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Entry tags:
Bad, bad, bad neighbors; good, good, good ferrets
Bah, more neighbor woes.
Reggie (of the murderous dog and the fresh beats) loves to entertain in this hot summer weather. Sunday his guests were out on the balcony for a good five hours or so, growing increasingly drunk and loud by the minute. I didn't have to put up with it as long as Tery (her own fault for refusing to attend Pridefest), so by the time I came home she was already well fed up. The guests in question seemed to be exclusively female, young, and with a marked volume control impairment.
We listened to them chatting and laughing so loudly that we couldn't hear our own TV. We tried making fun of them, mimicking their screeching outbursts, but, as is the case with the totally inebriated, they remained completely oblivious.
I tried consoling Tery that it could be so much worse, that they could be blasting music on top of the screaming, but she would have none of it. My little Tery, who wouldn't speak up if she were being murdered, had reached her limit.
So I attempted diplomacy. I went outside and very politely asked them to please keep it down, as the level was becoming quite disruptive (important to note is that Reggie was inside for this). They appeared to comply, but ten minutes later, as in the case of the totally inebriated, my civil, reasonable request was forgotten and they were screaming again. I stormed back out to retrieve Kitten Mitten, growled in frustration "Fucking PEOPLE," whereupon Reggie suddenly appeared outside, acting befuddled that there was a problem. I slammed our sliding glass door, but it seems my admittedly childish performance did the trick and the party was over.
Tery wanted a letter written to the HOA stat, not just for the noise but because earlier in the party one of the guests was freaking out about something and screaming long strings of profanities at the top of her lungs that could be heard by anyone with an open window -- another infraction of HOA rules. I was not so eager to start another mini-war like we had with Tracey, so again pointed out the lack of music and the relatively early timing of the incident (9:30 pm. If it were after 10, yes, they would be in clear violation).
The next day as I came up the walk, Reggie was kneeling on the ground playing with a little boy (presumably his son?) I approached him and attempted to explain how I had first asked politely to keep the noise down, a crucial fact I was certain he was completely unaware of. His answer was "I'm with the little one right now. We'll talk later." I see. When he has a little one we should all be responsible adults. I'm assuming therefore the little one wasn't around last night when his guest was cursing like a sailor about god knows what.
A few minutes later he came to my door. We had a long talk. Some key points:
While I agreed that he should certainly be allowed to entertain guests, I felt the noise level had gotten a bit excessive. He disagreed, couldn't believe they were louder than our TV. Furthermore, if it were truly that bothersome, we could have just closed our windows. "Your peace is found in your home" he pointed out. Oh, that's beautiful, brother. But it's a bit hard to find peace while sitting in a puddle of sweat in 100-degree heat while the rule-breakers are outside enjoying the evening breezes. He did agree that he didn't realize how hot it truly it is on the third floor (standing and talking for ten minutes with me set him straight on that account nicely), so hopefully that will make him a bit more sympathetic to why we don't just close our windows, never mind the inherent injustice in the proposal.
Argument #2: He works very hard and has a right to relax how he sees fit. Apparently he thought Tery and I were trust fund kids who hadn't yet earned our right to not be disturbed by his relaxation. He was quite astonished to learn that I work two jobs, and that just because I work from home doesn't automatically mean I own my own business. Yes, feel free to make assumptions about my life. You know NOTHING about me.
He asked why I complained about his dog when Tracey's continue to sit on her balcony and bark at anything that moves all day. Again, feel free to assume that this neighborhood's history began when you showed up. I told him about the meth lab (not the best selling point if he's looking for somewhere nice to raise his kid, for the first time possibly working in our favor) and that we go back a long way with her. And be fair, we complained before we realized the dog wasn't staying permanently.
He asked halfway through the conversation if we were planning to sell soon. I couldn't figure out the reason for the question unless he was trying to determine a.) whether we owned or rented, and b.) if there was any chance of us leaving so he could do whatever he wanted without anyone complaining (the only other neighbor that might have backed us up was the Alcoholic, who would have lived above him. Now there is a pair of very nice people renting there who probably aren't eager to make waves before they finish unpacking). Sorry to disappoint: Yes, we own, and furthermore it would take us a lot longer than 20 minutes to move out if we were leaving. We'll be around for a long time after you move out, Mr. Can-Only-Afford-Lawn-Furniture-And-All-The-Forties-You-Can-Drink-Every-Night.
He promised to try to be more considerate from then on, pointed out that the people below him have a brand new baby so they'll be even quieter, so we'll see. I felt the matter had been dealt with, however, Tery saw it as "Mr. Man" coming into our neighborhood and talking me out of righteous outrage. I disagreed, but then my brain, which is so much more comfortable with anger than compromise, wouldn't let go of his "I work hard so my method of relaxation takes precedence over yours" attitude. I composed an objective letter to the HOA (okay, I couldn't resist a wee bit of sarcasm re: us not working hard enough to earn peace and quiet) just for documentation sake. So if there are any future problems we're covered.
I wish to god our other neighbors would speak up, but the elderly woman downstairs is in a rest home never to return, our neighbor below us literally wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful (though we can easily imagine being interviewed by the 10 o'clock news after his surprise killing spree), then there's Tracey who's only home at 2 am and probably not exactly waiting for the chance to jump to our aid, and a bunch of renters who probably aren't even aware there are actual rules about disturbing noise levels. Making us once again the neighborhood police.
~*~
Speaking of neighbors, a different one asked me to house-sit for her while she took a weekend trip to Oregon. She had seen me walking with Francesca Sofia outside and figured I like cats. She seemed like a nice, normal woman so I agreed.
Serves me right for making assumptions. She has five cats, a rabbit, and not nearly enough cleaning products. Plus she wanted me to feed the squirrels and birds outside, which I think understandably has taken bottom priority in my list of chores. Five cats and one litter box -- and it's not even a proper litter box but rather one of those large tubs you store sweaters in. And it's the scented kind of litter, which I think smells worse than the actual waste. "Nasty, nasty, nasty" is all that goes through my head as I scoop it into the large litter bucket she stores it in until it's full. The cats seem generally happy with this arrangement, except for one who will only pee on a paper towel in front of it. N, N, N.
Five cats and they'll only drink out of a tiny saucer placed in the middle of the bathtub, which needless to say is bone dry every time I go over there. Those cats have her trained really well. Five cats, three of which are long-haired, so every day there are fresh piles of vomit everywhere on the floor. Nasty, nasty, nasty.
Plus she's the "daughter my mother never had," as Tery put it. She lives alone, so she hoards crap; she insisted she was selling it all on eBay, but I mean literally you couldn't walk through the place when I visited. Before she left she at least cleared a path for me. Triple nasty.
My payment for all this was supposed to be a gargoyle she had seen at the "Merchandise Mart," whatever that is (sounds like a flea market). She indicated a fairly large size, but then on Sunday she called to see if I minded her staying until the end of the week, an extra three days. So I'm hoping for maybe two gargoyles for my trouble. Tery is supposed to get a bottle of wine out of it for helping me.
~*~
Finally, Gideon the ferret had to be put to sleep. After a year of battling adrenal cancer, he finally wasn't getting better and Tery decided it was time. Don't be sad for me -- after having as many ferrets as we do, I've learned to distance myself when I see the end coming. Tery thinks it's awfully cold-hearted of me, but can you blame me for not wanting to get too invested only to be utterly devastated once every six years? (average lifespan)
She swore she'd wait until Gideon's ashes returned from the crematorium, but then she saw a little guy up for adoption at the local shelter. She went to visit him and it was love at first sight:
Ferret LOLZ
What is this little scamp's name, you ask? I'm glad you asked.
Malcolm Reynolds and Washburn "Wash" White Whiskers -- because every Firefly captain needs a pilot
As with every other ferret I've ever seen, getting along is never an issue:
Muskrat Luv
Reggie (of the murderous dog and the fresh beats) loves to entertain in this hot summer weather. Sunday his guests were out on the balcony for a good five hours or so, growing increasingly drunk and loud by the minute. I didn't have to put up with it as long as Tery (her own fault for refusing to attend Pridefest), so by the time I came home she was already well fed up. The guests in question seemed to be exclusively female, young, and with a marked volume control impairment.
We listened to them chatting and laughing so loudly that we couldn't hear our own TV. We tried making fun of them, mimicking their screeching outbursts, but, as is the case with the totally inebriated, they remained completely oblivious.
I tried consoling Tery that it could be so much worse, that they could be blasting music on top of the screaming, but she would have none of it. My little Tery, who wouldn't speak up if she were being murdered, had reached her limit.
So I attempted diplomacy. I went outside and very politely asked them to please keep it down, as the level was becoming quite disruptive (important to note is that Reggie was inside for this). They appeared to comply, but ten minutes later, as in the case of the totally inebriated, my civil, reasonable request was forgotten and they were screaming again. I stormed back out to retrieve Kitten Mitten, growled in frustration "Fucking PEOPLE," whereupon Reggie suddenly appeared outside, acting befuddled that there was a problem. I slammed our sliding glass door, but it seems my admittedly childish performance did the trick and the party was over.
Tery wanted a letter written to the HOA stat, not just for the noise but because earlier in the party one of the guests was freaking out about something and screaming long strings of profanities at the top of her lungs that could be heard by anyone with an open window -- another infraction of HOA rules. I was not so eager to start another mini-war like we had with Tracey, so again pointed out the lack of music and the relatively early timing of the incident (9:30 pm. If it were after 10, yes, they would be in clear violation).
The next day as I came up the walk, Reggie was kneeling on the ground playing with a little boy (presumably his son?) I approached him and attempted to explain how I had first asked politely to keep the noise down, a crucial fact I was certain he was completely unaware of. His answer was "I'm with the little one right now. We'll talk later." I see. When he has a little one we should all be responsible adults. I'm assuming therefore the little one wasn't around last night when his guest was cursing like a sailor about god knows what.
A few minutes later he came to my door. We had a long talk. Some key points:
While I agreed that he should certainly be allowed to entertain guests, I felt the noise level had gotten a bit excessive. He disagreed, couldn't believe they were louder than our TV. Furthermore, if it were truly that bothersome, we could have just closed our windows. "Your peace is found in your home" he pointed out. Oh, that's beautiful, brother. But it's a bit hard to find peace while sitting in a puddle of sweat in 100-degree heat while the rule-breakers are outside enjoying the evening breezes. He did agree that he didn't realize how hot it truly it is on the third floor (standing and talking for ten minutes with me set him straight on that account nicely), so hopefully that will make him a bit more sympathetic to why we don't just close our windows, never mind the inherent injustice in the proposal.
Argument #2: He works very hard and has a right to relax how he sees fit. Apparently he thought Tery and I were trust fund kids who hadn't yet earned our right to not be disturbed by his relaxation. He was quite astonished to learn that I work two jobs, and that just because I work from home doesn't automatically mean I own my own business. Yes, feel free to make assumptions about my life. You know NOTHING about me.
He asked why I complained about his dog when Tracey's continue to sit on her balcony and bark at anything that moves all day. Again, feel free to assume that this neighborhood's history began when you showed up. I told him about the meth lab (not the best selling point if he's looking for somewhere nice to raise his kid, for the first time possibly working in our favor) and that we go back a long way with her. And be fair, we complained before we realized the dog wasn't staying permanently.
He asked halfway through the conversation if we were planning to sell soon. I couldn't figure out the reason for the question unless he was trying to determine a.) whether we owned or rented, and b.) if there was any chance of us leaving so he could do whatever he wanted without anyone complaining (the only other neighbor that might have backed us up was the Alcoholic, who would have lived above him. Now there is a pair of very nice people renting there who probably aren't eager to make waves before they finish unpacking). Sorry to disappoint: Yes, we own, and furthermore it would take us a lot longer than 20 minutes to move out if we were leaving. We'll be around for a long time after you move out, Mr. Can-Only-Afford-Lawn-Furniture-And-All-The-Forties-You-Can-Drink-Every-Night.
He promised to try to be more considerate from then on, pointed out that the people below him have a brand new baby so they'll be even quieter, so we'll see. I felt the matter had been dealt with, however, Tery saw it as "Mr. Man" coming into our neighborhood and talking me out of righteous outrage. I disagreed, but then my brain, which is so much more comfortable with anger than compromise, wouldn't let go of his "I work hard so my method of relaxation takes precedence over yours" attitude. I composed an objective letter to the HOA (okay, I couldn't resist a wee bit of sarcasm re: us not working hard enough to earn peace and quiet) just for documentation sake. So if there are any future problems we're covered.
I wish to god our other neighbors would speak up, but the elderly woman downstairs is in a rest home never to return, our neighbor below us literally wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful (though we can easily imagine being interviewed by the 10 o'clock news after his surprise killing spree), then there's Tracey who's only home at 2 am and probably not exactly waiting for the chance to jump to our aid, and a bunch of renters who probably aren't even aware there are actual rules about disturbing noise levels. Making us once again the neighborhood police.
~*~
Speaking of neighbors, a different one asked me to house-sit for her while she took a weekend trip to Oregon. She had seen me walking with Francesca Sofia outside and figured I like cats. She seemed like a nice, normal woman so I agreed.
Serves me right for making assumptions. She has five cats, a rabbit, and not nearly enough cleaning products. Plus she wanted me to feed the squirrels and birds outside, which I think understandably has taken bottom priority in my list of chores. Five cats and one litter box -- and it's not even a proper litter box but rather one of those large tubs you store sweaters in. And it's the scented kind of litter, which I think smells worse than the actual waste. "Nasty, nasty, nasty" is all that goes through my head as I scoop it into the large litter bucket she stores it in until it's full. The cats seem generally happy with this arrangement, except for one who will only pee on a paper towel in front of it. N, N, N.
Five cats and they'll only drink out of a tiny saucer placed in the middle of the bathtub, which needless to say is bone dry every time I go over there. Those cats have her trained really well. Five cats, three of which are long-haired, so every day there are fresh piles of vomit everywhere on the floor. Nasty, nasty, nasty.
Plus she's the "daughter my mother never had," as Tery put it. She lives alone, so she hoards crap; she insisted she was selling it all on eBay, but I mean literally you couldn't walk through the place when I visited. Before she left she at least cleared a path for me. Triple nasty.
My payment for all this was supposed to be a gargoyle she had seen at the "Merchandise Mart," whatever that is (sounds like a flea market). She indicated a fairly large size, but then on Sunday she called to see if I minded her staying until the end of the week, an extra three days. So I'm hoping for maybe two gargoyles for my trouble. Tery is supposed to get a bottle of wine out of it for helping me.
~*~
Finally, Gideon the ferret had to be put to sleep. After a year of battling adrenal cancer, he finally wasn't getting better and Tery decided it was time. Don't be sad for me -- after having as many ferrets as we do, I've learned to distance myself when I see the end coming. Tery thinks it's awfully cold-hearted of me, but can you blame me for not wanting to get too invested only to be utterly devastated once every six years? (average lifespan)
She swore she'd wait until Gideon's ashes returned from the crematorium, but then she saw a little guy up for adoption at the local shelter. She went to visit him and it was love at first sight:
Ferret LOLZ
What is this little scamp's name, you ask? I'm glad you asked.
Malcolm Reynolds and Washburn "Wash" White Whiskers -- because every Firefly captain needs a pilot
As with every other ferret I've ever seen, getting along is never an issue:
Muskrat Luv
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Ferrets In Space!
Coming Soon?
(Sorry you have to be the Neighboar Poleeze)
Re: Ferrets In Space!
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