elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary

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bag neighbors

I hate my upstairs neighbor, oh yes I do, I really do.

[that was sung to the tune of the melody that is in my head].

So, the other day, this cow from upstairs knocks on my door.

Wait. Okay. The lady upstairs. This is a lady who, earlier in the summer, dropped a propane tank off of her balcony. I saw it happen. The projectile happened to hit my terracotta potted begonia perfectly, smashing the pot to shards, and dropping the plant onto the rock garden outside my patio.

She also, every night, sits on her balcony and talks in a loud, obnoxious Torontonian accent, to everybody she knows on the phone. Yap yap yap.

Once she dropped her solid steel arthritis ball onto my balcony WHILE I WAS OUT THERE.

She has a big ugly poodle, too. Oh, and a meek husband. But the poodle is also always dropping its shit onto my patio. Tennis balls, disgusting bones, toys.

It's really great. really.

Anyway. So the upstairs bag comes to my door. Apparently the night before there had been some burglaries in the parking garage (in which I never go, because I don't have a car). Fucknut proceeds to accuse me of having a party the night before. I had gone to bed at like, 11:30. She then accuses my friends (who are "in and out of your suite at all hours" as if!) of breaking into the cars.

I later found out that somebody had had their garage door opener stolen. Gee. A thief has a way to get into the garage. But it's me (the Lesbo College Student) and my friends who did it . Right.

Then, last night.

J and I wanted to smoke a doob. Great. This is Vancouver, where wherever you walk, you smell dope, because we have the best in the whole freaking world and why not take advantage? I'm not even exagerating. If you walk by a condo block at night, there will always be someone on their balcony smoking dope.

Anyway. J and I don't smoke pot that often. Rarely, really. Because sometimes we don't like each other when we're stoned, and other times it makes us stupid and we make our living being smart.

So this was the first time in at least 5 months that we'd done it on our balcony. That's the first time we'd done it with the Bag lady living upstairs.

So we light up, puff away for maybe 60 seconds. Then we hear her door open onto her balcony above us.

"Gee. It sure smells like pot out here! That's just not acceptable," she says to her husband. "We better bring this up at the next strata council meeting and let those kids know that illegal substances aren't permitted on the premises. Someone's sure going to get in trouble over this!"

oh. my. god. i hate her.

She forced us to have to go to the park and smoke in the shadows like a couple of teenagers.

J wants to throw dog poo on her balcony.

Heh.

Anyway. If she does one. more. thing -- or if I actually get contacted by the strata council about this, and if I do, hoo boy, there will be some FIRE - I'm going to do something.

I'm kind of stinky so I will go shower.

9:37 a.m. - 2004-09-23

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