Caterwauling

People take lunches and vacations and leave at 4:59 p.m. and then ask you to do things for them that were due days earlier.

The good news: Thundercunt stayed quiet-ish till 10:45 p.m.  The bad news? It’s ten forty fucking five p.m. you bitch. Put Fraggle Rock to bed and maybe she will be on time for school tomorrow. You know, for a change. 

Those are my public names for the twunts upstairs. I haven’t figured out public names for their demon spawn yet. I generally call the bigger one “Fraggle” because she’s uncoordinated and bounces off the walls like she’s on puppet strings. The littler one just cries a lot like her daddy.

Honestly I think the guy is the victim of domestic abuse. Granted, a man who yells at a woman (and then me for asking that they be quiet at night) isn’t much of a man. But boy does he stand up for Thundercunt when others are around. Like he knows he’s gonna get his ass whooped if he doesn’t.

Yesterday I awakened at 4:10 a.m. because one of the little bastards dropped something on the floor that rattled my ceiling. So I got up and worked. By 5-ish p.m., I was falling asleep at my desk. Got home at 6, ate and fell asleep to a meditation MP3 at 6:45.

7 p.m.: Enter Thundercunt. Over my room. End nap.

The bitch usually gets home at 8 p.m. We get some fugly ass strippers at all the men’s clubs around here. (I mean, Octomom for Christ’s sake.) So she may be out table-dancing to pay the rent.

And it’s like she saves up all her rage so that when she bursts through the front door, she’s yelling at him and the Fraggle goes flying and the baby starts wailing.

Lucky me, they picked my room to fight in and awaken me from my nap after three hours’ sleep the night before.

Their nightly rap concert started at 10 p.m. instead of 11 — I guess the bitch thundering her way home an hour earlier was an improvement in that regard. (See? I am A POSITIVE PERSON.)

Of course, they just screamed right over the music. And they picked Mom’s room to scream into the wee hours. So, I did get some sleep last night but she didn’t.

Apparently the motherfuckers slept in today. I was thinking maybe the early “Yo! MTV Raps!” routine was so that they could get Fraggle off to school at a reasonable hour. But alas, I was long gone by 8 a.m. and mom texted an hour later to say there was lots of crashing and banging. Probably to get the little delight ready for school.

When Big Giant Pussy was yelling at me that I choose to hear them, I wish I could have talked over him long enough to tell him that when you’re louder than the people and objects in my apartment, you are in my territory and I have a right to object to the way you behave.

I can only imagine what Fraggle’s poor teachers go through. Those kids are so bad when their mother is around.

It’s funny though. Big Giant Pussy is home with them all day. And granted, many days are one big ceiling-rattling hootenanny. But I don’t hear yelling unless Thundercunt is home. I wouldn’t say he’s a good dad … but if those fuckers ever split up (God I wish), I would be more than happy to tell a judge to give him custody. If, say, any giant crocodiles or wild wolves weren’t available as my first choice.

Maybe those fuckers should befriend me instead of making me so mad that I’m going to do something I am too far gone to regret …

I wanted to share my favorite e-mail that I’ve received in the last five years:

“Dear Goddess & Friends,

It’s 5 p.m. and I’m going home. I did not finish that urgent “Thing” you needed. I am also not acknowledging the other urgent “Things” you gave to me two days ago. Oh and I’m on vacation for the next month. Have a nice life. SEEYA.

Love,
(name withheld)”

OK maybe I paraphrased. Or not.

There’s the part of me that wants to DO ALL THE THINGS because it’s the right thing to do for me. (Not for them.)

The other part of me that’s earned my keep is like, welp, they get to have a cruddy day when All The Things move to overdue status.

I’m not gonna lie — I’ll be twitching and itching in the meantime …

8 p.m. Neighbor kids were banging their floor/my ceiling. Not playing. Not walking. Banging. Per usual.

I yelled shut up.

Neighbors started fighting. I might have yelled shut the fuck up, although my favorite sayings are generally, “Be quiet,” “Stop it” and “Shut up.” I figure the kids hear enough cuss words from their parents.

(My favorite is how the dad always says, “This is BULLSHIT.” That may be the only thing we agree on.)

Either way, it was now past 8 p.m. and I have a very, very early morning. Oh and I pay a lot of money to not relax here.

And, the drama has been nonstop for hours (and is still ongoing). At this point it’s past 11 p.m.

Mom was on the phone with her friend in Pittsburgh when the fighting started above her room. The friend could hear the banshees. Mom went to the front door. She-Banshee was now on the phone with someone, talking VERY loudly about ME.

I think She-B thought Mom was me. Mom had the phone to her ear and I think the B thought Mom was recording. Since she said, “Go ahead and record.” Nay. Her friend caught every word though.

I snuck out and started recording. (That was an invitation.) She was hollering that I follow her outside all the time and look up there at her. She saw my foot and called me a dumb bitch and said some other related things.

She told her friend I yell shut the fuck up at them. Which … I’m pretty peaceful. You know I’m at wits’ end if/when it comes out.

And … maybe shut up? You got bigger problems than me, lady.

Unfortunately my recording cut off. I went back inside. And listened to more insanity through the ceiling.

I went in my room (ostensibly the kids’ room). I heard the bitch saying she’s going to “get” me. He-Banshee said “don’t worry about her.”

Lots more back and forth and then silence. Then mom calls me into her room again because she distinctly heard her say, “I’ll get them” and he again said, “Oh just forget about them.”

Again, you people have bigger problems than me. Please leave me out of it.

Then an argument erupted in the hallway. He was yelling about her taking or keeping his bag. I think he left for a while and came back and was looking for this bag. She had apparently gone through it.

I thought their evil plan to “Get me” was to lure me into the hallway. I’m perfectly aware that she might want to call the cops and say I’m harassing her.

You know, first of all when I go out in the hallway, it’s to prove to myself that it’s them. Since they tell the property director, the cops, security and even me that it isn’t them.

Second, since they bang their sliding glass door all day and night. I open and close mine to let them know I hear them. That ain’t following. That’s me saying, “Hey, if you can hear this, I can hear you.” The “shut up” is implied.

So, not following her. In fact, I like to use my porch because it’s generally the only place in this unit that’s quiet. If he’s not smoking pot and blasting rap music. At 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

Last Friday, a lady was across the lake and looking over here, mom told me. Mom sits on the porch every morning to get sun because it’s east-facing and that’s the only time we get sun.

The lady hear the yelling and came over quickly. She called up to mom, “Are you OK? I heard a woman screaming. Is something wrong?”

Mom said she was fine, thank you for asking.

Which was lovely, actually. Mom needed to see that we have caring, kind people here who would help you.

What I wish mom would have done was pointed upstairs.

I was working from home that day and losing my mind as the fighting escalated. I can’t call security or the cops during the day and I don’t even know that I could go up there. I don’t want to. They are violent. I don’t know if there’s a weapon up there. Anyone who can scream like that in front of their babies clearly isn’t rational.

That’s when I booked the hotel.

I almost wondered, hunh, what if they get it out of their system and I would have had a peaceful (and certainly cheaper) weekend.

Not so much.

I was so tired tonight but I’m wired now.

In any event, when they were yelling about the damn bag in the hallway, like I said I thought they wanted to lure me out. I was listening — not hard to hear those big mouths. But as it turns out another neighbor — sounded like a very nice lady — called out, “Other people live here, you know.”

I don’t know if they thought it was me. Too nice to be me.

Not too long after, I heard a woman knock on their door and say something. She sounded calm. Almost sounded like the lady cop who came after I called last time. Things went quiet … till now.

I think the guy left and came back. He came back bitching about his bag. Why did she go through his bag.

Our guess is she found something on him. Drugs. Condoms. Evidence of some sort. Proof that maybe some other woman finds it sexy when a man talks at top volume in her face. Or maybe proof that he found a quiet woman who doesn’t crawl up his ass and follow him from room to room, screaming.

In any event, it was awful.

I cranked up the AC and tried to turn up the TV. Mom is having her mini-stroke thingie. Overheated and hyperventilating. The stress is killing us both.

I read that sleep deprivation leads to obesity, heart disease, memory loss and otherwise shortens your lifespan. Five months of this and the fear in my heart that these idiots are coming after me is going to do me in.

I figure they fight in the parking garage, the woman smokes and there are always cigarette butts by my car, the fresh vomit in my spot Thursday night just as I arrived home from work and the missing/poor replacement of a radio antenna on my red car — this has to be a coincidence.

I’ve all but lost all my old friends from the last place. Everyone has been begging to come over. I’ve seen all their new places. They’ve all moved on to greater things. Not me. I’m paying more and living in fear and frustration.

Whether these people come pound on my ceiling or on my door or on my head — either way, it means I don’t sleep at night. Or get work done during the day — when they are going 10 rounds like they are right now.

I want to go check on my car but I am terrified they will hear the door (which was never put on properly, and it was readjusted slightly better last week but now the lock is jacked up now and you can hear me “breaking in” from 10 doors away) and think I’m trying to “follow” them.

So as usual, now is the time for “guess which room they will fight all night in” which varies. But it’s always punctuated with “man’s shoes clacking from one room to the next and woman’s heavy footsteps shuffling behind him to continue whatever discussion they can’t have in a lower tone of voice.

I emailed the property director right after the “dumb bitch” comment. I had no idea the night would be like this.

I need sleep so badly. But hotel rooms ain’t cheap. Especially when you pour (*mumble*) into luxury-apartment living.

I know I need to move but why do I have to be the one to go when everyone else agrees that it’s THEM?!?!

It’s 11:33 p.m. I hear banging sliding glass doors and two voices. I heard a kid screaming a couple times. Not that they seem to believe in soothing or, I dunno, toning it down a notch.

If I think I have it bad, imagine that one-year-old’s eardrums.

Not my circus. But definitely my monkeys.

Of course, I just went to take a nap and the littlest Ubangis are banging shit off of the floor. Good news is the parents must be gone. Bye Felicias. 

Here are some happy moments from the whirlwind odyssey that had to be crammed into 36 hours. 

QOTD: “I’m not traveling home with a mouthful of dick.” — Mom

The strokes have pretty much killed all semblance of speech and reason. She was referring to the fact that Kadie has a “mouthful” of duck-flavored food left that she is just going to throw away rather than have it stink up the car. 

I am probably the only one who understands her language now. The good news is, at least she understands when she says things wrong even if she has no idea how to correct herself. 

Neighbors made me so nuts yesterday, I booked a hotel in the Keys for the weekend. 

  
Not that a day and a half, after travel and getting the cat in/out of the hotel, is enough to justify the cost. But it’s apparently the best I can do. 

It was nice to be in a clean, luxury hotel chain. The place is packed but silent. In fact, the silence made me nuts. Like, I’m always waiting for the Ubangis to start banging and screaming. 

I’ve always said I don’t mind noise as long as it’s coming from inside my unit. But when it sounds like people are inside your house, all bets are off.

You can just go ahead and eat me while you’re at it.

Idiot neighbors vomited in one of my paid, assigned parking space. It was fresh when I got home, and right where the driver would step out. 

I angled the car so I didn’t drive or walk through it. You know, there are always cigarette butts around my car, and skid marks like someone aimed for the rear bumper. Now vomit. 

Mom says they were in the garage all day, letting their demon spawn run and scream while they fought. Explains the throwing up. 

The garages connect two buildings. I hope others complained.

This vomit shit reminds me of having gum thrown in my hair by bullies. I knew I didn’t deserve it. I knew I was a better person. And I knew I’d rise in this world while karma shit in their supper dishes. 

I’ve seen that come to pass. So too will this. I just hope the classy, snooty people who own the spot to my left don’t think I made that mess. 

Just pray with me that I am strong enough to resist lobbing a bag of flaming cat turds on 2409’s doorstep.