Sunday, June 15, 2008

Cowboy Bob and the Freak Show I Call My Life...

I have a new neighbor. I was elated last week when my downstairs neighbor, Miss Meanie Pants, moved. She didn't like me. It seems that the guy who lived with her, I guess you would call him her "boo" or friend with benefits, liked me. The feeling was not mutual. He was nasty!! He didn't get the hint when I blew him off several times. Then, he started stalking me and I had to go to the leasing company and throw a big old hissy fit. He kind of backed off. Then, he disappeared. I thought I was done with him. Then, he reappeared and disappeared several times. Then, one day in March the police came looking for him and he never reappeared. All they did was fight and I could hear it all. She also had a yappy dog she left in the bathroom when she was gone. I would have to hear it whine all the time and that got old. Anyhow, Miss Meanie Pants moved out, the apartment next to her's was empty and the only people left in the building were me and Pothead Pete next door. I don't really like Pothead Pete, but at least he is quiet. I just try not to inhale when I leave the building. I like to avoid that contact high if at all possible.

So, back to the new neighbor. Someone moved in to the apartment next to Miss Meanie Pants. I refer to him as Cowboy Bob. I don't think he is a cowboy, but he leaves boots outside his door covered with mud or stuff....I don't want to get too close...you know how I am about smells. Cowboy Bob drives a big old extended cab diesel pick-up truck with a tool chest on the back from Tractor Supply Company. I think calling him Cowboy Bob is justifiable. I don't care about Bob leaving his boots in the common hallway, even though such stuff is strictly verboten in our lease and "Good Neighbor Policy". As long as Bob doesn't narc me out for putting my trash out in the hallway at night because it is too late to walk to the dumpster, I can overlook his boots.

For the most part, Bob has been a good neighbor for the week or so he has been here. I haven't felt the need to go to the leasing company and demand they tell him to be quiet, have them kick out some loitering stalker, or rat him out for smoking so much pot that when I walked out of my apartment, I felt a sudden craving for Cheetos and Mountain Dew from the contact high. I thought Bob might work out alright here in the building. Then, last night, Bob ruined it all!

I was sitting here in my apartment watching yet another episode of Forensic Files. I could hear people talking, but I thought it might be Pothead Pete's television. Sometimes when he is hitting the wacky weed a little too hard, he turns up the volume on his big screen television with the surround sound a little too loud. After trying to ignore it, I finally got up and realized it was coming from outside. Oh great, it's the crazy people in the next building who let their children and animals run wild at all hours of the day. I turned up the volume and tried to block them out.

Finally, when they didn't stop once it had gotten dark, I got up and looked out the sliding glass door. It wasn't the crazy people from the next building, it was Cowboy Bob and his posse of cowpoke friends sitting on his patio. Ok, it is obvious Bob neglected to read the "Good Neighbor Policy" because it strictly states "You cannot sit out on your patio or balcony at all hours of the night, whooping it up with your cowpoke friends, making it impossible for the other people living around you to enjoy a good episode of Forensic Files or Dr. G. Medical Examiner."

Bob and his cowpoke buddies, sat out there until well after midnight, making noise. This didn't go over well with me. I couldn't watch television without hearing them and when I couldn't sleep, I came out to the couch, but I could still hear them!!! It was annoying and inconsiderate to say the least. I didn't want to go down there and go all Diva on Bob and the Cowpokes. I was not looking too hot and I figured this was Bob's "house-warming" patio party. They didn't need to see me looking like a hot mess. I decided to let Bob slide this time. He should consider himself touched by an angel. However, now the gloves are off. If Bob gets loud again, gauntlets will be thrown (or perhaps trash, ice, bread...whatever is available) and you better believe the Diva will prevail. No one messes with Diva Divine or comes between her and a good episode of a true crime show and escapes her wrath without a letter from the leasing company or some form of retaliation.

Hark, what is that I hear out in the hallway?? Oh, it sounds like Bob and the Cowpokes toting a cooler, which I am sure is holding/once held beer. So help me if Bob starts his partying at 12:57 a.m., I will go bat shit crazy on his boot wearing ass. I promise you, I will scratch his eyes out. I bet Bob and his Cowpoke pals went to the Rascal Flatts concert tonight....oh, yee haw! I don't think Bob is going to work out here in the building. Bob will have to move. This is yet another chapter in the freak show I call my life. Until next time, Diva Divine

No comments: