them even more when you say, look, chica, I have a dog no gatos in Casa de Dingo comprende ese?!
The next time The Thing knocks on your door, just knock back. Maybe that will confuse her and she’ll forget why she came down in the first place. Or just open the door and throw cupcakes at her. I’m sure she likes cupcakes.
Get your red pen out, correct the spelling and tape it to Thing’s door!
Is that the Filet-O-Fish fish on your wall?
Summer — Do I bob first and then weave? And who knew that there were nine different kinds of bullshit?! I have so much to learn! Teach me?
Crissy — You mean Frank and Alice just let these Redneck Demon Dogs just crap all over your lawn? Do they wipe the demon dogs’ asses for them too? Tell Team Frank and Alice they need to step up.
Kori — But...but...what do you do with all that peace and quiet? Does not compute.
S.K. — I’ll let you know how it works. If you do not hear from me, I’ve been stabbed in the face and you should come up with an alternate plan.
Mel Heth — And we can have slumber parties and do each other’s hair!
Toe — We have a cat! I think Not a Dingo would be willing to donate to our worthy cause.
TCD — I like the knocking back idea. With my luck, Dingo Girl will hear the knocking and suddenly get all gangsta and start barking at ME!
April — And I’ll even be gracious and allow her to revise.
Wombat Central — Yes, it is!
Gimme back that Filet ‘O Fish
Gimme that fish
Gimme back that Filet ‘O Fish
Gimme that fish
What if it were you hanging up on this wall?
If it were you in that sandwich, you wouldn’t be laughing at alllllllll!
wow, you got so many great suggestions. you should definitely get a gun (not a glue gun, though perhaps an industrial strength staple gun might work) and knock back. if all else fails, perhaps you can insulate your ceiling with bubble wrap or fiber glass.
You know this post scared me a bit for your little family, right? I second the notion you should come to L.A. Dingo Girl can accompany on my hikes, too!
That is some scary shit! What is the mortal enemy of The Thing? Does it melt when splashed with holy water? Does it combust when exposed to sunlight? Will garlic keep it away? Whatever it is, you’d probably better arm yourself with it. Maybe you should get a Jason mask. Anybody who answered the door in one of those would scare me away...that or a Teletubbie costume.
My boyfriend is a DJ, when his neighbours get out of hand, he simply aims his speakers at the wall and works out an hour long Speedcore techno live set at top volume.
Must be cathartic if nothing else.
blakspring — Bubble wrap would be fun! But I was really hoping to find a use for the glue gun.
GeekHiker — A New Yorker transplanted to L.A. I sense a reality show in the making.
Harna — Whew! I have a Teletubbie costume sitting right here!
Jennifer June — Do you think my laptop speakers will have the same effect?
Was this why we always lived on the top floor in college? h
h — In college, I think *we* were the ones people were complaining about.
maybe you could use the glue gun to glue the bubble wrap around her and then she won’t make as much noise. unless she starts popping herself.
there is no cure for noisy neighbours. I know, I am one. But I am polite and ask when I can be noisy.
Thank Goddess you are alive!
Have you tried heavy sedatives? First try them on the thing. If that doesn’t work, self medicate.
Fucking beautiful. “Shutt the fuck up.”
You had me in stitches here. I have rarely laughed this hard in a very long time. Hats off to Brazen Bare Toe although you’d have to have balls of steel to actually go through with that advice!
wow, you got so many great suggestions. you should definitely get a gun (not a glue gun, though perhaps an industrial strength staple gun might work) and knock back.
Pretty beautiful post! I don’t realize that you weren’t up for ghetto confrontation. You’re clearly not gangster enough to live there, Punkin. Thanks!