She was Sketchy

She was sketchy from the beginning. 

 

Her and her roommate could pass one for the other, one being a smidge heavier than the other, height varying only a tad.

 

She moved in on a muddy, rainy Wyoming day. 

 

By far the worst neighbor I've had. If you know, you know. Stories have been written.

 

There have been at least fourteen neighbors. Law involved with more than one. But I will tell you this: in-between incidents with others, they were respectful to me, mostly quiet neighbors. 

 

This chick, well, from the beginning things weren't 'right'. 

 

Maggie has to potty. Dogs are like people. When I took Maggie downstairs, new neighbor was at the bottom of the stairs with people who introduced themselves as her parents. I have my doubts. 'Dad's' behavior was a tad peculiar. Dad's physical appearance, build, was the same as the ladies' houseguests, one in particular. She bugged out, her eyes, when the gentleman introduced himself and a lady as her parents. Me being me, ridiculously friendly most days, I ask where Tacky's working. She tersely gave me a couple of names. I'm goofy like awww when she mentioned one employer. This was only the beginning, a telling beginning.  

 

Arrogance. She possessed a certain entitled arrogance. 

 

There was the time I open the door to let Maggie outside. Maggie is so excited and 'talks' when we go outside, spinning around in circles telling me she's thrilled to be going outside. Just so happens Tacky neighbor is coming downstairs and is at my door at the same time I open it. Maggie is sharing her excitement with me. Narcissistic Ms. Tacky wrongly assumes Maggie is barking and talking to her, at her. She glares at me and turns her head sideways. Kinda like I do when I'm thinking what the heck. Oh well. I knew from the get-go she was not neighborly.

 

One of my other neighbors ask about the new tenants. "Well, the such-and-such neighbor isn't nice. Tacky actually. I don't worry about her though; she won't be here long; they never are. Life is temporarily inconvenient when she and I cross paths."

 

The only windows are on the back of my apartment. In the morning, or when I'm off work, my curtains are open. Anytime someone goes up or down stairs and I'm home, I unfortunately see them. And they can unfortunately see me.

 

There was a steady stream of gentlemen upstairs, all could pass one for another, except for the one with a slender build and a dog, rather than muscle bound or stocky and no dog.

 

I have my own theories as to what was going on and it's not what you think. 

 

Anyway, when I'm home, my days off, I can be found with no makeup, pajama bottoms, t-shirt, and a pineapple bun. I'm low-key, mind my own business, basically a decent neighbor. Tacky parks right by the stairs going up to my place and hers. Other tenants, back of house, are almost blocked from bringing groceries, laundry, whatever, to their place. In almost seven years, no one has backed their vehicle to the stairs, blocking access for other neighbors. To my knowledge no one complains. She's free to make life inconvenient for whomever. 

 

One day she and I again almost run into one another. I happened to be fully coiffed. She double takes, acts halfway cordial. I have no time for her regardless of who she may or may not be. She used all my nice. 

 

I'm talking to Texas one day on my balcony. Tacky comes upstairs, Maggie does bark at her this time, after several months of nonsense. I let Tacky know Maggie usually likes most people. "She doesn't like you." I return to my phone call, Texas, and tell Texas sorry. Tacky thinks I'm apologizing to her. No. I have nothing for which to apologize to Tacky.

 

There's the day Tacky moves one gentleman out, her carrying the load. He doesn't lift a hand. He looks like hammered poo. Maggie and I, running downstairs, see her car backed in, hatch open, loaded with various items ... yoga mat, air mattress, food items. Gentleman turns around, looks as if the bottom half of his face is missing. Not scarred, simply missing. I ask if they're moving again. He tells me only him, he's the only one moving. Wherever he moved to apparently was close, as Tacky was gone and back not more than ten minutes later. Poo guy could've moved across the street as far as I know, but who knows. He didn't go far. Tacky continued carrying boxed crap to her car. I ask if I can help. No. Okay. 

 

After that incident and a few stories later, I'm home, hear commotion on my balcony. My rockers are hitting the window, footsteps up and down the stairs numerous times. I finally step out on the balcony and ask if they need me to move anything. One slim build gentleman lets me know he moved it, and they're finished. He stares. He stares at me and Maggie. Walking sideways downstairs he stares, rudely.  At least this time, whatever they were doing, they didn't leave mud caked everywhere, stuff in disarray, they were simply loud and careless. 

 

I find out days later, sitting on the balcony when her roommate comes home, Tacky, her best friend from childhood, has moved out. "She's a wild child. She's decided to move out of state to be with her mother." Said state wasn't the state her 'parents' originally stated they were from. Not even close. I'm not convinced she is a wild child. 

 

So, guys I don't know. I could write a book on this little episode. Like I've said and written about too many times to count, my neighbors can be sketchy. This chick took sketchy to a whole other level. I was looking forward to having two chicks upstairs. Now? I'll take testosterone over her bovine scat any day. I'm glad she's gone. 

 

If you're living life on the down-low, you failed miserably only drawing attention to yourself and others.

 

This got under my skin for several (unwritten) reasons. 

 

All ya'll leave me out of drama. I'm allergic. 

 

Now all I must do is listen to her roommate, sounding like an elephant, stomping over my bedroom at night. I've never had any neighbors so blatantly disrespectful. I've mentioned to her my bedroom is under her kitchen area. I think it only made matters worse. Oh well. Either she doesn't think, or she doesn't care. 

 

Maggie and I live our life quietly. It's a good life in a crazy world.