Sorry

I apologize for the lack of posts as of late! I know I am long overdue and I really hate to disappoint my loyal fanbase of 6 weekly readers. Some excuses I have include:

- we no longer have internet at home
- some personal life developments which made things extra hectic around here
- a mass email I received from management reminding us about what constitutes improper internet usage while at work, which I immediately took to be directed at me, and
- I forgot the password to this account.

As I am at work right now and am having a mild panic attack from being on an "inappropriate non-work related website," this post will be a collection of pictures that I don't have enough time to fully explain. You will get the gist though.

Exciting Developments

Exciting Development #1:
This week, as I was returning home from work, I pulled onto our street and noticed that there was some trailer-trash looking crap along the road. In our pristine little yuppy neighborhood, my 4-year-old hatchback with minor dents and scratches is probably considered an eyesore when I park it on the street. So when I saw this fascinating display of disgusting furniture propped up against the tree in front of my house, I could just feel the disapproving eyes glaring out at me from the nearby houses as I pulled into our driveway. They were all probably thinking, there's that tacky girl with her ugly and soiled trash bringing down the value of our homes. And rightfully so:

Laundry Problems

You guys, the coffee table is still there. Every time I back out of the driveway, I want to run it over. It's been prematurely aggravating my road rage for 5 weeks now. Sorry, neighborhood. Our landlord stopped by earlier this week to check into a theory I had about something else and as he saw the coffee table, he asked, "Is that yours?" I just looked at him and didn't say anything. He then replied, "Point taken."

Back to my theory. I had noticed that for about 4-5 months now, our electricity bill has been out of control. Upwards of $80 a month (on average) for about 1,500 square feet of apartment where two people live. We had been paying less in the summer when we were blasting window AC units and fans every day! I was convinced something was up, so I called the power company and the landlord to inquire. The power company suggested I perform a breaker test, to which I responded, "Of course! That is a great idea. Why didn't I think of that!" Then I asked, "What is a breaker test?" Apparently, you go to your fuse box and switch all of those thingies to the "off" position. Those thingies are called breakers by the way, hence the breaker test. Then you go make sure that your electric meter stops spinning. Next, you turn each thingy ("breaker") back on slowly, one at a time, and watch the meter so that you can isolate what part of the house is using the most electricity. While this may sound quite simple in theory, I would like to report that practically, it is very difficult. Especially since the electric meter is outside and your fuse box is in the basement. And especially when you mistake the water meter for the electric meter and you are convinced that every time you turn the hot water on, your electricity usage skyrockets. Long story short, I have much to learn about how electricity and water works. I did watch a useful youtube video that teaches you how to read your electricity meter and I did learn the word "breaker" so that is 2 points, at least.

The Coffee Table

I apologize in advance for the whininess of this post.

The people downstairs have placed a really ugly, broken coffee table out back behind our house by the trash bins. The wooden frame is propped up against the side of the house and its orangey-hued glass pane counterpart is perilously leaned up against the broken frame. Every time I go throw something away, I am afraid that lifting the lid of the trash bin will cause a domino effect, wherein the entire coffee table and its glass pane will topple and shatter into bits, impaling me with orange glass shards. I think their intent was to take the table to the curb along with the trash bins on trash day. However, if this was their initial intent, they have had a change of heart because the thing is still sitting there, nearly a month later. The fourth trash pickup since the emergence of the broken table was yesterday morning and -- what a surprise! -- they had rolled the garbage bins out to the curb but left the coffee table behind. wtf!

Welcome Home

Our dog is a 55-lb sack of potatoes who will voluntarily get up from her spot only under one of three conditions: 1) there is a more comfortable spot nearby; 2) someone said the word "treat"; or 3) loud noises. Her life is what I hope to be rich enough to have one day. It is usually considered an accomplishment when I can get her to walk all the way around the block in under 20 minutes. You know the old guy with the cane slowly crossing the street as you wait at a light to take a left turn? The guy that is going so unbearably slow that the oncoming traffic is about to close on your chance to turn? The guy that drops all his bags midway into the intersection and has to bend over to pick up everything up? Well, that guy passed us on the sidewalk. The point of this little tangent is so that I can talk about my dog. Also, it gives you some context for this next story. In her every day life, one extra foot of movement is like the end of the world to our dog. But if there's poop involved, she would walk 3 miles out of the way to avoid it. We'll be walking along on the sidewalk (racing an ant carrying a crumb 20 times it's weight) and if we come upon any unbagged dog crap, this is the route that I will be forced to take because our dog refuses to step over or step to the side of some other dog's poop:

This one time.

This one time, I was down in the laundry room, um... doing some laundry.  I went to move a pile of their dirty and ever-present clothes from the table to make space for my sorting routine and I realized after I had scooped the whole pile up in my arms, that they were all wet. Then I realized one of the items - the one closest to my face- was a pair of Guy’s underwear!!!! Oh my god, the trauma.

The Follow-Up Garage Post

If you haven't already, read this post first.

I can't quite decide which makes me more upset: the fact that I have once again underestimated Guy's ability to be a complete and utter tool or the fact that I now have minor car damage thanks to his latest move. I probably brought it on myself for mocking him and discussing my anticipation of what moronic thing he'd come up with next. Well, he sure showed me.

Let's back up to Tuesday evening. The impending "snowpocalypse" that everyone was freaking out about arrived with a resounding "psych!" I will sum up what actually happened: pathetic little rain shower followed by a few hours of snow, which immediately melted. Then everybody collectively agreed to drive like a bunch of idiots.

We arrived home on Tuesday evening in a great mood after enjoying an all-you-can-eat meat buffet with some friends. I realize how that sounds, but I am purposely leaving that sentence in because it was a real thing and not some metaphor for an inappropriate activity. As we pulled into the garage, we noticed that Guy has miraculously fit his car into his garage spot and even got the garage door on their side to close! We were stunned and slightly impressed, and excited to get out and inspect his work. Then there was a loud crunching sound. BF says, "Stop the car!" We get out and look to see what it is that I have run over and it all becomes clear. Guy has made his car fit into the garage by taking their gazelle/elliptical workout machine and placing it into our parking space. I think he was trying to place it in the center aisle that separates our two spaces, but because there is already so much of their crap there, it didn't quite fit and jutted into our space.

The Garage

In anticipation of the supposed snowstorm that is coming in the next two days, I thought today would be a good time to discuss what happened the last time we got more than 3 inches of snow. I am slightly concerned that this story will repeat itself tomorrow night so I figure I will tell this story now and then I can say "it happened again" for my next post, thereby killing two birds with one pre-emptive stone and one very short and succinct stone.

We have a two-car garage in the back of our duplex, which we unfortunately have to share with the people downstairs. To start with, I would not be totally shocked if one day I woke up and the entire garage has collapsed on top of my car. It's probably the first garage ever built. Alternatively, it would not be surprising if I found that the ground underneath the garage had given way and my car fell into a sinkhole. And then the garage collapsed and also fell into the sinkhole on top of my car. When we first moved in, our landlord told us that he needed to fill the flooring in the garage before we could park in it. The garage was built over a creek that runs to the lake and every spring when the ice and snow melts, the dirt/former cement flooring crumbles and sinks down, creating a Honda Fit-sized hole in our garage space. Needless to say, I only really park in there when there is some form of precipitation in the forecast and it is below freezing. The good thing about the garage is that the side that belongs to the people downstairs goes mostly unused. They have so much crap inside of it that they can’t fit either of their cars inside. This is what the garage typically looks like when both garage doors are up:

Appreciation

Being semi-employed in an industry that honors the significance and history of President's Day, I have the day off! I have been looking forward to this three-day weekend since the end of last weekend so I was really pissed when I woke up this morning with a headache and snot on my face (to be clear, it was my own snot). Last night, we thought we were doing a good deed by offering to babysit for our neighbors who live two houses down. I want to reiterate that these neighbors are NOT the same neighbors who live downstairs. I can't even imagine what type of stories I'd have if the people downstairs spawned.

Happy Birthday

This fight is brought to you by Guy and Girlfriend. And by me sitting on my couch with Grey's Anatomy on pause so I can hear.

There is loud yelling (the only kind of yelling, I suppose). It makes me miss the sassy comment Dr. Bailey made to Karev so I pause the hit drama in order to catch the live reality show that is already in progess downstairs.

Run Away!: UPDATE!

The following note was stuck on our door late this evening:

It reads:

Run Away!

Guy smokes inside. While it's gross, inconsiderate, and totes against the rules, it actually doesn't really bother me all that much. He only does it once in awhile and if the smoke does find its way up to our apartment, I usually only catch the occasional whiff. He is usually pretty good about going outside to the front stoop to light up, or at the very least, go down to the basement and smoke in the laundry room. I should mention while I'm riding this whaa-mbulance that as much as Guy smokes, it does not seem that he has ever invested in an ash tray. All of the cigarette butts that we do not find in the laundry machine are whirling around in the wind on our front stoop. Sometimes he'll collect them in an empty Diet Coke can that he also keeps under the poop chair, but inevitably, the wind knocks the can over and cigarette butts decorate the shrubbery in our front yard.  

Trash Can Mystery

We share two rolling trash bins with the people downstairs that sit in the back of the house. Every Monday night, the bins get pulled to the curb for trash pickup. We noticed that every time we went to take our garbage out and opened the lid of the trash bin, there would be random pieces of unbagged garbage just sitting on top: an empty cereal box (Special K), used kleenexes (crumpled into balls), an opened tray of uncooked chicken breast (Gold'n Plump), floss (surprising). It looked like they would get up and walk outside every time they had something to throw away. Seems a little inefficient, but whatever. We were already weary of their ability to properly use a garbage can, so this only added to our theory. The stench coming from these bins is overpowering, especially in the summer when unbagged food sat cooking in the hot sun all day. I developed a strict procedure to follow every time we needed to take a bag of trash out. It requires a balance of strong hand-eye coordination and quick movement, and I have detailed it for you below.

On a Different Note

I don't want you to get the wrong idea about the people downstairs. If the idea you have is that we hate them, well then actually yes, you have the right idea. However, if you think that we hate them only because they are slobs and one of them defecates all over our yard, then you are sorely mistaken. I should note that the dog is included in my use of the term "the people downstairs" in case that last sentence gave you a weird mental image. Anyways, while their repulsive hygiene practices and blatant disregard for other people are usually the basis for these posts, there is oh-so-much more for us to hate. I will now delight you with one of these other things!

This One's About Poop

We share a front porch with the people downstairs. Our front doors sit side by side and there are shared steps that lead down our front yard to the sidewalk and street. We (as in the upstairs people) like to refer to this front porch/step area as "the stoop." Our duplex sits on a relatively busy road about a block off of a very heavily-trafficked lake. We enjoy sitting on the stoop on late summer evenings, sipping on a beer and/or gluten-free cider and watching rich people drive by. We also like to use our stoop for things like entering and exiting our apartment. Never having lived in a neighborhood where it was technically considered "safe" to sit in front of your house after the sun sets, it is definitely an understatement to say that we really enjoyed hanging out on the stoop during the first couple of weeks of our move.

Then came the shit. Literally.

Behind the Facade

We should have seen it as a sign of things to come when our dog, Sugar, after meeting the downstairs dog for the first time, promptly bit it in the face and left a small hole in it's head. Animal instincts!

We had the first - and I think to this day, only - real and sincere conversation with Guy and Girlfriend the evening after Sugar's attack (warning) on the dog downtairs.  We exchanged pleasantries, offered to pay for the resulting vet bill from the bite, agreed to share the internet, and tried to establish a good impression as we sincerely felt bad about their dog. They seemed nice and normal.

Then, the next week, we began noticing that the nice and normal couple facade actually conceals (barely) a 27(ish)-year-old manchild with an inferiority complex who does not have basic manners or hygiene skills and who somehow conned a normal(ish) girl into dating him, living with him, and cleaning up after him 24/7. Also, the dog would sit at the front window and bark at everything that dared to walk by on the sidewalk in front of our duplex. After a few days, I wanted to go downstairs and bite it in the face.

Our first glimpse behind the facade occurred when we went down into the basement to do some laundry for the first time.

The Purpose

As educated, professional, late-twenty-somethings, I think it is reasonable for society to expect that you have a basic understanding of concepts such as common courtesy, responsibility, self-respect, treating others with respect, and how to use a garbage can. This was not an idea that I thought was novel or groundbreaking until we moved into the second floor of a duplex last summer and met our neighbors downstairs.

The people downstairs consist of a guy ("Guy"), his girlfriend ("Girlfriend"), their extremely overweight puggle ("the dog"), and a cat ("the cat"). (See illustration on right sidebar). Upon first glance, they seem like the typical couple living in sin, not much different from my boyfriend and me. Except, it is immediately apparent that our dog is way cuter. Upon closer inspection however, well... this blog is about the closer inspection.

The purpose of this blog is threefold:
1. An outlet to vent. As you will soon see, the people downstairs are infuriating. I have found that after I vent about Guy and Girlfriend to friends or family, I always feel much better and can look back on the latest "event" and laugh about it.
2. Entertainment. It seems as though many of my friends and family don't really work at work and appreciate a good story to pass the time. Please note that I am not judging. I started this blog while at work.
3. Discretion. I originally posted tidbits about Guy and Girlfriend on facebook, and while I received a resounding response via "likes" and comments, I also forgot that I was facebook friends with my landlord. He began texting me questions when friends suggested that I "upper-deck" Guy and Girlfriend's toilet after an incident involving feces. To avoid discussing feces in front of people like my landlord, my mom, and potential employers, and to maintain my anonymity should the readership of this blog exceed 10 people, I have moved this topic to a blog format.

This is a Test

I find this blogspot thing not very user-friendly.