- We are both still awake, and there are birds chirping outside and What. The. Fuck.
- Way, way too many skinny, pale, almost-vaguely-ethnic, blonde chicks up in my fashion editorials right now. Diversity, PLEASE.
Booty.
Published June 13, 2011 | 
There’s something weird going on with our downstairs neighbours. By “weird”, I mean that there’s a woman who is always drunk, a man who is loud and cranky and hates when Maia or the little girl next door play on the balconies, and frequent police visits. Living in an apartment building is full of such joys.
Chris and Maia are bffs. Once he gets home, she latches onto him and wants nothing to do with me. So the other night, they’re out on the balcony together barbequeing and chatting with each other, and every time I try to come out she looks at me, holds her hand up, palm out, and demands, “Shoo, Mama! Shoo!” Of course, this results in me coming out just to make her tell me to shoo, because it’s hilarious.
Then the police pull up because there’s another call about the dumbs downstairs. Chris comes into the house and tells me, “There’s a kinda hot policeman out there, you might want to take a look.” I love my husband. I also love eye candy. So I go out there to look.
Miss Maia walks over to me, grabs my ass, and starts shouting, “BOOTY! BOOTY! BOOTY MAMA!” The somewhat hot policeman looks up at me. I look down at him. I’m ten thousand shades of red, have no makeup on, no bra, mom hair, and a toddler hanging off my ass informing the entire world that I do, indeed, have a BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY in between giggles that resulted from her father’s boisterous laughter. I fled back into the house so quickly.
These are the joys of parenting that no one ever tells you about.
The coolest vanity plate on the block
Published September 28, 2009 | We’ve lived in this apartment building for over a year now, and that entire time, there’s been a gold Grand Am that parks near us…
… with the license plate “MYNXXX”.
Obviously, it’s been My Goal to find out who Mynxxx is. This apartment building seems to be full of cranky old people… is one of them Mynxxx? Maybe some hot old granny? Or maybe there’s a cougar I haven’t seen around. Maybe Mynxxx is a stripper, and that’s why her car is always here when we leave, because she’s working opposite hours from when we’re awake.
This afternoon, after a trip to IKEA and the grocery store, we pull into the parking garage… AND SOMEONE IS STEPPING OUT OF THE MYNXXX.
“Oh my God, Chris, it’s the Mynxxx!” I hissed. “Drive slowly!”
He cruised by, and I didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was looking at these people.
That’s right: people, plural. A chubby orange-haired dude, very pale, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He didn’t interest me too much, other than me wondering how he justifies driving around in the Mynxxx-mobile — I mean, isn’t that a little bit emasculating?
And then there was her. The Mynxxx.
Neither a cranky old person, nor a hot granny, nor a stripper, the Mynxxx looked like a cougar-in-training. Slightly overweight, middle-aged, short dark hair, carrying a huge dark purse over one shoulder as she watched the ManMynxxx. She wore a red velour sweatsuit without a shirt beneath it that I could see, only the two pieces were in different shades of red from one another. She wasn’t wearing make-up or jewelry.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and hear The Mynxxx’s voice. Rolling down my window as we passed seemed to cross the boundaries of creepiness that I toed by staring at her the way I did. But as we pulled into our parking spot, she turned from the Mynxxx mobile, the ManMynxxx, and strutted away on Ugg-clad feet.
Seeing the Mynxxx? It made my day.
Because it’s been a little while
Published April 25, 2009 | I haven’t complained about my apartment lately. So here, let me tell you about some things that have happened recently that have deeply pissed me off:
Back at the end of October, they started working on water-proofing the garage. It’s the end of April and they still haven’t finished; in fact, one entire floor of it is still unuseable. I was heading to the library and bringing Maia along with me, and someone was jackhammering the concrete ten feet away from our car. It surprised me to see someone working, since they’re out there maybe once every two weeks, and it surprised me even more when he stopped, looked up at me, smiled, and waved. I waved back with my free hand. And then he continued jackhammering. You know, as I brought my infant daughter to my car. My infant daughter that he saw me carrying. The one who has brand-new ears? Maybe delicate hearing? Yeah, thanks jerk-off.
Last week, I took Maia and the dogs out for a walk. It’s always a harrowing experience trying to control two chihuahuas on their leashes as well as push the carriage. In fact, most people like to say “Gosh, you have your hands full!” as I walk by them.
Well, as I push the carriage into the parking garage (it’s the only way to get into the building where there is only one stair, not multiple… handicap access is apparently not a concern) and to the door, I hear clicking behind me. I turn around and a guy is on his bicycle. I open the door, turn around and smile at him, “Go ahead, it’s going to take me a minute.”
The dogs are bouncing around, the baby is screaming, and getting the carriage through the door means negotiating a step, a narrow hallway, and a heavy door that slams shut quickly, without anyway to prop it open. I’ll be real, I was grateful to see someone because I anticipated them holding the door for me (like everyone everywhere does when someone is literally on your heel as you go through a door).
The guy passes me by without so much as a thank you, and I watch the door shut behind him. Any second now, he’s going to remember I’m here with my hands full, and turn around, and open the door for me, I think. But he doesn’t. The door would have slammed in my face if I hadn’t pushed the stroller forward at the last second to prop it open.
By the time I get into the building, I’m steaming. He wasn’t anywhere in the hallway, but the elevator door shut just as I rounded the corner. He would have gotten a big piece of my mind, if I’d caught him. What an asshole.
More Apartment Living
Published February 12, 2009 | Just another little anecdote about what bunch of assholes inhabit this building:
Yesterday afternoon, my mother-in-law MJ comes over for the day. We assemble the bassinet (yay!) and the glider (YAY!), lay down the carpet (which actually looks really cute and is so soft), but skip on assembling the shelfing unit for now because it’ll be a lot of heavy work.
Around 8pm, MJ decides she’s going to head home — there are some heavy wind warnings flashing across the television and she wants to get back to where she’s staying before it gets too late. Chris walks her out to her car in the parking garage … and they return a few minutes later.
Now, see, my apartment has had construction on the parking lot going on since November 1st; the entire top floor is inaccessible and they’ve only recently opened up most of the middle floor again. This means that you never really know exactly where you’re going to park, because you never really know what spots are going to be open. On top of that, every time I’ve talked to the building landlady about guest parking (three times now!) she’s said “just park wherever, in the garage if the visitor lot is full”, which it almost always is. So MJ had parked in the garage in the nearest open spot to our car.
Well, the person who is assigned that spot was apparently so offended by this that she parked diagonally in front of MJ, blocking her in as well as three other people — including us. What the fuck? Her particular spot may not have been open at that moment, but there were plenty of others.
Chris gets ahold of the superintendent, who knows exactly whose car that is. And a few minutes later there’s a knock on our door — it’s the landlady, and here’s what she has to say:
The 63 year old woman whose car is blocking us all in has dropped a note into the office, saying that she knows she’s parked illegally but won’t be moving her car. Why? Because she tried to park in another spot but “scratched” her vehicle and decided that, after a day at work, it was too much hassle to continue trying to park in another spot and she might as well inconvenience four other people. So sorry that it happened this way, but that’s just the way it is.
Are you fucking kidding me?
The landlady, honest to God, was okay with this. She was apologetic that we were inconvenienced, but seemed perfectly accepting of the fact that this old bitch was not going to move her car. She asked if my MIL would be able to stay with us overnight.
I am 39 weeks pregnant. If I needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn’t be able to get out. If my husband were working this week and needed to leave at 4:30am, he wouldn’t be able to get out. BUT IT’S OKAY THAT SHE DOESN’T WANT TO MOVE HER CAR.
Anyhow, MJ just went down to leave and can’t, because the old bitch hasn’t moved her car despite saying she had to be at work at 7am. MJ found the superintendent and asked when the old bitch is moving — apparently not until 8:30am now. So, if that car isn’t out of the way at 8:30am, we’re calling the cops. Then, she can see what “inconvenience” means. I can’t believe what a fucking bunch of morons inhabit this apartment building.
I’ve had a crampy, uncomfortable, restless night. I’ll update with details later. Just had to get this off my chest now.