Sunday, July 19, 2015

Cat Amongst The Pigeons

I think my downstairs neighbor thought for just one second that I might be a serial killer.


Every morning when I wake up I slip out of bed and into the same routine. After checking the bed to see if I'm alone (that reads in a much seedier way than I had wanted it to) I'll say good morning to the laundry. I'll then stride all the way across my apartment right out onto my balcony - flicking the AC on as I go. It's usually absurdly early. Normally between 3.30 and 4am. And lately it's also been around 100 degrees.

The one thing I can guarantee is that no matter what time it is my downstairs neighbor will leave their place for work almost right after I come out. And will - without fail - give me a "well good morning" in the exact same way if Kenneth Williams was a fifty-something year old Latino woman. I'm quite aware that part of the reason for this is because I'm usually in just my knickers. I'm certainly not showing off. Frankly I just don't care. I'm not putting something on when the entire purpose of going outside is to stand in the morning air and breathe in the day. Yes I'd prefer the angle someone was saying good morning wasn't ten feet directly below my crotch as it peeked over a balcony wall. But I'm not that prudish to give too much of a shit nor egotistical enough to think I'm thrilling anyone.

Actually a Kenneth Williams/Carry On reference is a pretty good way to describe my neighbor. She's so overtly brazen. Once she just randomly made a "mmmm yummy" noise and said I was like a pudding cup. Which actually makes no sense. What - brown and stodgy with a spoon stuck in me? Thanks a lot. Another time when I was getting my mail she squealed, "and who are we dressed in those pants for?" Firstly  that's oddly specific. I'm happy with "oh, I like your shirt." That's a compliment. And yeah you should - it's ace. But what my neighbor said had that undertone of, "you weren't wearing those when I broke into your apartment while you were asleep to clip toenails for my collection,,,."

Secondly - there's an awful lot in somebodies tone and body language. And when this woman talks it reminds me of those unbelievably cheesy guys who think licking their fingertips and smoothing out their eyebrows is sexy (especially the uber-douche ones who can do both  eyebrows at the same time). That's so weird to me. Nobody has ever said they think that's hot. No one. There's no fetish website for people who moisten their own eyebrows. No niche porn at all where the "woodsman" (genuine, professional title, that) does that first. And believe me - I've looked. For heaven's sake I came across a site (....now you stop that immediately) that had pigeons in it. Those freaks keep that shit to themselves. They aren't chancing their luck at dance clubs cooing at women then chasing them around doing that demented head-wobble thing pigeons do. But Eyebrow Boy - he practices in the mirror so that when he does it for you it's perfect. And when my neighbor says her overt, oh-yes-I-would statements she reeks of Eyebrown Boy. Actually no - it's more like this prize Match.com candidate.

Mysteriously neighborhood cats kept going missing.
Oh and trust me - she talks like that to the guy upstairs too. I'm not some unique Adonis making middle-aged women weak at the knees ("yeah baby I'll make you feel like you've got anterior cruciate knee ligament damage.....awww yeah"). I've literally watched her stop him as he takes his dog out and make a typical, small-talk, neighborly hello sound more like, "oh your dog is soooo sexy." And to be clear - it isn't. Trust me. Maybe if it dressed up in something slutty. Gave the slightest glimpse of one of it's six nipples. Maybe then it'd explain why my neighbor sounded like she was saying, "oh your dog will know when I give it a bone."

Anyway in just under a week I'm moving house. So in an effort to be ready to get out of this place as quickly as humanly possible I've been packing and cleaning. And about a week ago I carried a very over-full garbage bag out to throw in the dumpster. On the way I saw my neighbor outside. Who weirdly asked me what I was carting outside. Let's be clear - asking someone carrying a black bag what they've put in there is weird. It definitely had that vibe of "if you just tell me now I might not have to bother going through it in fifteen minutes to see if you threw out anything you've licked." And because I can't let it go I still had to joke, "it's not a body....honest...." Which frankly Little Miss Toe Nail Nibbler laughed a little bit too hard at. And then this morning I was carrying a Rug Doctor carpet cleaning machine out to my car she was lurking at the bottom of the stairs. And lewdly asked if someone had had an accident. Mildly irritated by how that sounds all seven kinds of wrong I quickly said that there was a big, red stain on my carpet I was trying to get out. It wasn't until I had loaded the machine into my car that I realized I'd definitely made it sound like I'd murdered someone up there.And seeing as I can't get this stain out completely I should definitely leave crime-scene tape and a chalk outline in here. But something creative...

Ivory poaching is rife in Glendale...
Here's the point though. When I came back in to grab my iced coffee she still said "...forget something" in a way that suggested I'd left my cock in the house and had to go get it. Which a) King Missile, and b) meant despite the whole "I got blood everywhere" confession she wasn't phased at all. She still went cheesy, 70s sitcom lewd. Ugh -I bet she uses that pigeon website. I have to know. So later I'm gonna throw Gregg's pastie crumbs all over thr ground outside and see if she goes mental.

Foolproof.

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