That’s my name for my neighbor two doors over. She’s foul, she’s loud and she stinks. She’s got a daughter, probably 7 or 8 years old, who either misbehaves or rebels against The Foul One.
In any event, twice in the past two weeks, Ghettolicious has locked her daughter out. Locked. Her. Out. Of the apartment. And the kid? Pounds and screams for her mom to let her in. When she gets to the point where she’s hoarse, the door opens. I know because I hear the bitch throw it open.
I was outside talking on my cell phone a few moments ago, and she was out there with a stinky entourage. She was yelling at her daughter and passing around a cell phone like it were some space oddity. I mentioned rather loudly on my own phone that you wouldn’t BELIEVE the body odor that people in this uppity apartment building have. I thought she was going to sit on me. And you know what? She would win. *shudder*
She just had an eviction notice on her door the other morning. And while I would never wish that on anyone, I wouldn’t exactly cry myself to sleep if she and her litter were gone from my world. But I just saw two guys (one of them rather hot. Damn.) moving exercise equipment into her place. Damn — and here I was planning the moving-out party!
