Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Dear Asshole Neighbours

Hi friends,

So, some of you may have noticed, but I've been a little absent as of late. I honestly don't mean for it to be hurtful, or to ignore you. It just is what it is. I'm going to try and explain why that is in this post.

I am the first to admit that I go through phases. There was my 'Own All the Beanie Babies' phase, my angry music phase, my 'I Love American Eagle' phase (thank god that one's over), etc. One could even argue that this blog was just a phase. One that I designed myself to help heal a broken heart and try to work through all the shit that life has thrown at me over the past 4ish years. I guess you could call this blog my salvation. It was a safe place where I could throw two middle fingers in the air and shout "fuck it", not caring what people thought of me. It's a place where I can come and write down whatever random things that are passing through my brain, or a place to just organize my thoughts. It's a wonderful safe haven for me. But times change. I no longer rely on this space as I once did. Well, I do, just in a different way. I am no longer trying to heal a heart that I thought would be broken forever. I have found a wonderful man who likes that I'm weird, and crazy and silly. A man who when I'm pouty, pours me a glass of my favourite wine and makes me mac & cheese. My heart is no longer broken into a thousand pieces, because my lovely, kind, patient Gentleman helped to put it back together. I find that the things that I need this for have changed, and that's perfectly fine. Its just taking me a while to figure it all out, and a result of that means that I post less than I used to. I can't help it. Believe you me, it's not for a lack of things to talk about. I could talk about all sorts of different shit until the cows come home. You also shouldn't blame my Gentleman for my lack of writing. It's  not his fault, it's mine combined with my complete inability to be functioning member of society. Being an adult was the worst decision I've ever made...and I'm not exactly sure that I actually, consciously made that decision. My lack of writing is a mixture of exhaustion, and the fact I have less to be angry about (let's go with that). I look back and I realize that a good portion of the things I have written are very sarcastic and could come off as angry. That's probably because I am a pretty sarcastic person, and because I actually was angry. I was angry for so long, and didn't really realize it. Don't get me wrong, I'm still upset about certain things, and there are many things and people in this world that will draw my ire, but I think that core anger disappears a little more every day. I will still rant and rave and call people idiots when they deserve it, but that main thing that put me in a perpetually caustic mood is kind of gone-ish (I don't know how you can tell if it's 100% gone, I just know that it's not a huge presence in my life anymore). I basically said to myself "ain't nobody got time for that".


Profound, I know. So, in an attempt to give you all some of the Lopsided of old, I present to you a new installment that I am going to call Dear Asshole Neighbours. I should probably preface this by saying that I have basically moved in with my Gentleman. I know, big girl steps. I should also say that by 'moved in' I mean, spread my clothes and shit between my house and his house, which means that I really don't know where everything is anymore, which is a story for another day. Boyfriend and I live in a great little condo, in a nice area of town. I actually quite like it. A lot. But, living in a condo means that you get to put up with all the bullshit and weird characters that also live in the same building. Hence, Dear Asshole Neighbours. I should also say that this post is really aimed at the asshole kids of the neighbours, and not the neighbours themselves. So, now that we've got that cleared up, onto my story:

A couple of weeks ago, Boyfriend decided to go visit some friends out of town. I stayed at home, thrilled at the chance to make a mess and not clean up my dishes (honestly, it's like living with Danny Tanner from Full House, the Boy can clean), and to not have to sit and watch hockey for endless hours. It's Friday night, and I have had a very long week at work, and all I want to do is have a cup of tea and go to bed. The neighbours (the parents) next door to us were out of town, and I had noticed an exponentially larger than normal number of student type people (read, first year idiot university students) running around the building. I didn't think much of it until 11 :00 pm rolled around and all I could hear was the heavy bass and endless guitar rifs of what I can only assume was a live Wolfmother concert in the living room next door. Now, I like a party as much as the next person, but you live in a condo. Have some fucking respect and turn your music down at 11:00 pm so people can get some sleep. You would think that the parents would have instilled a sense of consideration in their children, but you'd be wrong. I went to bed and tossed and turned for at lease 2 hours, all the while texting Boyfriend, who was pleading with me not to go over there and give those asshole kids a piece of my mind. He managed to convince me not to go over and beligerently yell at them, but to just try and go to sleep. Afterall, it was just "one night". Except that it wasn't. Let's fast forward to Saturday night. The same bloody thing happens again. This time, at 2:30 am, I had had enough of their gangsta beats, and called the police. Yes, I am that bitch. The one who wrecks a perfectly decent party because, oh silly me, I wantedt to go to sleep. I did manage to fall asleep around 3, and that was the end of that. At leaset I thought so. I went outside the next morning and noticed that my little front door ornament thing (it's a super cute wicker puppy named Edgar) was all bent out of shape. Those asshole kids and their asshole friend touched my shit! And it wasn't just my shit, they took everyone's shit and decided to place it all in a circle on the first floor, in what was apparently some kind of sacrifice to the god of stupidity. That is just unconscionable! You can destroy your own crap but lay a finger on mine and I will cut you! Never mess with my shit. So Boyfriend arrives home, and decides that he is going to talk to the parents and let them know that this happened. If he hadn't told them, they would have never known that they had raised giant jackasses. 

Honestly, if it had just been the one night, and if they hadn't decided to play tea party with my shit, then I probably would have let it go. I wouldn't have had to call the police, Boyfriend wouldn't have had to talk to the parents, and we could both be spared the sullen and dirty looks of the kids next door. The thing that really gets me is that they didn't even come over and apologize for their behaviour. I wouldn't feel the need to publically shame them on the internet if they had just come over and said "hey, really sorry we were giant douche canoes and kept you up all night for two nights in a row. Also, sorry for touching your things". It would have been fine. But no, there was no apology and I highly doubt I will ever receive one.

Anyay, I will have 6 weeks off due to medical leave, so hopefully I can find some time to post on a semi-regular basis.

All my love,

Leah

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