Just when you thought it was safe!

I picked up my cell at work and it was Crazy Neighbor. Gosh, I was excited. She wanted me to go out to the street and see if her car is still parked there- otherwise it is _dum dum dum_ stolen!!

“Didn’t you move out?”

“Yes, but I went on vacation shortly after and left my car.”

“Ok, I’ll check when I get home from work.”

So I’ve got some good news, bad news. I don’t think that her car is there- but the good news is that when she calls back later to discover that her car has been stolen (Zoinks!) we’ll get down to the bottom of the mystery! It wasn’t a ghost panda after all, but my nefarious apartment manager who has been after her from the first- who would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for us no-good kids!

Then I will shuffle together a stack of Baconator sandwiches and eat them in one bite!

All for Naught

I am SO tempted to write 'all for naught-y' instead, but lately my idea of naughty involves labeling all of my archived posts to jack up my rss feed. (HA! Lazy rss users, take that!)

If you recall I was busy moping over my crazy neighbor, needing to move, needing a new job, and other trepidations.

Well, apparently the cops came by last Friday to speak with Crazy Neighbor and she promptly gave notice. She is moving out this month. Hoooooray!!

Additionally, the interview that I felt went very badly didn't go so badly after all and while they are not having me back for a second interview for that job they are having me back for a second interview for a perfectly good related position. So I'm mostly not a complete failure! Hooray!

So with two worries out of the way I can resume not-moping. I guess I am the kind of person who needs a certain number of elements in life to be ok. Once too many areas of my life are in the air or worse yet, sucking, I get uhm... wilty.

In honor of this momentous occasion I offer you Happy Bacon Cat!

Crazy Update

So I haven't heard from my apartment manager yet, but I did email the SPD and ask them for advice. I spoke with a very nice officer and she is planning to investigate further as to whether my neighbor is just off her meds or something more serious.

I feel pretty good about this situation in that I think that my neighbor probably just needs some help and now (hopefully) she will get it.

That being said, I am still moving. So keep your eyes peeled for potential Quiana roommates.

I am not kidding. Do any of you need a roommate?

Yesterday I was on the phone with my dear former roommate as I let myself in through the second security door and into my hallway. Crazy Neighbor’s door popped open and she waddled out. “I need to talk to you,” she said walking towards me. I waggled my phone at her. “We need to talk,” she said continuing towards me. I just shut my door.

At 8:45 in my post-work out/ post-dinner flush I lay sprawled across my bed indulging in my secret shame- Ugly Betty- when there was a thoroughly expected knock at my door. At 8:45 on Thursdays Monica shows up and we chat until Grey’s comes on.

“Come in,” I called, “its locked; just let yourself in.” And there was no answer. I thought that perhaps Monica has a bunch of junk in her arms and can’t get her keys out. So I hopped up and threw open the door to find Crazy Neighbor.

With no preamble she declared, “I’m sorry to bug you, it’s just that every time I leave my apartment they come in and steal from me.”

Finally unable to contain the look that says ‘oh my gosh you are totally bonkers,’ I stared at her, slack jawed.

At that moment my hallway door opened and an unseen person approached. Crazy Neighbor blocked my door with her considerable girth/ crazy person powers. Monica was unable to enter; also nervous, she hovered a few feet away.

‘It’s just that I can’t leave my things in there because Dan (our apt. manager) will come in and steal them.” She was genuinely scared and wrung her hands furiously. “Can I bring over a few things for you to keep safe for me while I run an errand? It’ll only take 15 minutes.”

I had no idea what to do. Crazy Neighbor was counting on me and all of this was so real to her, so I agreed. I will admit that partially I just wanted her to go away and let Mon in and that I also was a tad bit nervous about possible reprisals if I refused.

Monica came in the second she left and we screamed soundlessly and jumped up and down waving our hands in a panic.

A few minutes later she returned with three carrier bags full of papers- notebooks, loose leaf, envelopes, just paper. I was tempted to examine them, but didn’t want to be accused of anything if she noticed. Fifteen minutes later she knocked on my door, I handed her the bags and stammered ‘thank you’ (which in my mind means ‘we’re done here, now go away’) repeatedly and slamming the door shut.

I immediately declared that one of us (preferably both) has to move right away. I called my apartment manager and left him a voicemail asking him to call me the next day because I have something very important to discuss with him. I plan to tell him that I feel freaked out and unsafe and so should he. That he needs to boot her or I’m out of here.

So, if any of you know someone looking for a roommate- possibly temporarily, I’m looking to move ASAP.

It’s not simply that I’m scared she might crap on my door mat, or yell at me, or chop me up into tiny pieces and feed me to her fish; it’s that I can’t deal with her coming over every time she has a break with reality. I can’t open my door to her and I don’t want to be her enemy. I just want her and her weird cloud gone.

I was planning on moving anyway, this just moves up the time table.

In other news...

Very nice coworker, with whom I occasionally attend church, when I occasionally attend church and who very kindly gave me green soap (why?) which gives me headaches (why?) for Valentine's Day, suggested that I kill my crazy neighbor with kindness.
Thank you for the advice nice church-going, bad-smelling-soap-giving coworker, but I don't think that crazy neighbor can be killed with kindness. I'm thinking more like a silver bullet, or a stake through the heart.

Had a job interview yesterday that went very very well, but I don't think that I will take it if it is offered. (Says Quiana, thinking she is quite hot-to-trot and getting ahead of herself -as usual.) The really obnoxiously adorable girl complimented me on my suit and I resisted the urge to say "damn straight," or "for what it costs, you'd better like it."
I have another interview today and I am concerned about paying to park downtown. Mainly because when I spoke with the woman on the phone she essentially told me that I offended her (I promise I didn't say anything about my undies. I didn't.) when I said that I didn't want to continue in my current job path for x, y, z reasons. However:
1. I had just said that I love my job.
2. She's the one that asked!!!
Anyway, I have some misgivings, but if she wants to pay me money then I guess I will buck up and head downtown so that I can sit in rush hour. Hurrah!

Given the general unavailability of both tapirs and pandas for pet purposes, I am pondering a hedgehog. These are somewhat challenging to get and are a bit pricey. But really what price is too high to pay for a pest that will probably bite me and spike me with his little suit of Quiana deterrent? Unconditional love is painful/may involve the procurement of meal worms.

Went out with Monica, her new guy "Gordy" (or so he likes to call himself), and some other folks to see The Paper Boys at Tractor Tavern Saturday. Good times were had by all... aside from running into really hot guy I went out with three times who just stopped calling. Who does that? After 3 dates, then you decide 'no dice.' He made googly eyes at me periodically, but you cannot fool me with a razor sharp jawline, curly blond hair, green eyes, and a nice tattoo. I'll stick with the rodents, at least you know that when they don't call it is because they lack thumbs.

Enough of this jibba-jabba, I'm off to be judged. yay.

Crazy Neighbor Update: Still Crazy

In our last amazing episode, our heroine was planning an escape. Granted I did not get far, but I strongly believed that cowering in Monica's apartment was a viable solution for the time being. Eventually Monica got home and we suited up to confront the crazy neighbor.

What follows is a brief description of events:
We got to the door and knocked, and nothing happened. Knocked again... and nothing. So we pounded like angry monkeys: finally a faint "Just a minute" followed by a large serious of thunks and bumps. Then nothing.

Was she knocked cold by ninjas? Nope.

Finally after about five promises of immanent arrival the door slowly opens and her head, just her head, emerges. Hatless. Amazing, I have never seen her hatless. It was like being in elementary school and seeing your teacher at the grocery store.

The weirdness continued as she opened the door further and we were awash in a very very bad odor. Very bad. Additional weird: she was blocking her body from view with a garbage bag. I swear, an actual garbage bag with stuff in it.

Anyway, she just stared at me and said, "I was asleep." To which I replied "It's 7 o'clock."

After staring blankly for a moment she asked me what I wanted. I looked at Monica with my 'am I in the Twilight Zone' look. Then I said, gently, "You said to come by after work...."
"Oh yes," she cried, "blah blah blah... my toilet flooded everywhere and wouldn't flush... blah blah blah.... sewage on my carpet.... blah blah blah blah.... indistinct whiny noises.... blah blah ARE YOU MAD AT ME?"
"Mraow?!" I thought. "Uh..... no?" I said.
"'Cause you seem mad at me."
"Nope, not mad," I said edging towards the door to my apartment.
"Oh, well can we discuss this later?"
"Yea, whatever," I said unlocking my door and hustling Monica inside.

Here is the part where I am an asshole. I really wanted to tell her that we aren't friends. That I'm not mad at her because I couldn't possibly be motivated to give a shit about her. That I wouldn't give her a key to my apartment, ever; because she is a stranger and not a friend.
But I didn't say any of that. Not because I'm nice, just because I didn't want her to start some kind of paranoid war of vengeance against me.

Won't you be... my neighbor

So this morning I find the following note shoved under my door:

Here is a transcript:

Quiana-

I do not have a working bathroom. It is due to plumbing problems.

I'm so sorry to bother you however, I need a terribly bothersome favor.

Simply put: I need to use your bathroom today. I will bring over my own t.p. some cleaner + towel + soap and leave clean & tidy. What else can one do?

I cannot speak to the manager until 10 or 11 am. The have no free apartments in the building.

The rest I cut off as it included her name, phone number, and apt. #.

However, I didn't even find this note until 11:30am due to a sudden and inexplicable breathing inability that I developed last night. The result of this is that I slept in my office chair- the sleep of someone who pounded far more than the recommended dose of NyQuil- till 11am.

You may remember crazy neighbor from my previous posts. And when she told me to guard my virtue, and that she wasn't the vomiter, and that people were breaking into her apartment to steal small items of no monetary value, simply to fuck with her.

So yea, I did not call her, because, uhm, she's completely crazy.

Then that afternoon my phone rang and it was her. She explained that her toilet is fixed but very very filthy. And could I please come by her apartment tonight when I get off work?

Uhm, no.

So I think that the only solution to this problem is to sleep in my car until my lease runs out.

95% Crazy, or 95% Crazy Like a Fox?

At 9 o'clock last night, as I read my book, Salt- A World History, (Yes, I am a boring person, but you're reading my blog so NYAH!) I heard someone knock at my door. Thinking it was Monica I hopped up to answer.

It was not Monica.

It was crazy neighbor.

She was quite agitated and when I inquired as to how she was doing she exclaimed, "I'm upset!" Pushing her way into my apartment she announced that she had been "prowled." Some items that were "very precious to her" had been stolen and she believes that somebody has the key to her apartment. Gravely she told me, a hand on my forearm, that I was also in danger.

I decided that it might be amusing (to me) to mention the guy with the knife and sword collection who lives down the hall from Monica. She was stricken briefly. "Isn't that illegal?" "Being socially awkward? Not last time I checked," I said with an unreciprocated smile.

Undeterred, she went on at great length about people getting into our homes and raping/stealing/looking at our personal items. (What personal items could this woman possibly need to hide? I'm guessing she doesn't have a neon orange 2 foot long double-headed dildo. Not that I do either...) I pointed out to her that I own absolutely nothing of value other than a crap ton of cds, which are all backed up on disc. She then pointed out my recumbent exercise bike, which while pricey, actually does weigh a metric crap ton. I would love to watch a thief carry that out. I bet a guy that strong would be dead sexy, also he already has a key to my apartment, so that hurtle is out of the way.

She claims to have seen men constantly casing "the joint" and repeatedly reminded me that I live in "the big city." Detective Scary Neighbor is watching you, would-be robbers- she lives in the "big city" (24th largest city in America, 100th largest metropolitan area in the world, 58th on the list of US cities by crime rate) and knows it. Unlike Dainty Neighbor Quiana who has only lived in Philadelphia (5th largest city in America, 45th largest metropolitan area of the world, 7th on the list of US cities by crime rate), Las Vegas (34th on the list of cities by crime rate), Honolulu, and Tokyo (10th largest city in the world, the largest greater metropolitan area of the world).

Of course, thanks to CSI et al., Law & Order et al. (though particularly SVU), British mysteries, and genetics, I am totally paranoid about being murdered in my bed (or really anywhere) and so even though I know that this woman is batshit crazy-go-nuts, I still couldn't sleep a wink. Do crazy people lose things and think that they are stolen? Do they make up thefts and believe it? Do they secretly suspect their dainty neighbors and plot against them?

As I lay there in dark, straining to hear the sounds of a meth addict with mush mouth breaking into my tiny apartment, I realized that maybe she was casing MY joint. That's right, she wanted to eyeball all my crazy bling. Perhaps she finds my pretentious emo music irritating and is out to kill me/destroy all my Citizen Cope CDs.

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! I have to move.

Gobo may jobo, Solo.

Yesterday as I was slinking out of my apartment to go on my daily jog I was intercepted by my next door neighbor. In fact this neighbor is why I slink out of my apartment as it is.

The day I met her I was carrying boxes into my shiny new apartment, hoping for a sexy young stud/librarian as a neighbor. I was very bummed when a quite middle aged rotund (we’re talking ‘Violet you’re turning violet, Violet’ on her way to the juicing room rotund) lady leapt out of the doorway.

“Uhm, hi. You must be new.”
“Yeah, I’m just moving in.”
“Yeah, about that. You know you shouldn’t leave your door open. I’ve been watching it for you, ‘cause Green Lake isn’t a safe neighborhood you know.”
“Well, I’m just moving here from Lake City, so it’s a major improvement. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Well, we had a rape here last year.”
“In this building?”
“Well no, over on Aurora (notorious for prostitution etc. also not near my house at all).”
“Oh, I see. Uhm. Well. I’m just unloading these boxes, so the door will be shut when I’m done.”
“Yeah, well, you should make sure you keep your door locked at all times. And your windows. I don’t even open them all the way. Only as far as the low setting on the lock. You know a lady living alone can’t be too careful.”
“Of course.”
“Being on the ground floor as well.”
“True.”
“A girl simply must protect her virtue.”
LOOOOOOONG pause.
“You’re absolutely right.”

2 thoughts:
1. Darling, I’m plum out of virtue.
2. You have got nothing to worry about because unless the mad rapist you fear specifically has a thing for fat/old chicks (to the point that he absolutely prefers them to young thin girls i.e. the other inhabitants of the building) your virtue will be intact when they put you in the ground.


So since then I’ve been avoiding her craziness. Until she got me yesterday- she must have been waiting with her ear to the door.

“Uhm, wait, uhm, Quiana, uhm, did you hear er… noises last night?” I shrank back inside the happy spot in my brain fearing that this woman was out there threatening the world by procreating. “Uhm, what noises?” She leaned in and whispered “Vomiting noises.” “Uhm, no,” I responded inching towards the hall door. “Oh. Well good. Because it wasn’t me. It was my upstairs neighbor. He must be sick. I just didn’t want you to think it is me.” “Of course not, I would never… anyway, I must er… run. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ahem.” What I wanted to say was: look honey buns, something tells me I’d be able to tell if you were bulimic.