Monday, March 20, 2006

lastworditis, Fraggle Rock On Ice!, and the return of Mummy Finger

For those of you who were wondering whether there was some response from the neighbours of doom, I present this much more moderately capitalized note which was slipped under our door.

Dear Neighbor,

Truthfully, upset we were when we heard
someone pounding on the door. Without a
peep hole there is no way of finding out who
you were. We did not hear anything until
you pounded the door. Maybe a note slipped
under the door instead of banging would have
been better?

1) Yes it was rude and uncivilized to bang on
someones door unless you are the FBI
2)Yes, okay the music was loud. We apologize,
your wish will be granted, more considerate in
the future.

It was not a threat but a fact that anyone who
pounds the door would react angry, carry some
sort of protection when opening the door just in
case a madman is on the loose. Apology accepted,
promise will be kept on turning the music low and
accept an apology also. Peace to all...

Now, there are so many possible responses to this note, but after careful consideration I have come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to get the outcome I wanted, and that's the important thing. True to their word, the music has been much more reasonable this week. All the other things that come up for me are really about wanting to control the story around the whole thing. "I was right and you were wrong!" You know.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of saint of self-restraint. I thought of all kinds of snarky. Luckily for me, however, I have the lens of a very difficult relationship to see this through. For the last few years I have struggled with someone who just can't let anything go. She really, really, really wants you to agree that her version is The Version of every event, even when it is a crazy person version. This of course makes me want to get her to admit that she's a)wrong b)delusional and c)wrong again. After a bunch of this it finally occurred to me that it's impossible to control the way that people think about you, and that it will eventually make you crazy, even though most of us do it to some extent. I'm trying to take her example and use it to learn to focus on my bottom lines rather than on spin doctoring every little incident. So I'm letting this one go, 'cause as long as we can live peaceably, what my neighbours think of me is just not very important.


my co-workers re: me and my pink hair.

"She's trying out for a children's show...
"Fraggle Rock on Ice!"

I suddenly find myself without a comeback, because I'm so busy thinking "ooh, Fraggles." What I should have said, of course, was "There's a whole roster of children's shows, actually...I'm looking for colleagues with a little more maturity."



"Uh, could you get me a band-aid?"
"What happened?"
"I was just cutting the edges off and the exacto knife slipped."
"Is this an I-need-gauze-pads thing?"
"Maybe." [holds up bloody finger. I don't faint again. I think I'm getting better at this.]

I'm not so sure that spook should handle sharp implements--or maybe it's just that index finger that's cursed. I bet that's it. The Curse of the Mummy Finger. Rrrrrrr...

Monday, March 13, 2006

yes I am (a macho asshole)

Several months ago, to my chagrin, my pretty-nice neighbour Lise moved out. I was sad to see her go. We lived next to her for a couple of years with no major incidents, and at the moment, no minor ones that I can remember. I took her packages for her, she brought my laundry up--you know, neighbour stuff.
We have not been so fortunate in our new neighbours. They were so weird on day one that I gave up ever having a relationship of any kind with them right away--if only that had been all. It turns out that I regularly walk in the front door of our building and know that their music, on the third floor, is 'way too loud.
The truly great thing about my building is that while the sound insulation between the apartments and the hallway sucks, the wall between the apartments is virtually soundproof. What's deafening in the hall is mostly inaudible once I get inside. Usually. Yesterday, though, I walked into my apartment and the vibration from their bass speakers made me instantly nauseated. Eeeeeee. Like any reasonable person, I went next door to ask them to turn it down.

I knocked four or five times on their door, waiting a couple of minutes in between. Standing in the hallway, listening to "SHAKE THAT ASS FOR ME, SHAKE THAT ASS FOR ME" over and over again, I got...pissed off. Little monkey, big temper. When they didn't answer, I took up pounding on the door with my closed fist. Uh, a lot. Just as spook was sticking his head out our door to say "For god's sake, just call the super!" the door opened.
"Your bass is really loud. Could you please turn it down?"
This may not have come out quite as civilly as I had intended, but compared to my truly foul mood, it seemed pretty good. Bonehead turned it down.

Today, hey, extra fun, they've taped this note to their door:


I live next to people who are not only inconsiderate, but entirely misguided about the meaning of the word "polite." I removed it and stuck it in a file--hey, nothing like written evidence for when I file those assault charges. (Mom, calm down. It's going to be fine.)

This is the letter I composed in response:

March 13, 2006


Since you seem upset about our interaction yesterday, I want to write to clarify a couple of things.

1) It was completely rude of me to bang on your door. I apologize for my rudeness. I want you to know that before I started banging, I knocked several times, and waited a few minutes. I assumed you couldn’t hear me.

2) Your music is often loud enough to disturb me. I have never complained to you or to the superintendent, because I figure that there are compromises to be made when we share space. Yesterday, though, the vibration from the bass in your music was making my cats hide under the bed. It was giving me a headache and making me feel sick to my stomach. Please be more considerate in the future.

Threats never make anything better. I want you to know that I will try and treat you in a way that is considerate, polite and human, and I expect the same thing in return.

Thank you.

Now is the part where you all congratulate me for not going over and telling them that I'm fucking calling the cops on their fucking ignorant asses and that they clearly have no idea about what it fucking means to be fucking human. Fuck.