I’ll have that in a vente to go

It’s come to my attention lately that I have become well-known for angry, bitchy rants- at least, well-known in this way to Tyler’s entire family. But honestly, I know how to restrain myself during most confrontations with others. For example, below is what I would love more than anything to say to the people upstairs at this very moment. However, even though all hell has broken loose and they scream at me regularly, every time I knock on their door at three in the morning I continue to plaster a toothy (and hopefully creepy) smile on my face while I politely tell them to keep the noise down because I would really like to be sleeping rather than standing on their porch in my pajamas and slippers as it rains.

Sarah- I don’t like you. Even though I’ve never seen your face, I don’t like you. Why? Mostly because you scream a lot at ungodly hours of the night for no apparent reason. I guess your inner two year-old never left and you have an uncontrollable urge to scream. I, too, have mental problems. The kind where I’m supposed to be going to a counselor and popping pills that make me happy. However, I can’t sympathize with how you let the angry spirit of a two year-old infest your mind. Despite my mental problems, I’m uninsured and unemployed and not getting the help people have told me I need. However, I don’t let it bother my neighbors. I’m sorry, but if you had a real reason to scream, I’d be less inclined to hold it against you. I once had a neighbor who did have a reason to scream, and I hated her boyfriend, not her. Screaming just to hear the sound of your shrill, loud, unintelligible voice makes people hate you. Despite what you think, it’s not endearing. In reality, all those people who might laugh when you scream say mean and horrible things about you behind your back. Sometimes, they even say it on your porch.

And while we’re on the subject of your “friends” standing on your porch, which happens to be above my bedroom window; I also don’t like you because of those friends. You know, the ones who stand on your porch (above my bedroom window) after midnight and scream shrilly on their cellphones- sounding like sorority girls on crack. Yeah, those friends. The same people who say mean things about you behind your back, and often on your porch while talking on their cellphones.

But I’ll be honest with you, my strong dislike for you is not completely fair. A large portion of it is because of your husband. Every time I trudge up to your apartment in my pajamas to complain about the two in the morning frat party you’re hosting above my bedroom in your spacious, well-insulated, three bedroom, two-story apartment that just you and your husband live in, that pasty, weasel-faced clod has the amazing talent of giving me nasty vibes before he even opens the door. And to rub salt in the wound, he only opens the door so he can then slam it in my face. I also can’t forget that incident with his mother screaming at me from behind your pasty, weasel-faced significant other while he slammed the door in my face. Because she also had a weasel face, I know that woman was his mother, and not yours. But… you married the jerk, so you can’t be much better.

Anyway, by stomping around angrily just because I played music at 6 PM to blot out every painful word of your droll phone conversation, you just increased my hatred for you. Yeah, so what if my window was open, so was yours. Sorry to shatter your fragile conception of yourself, but my music was no louder then when you randomly scream well beyond a reasonable hour. Did you forget about that second story you have? You know, the one above your dinning room? The second story where you surely can’t hear my music because of the super high-quality insulation and the fact that the music wasn’t playing at even half the volume capacity of my boyfriend’s computer?

Sending the angry, paste weasel to complain was a low blow. Do you realize he didn’t bother to knock on my door? He stood in front of my window and glared at me with his demonic red-rimmed eyes before stomping away. The man didn’t even say a word. I sure hope you didn’t marry that ugly vampire weasel just so he could be your lackey. Really, if you have a problem with my music because it’s not Sarah McLachlan and I’m not blasting it above someone else’s bedroom at one in the morning on a weeknight, come down here and tell me yourself, bitch. Puh-lease!


  1. Zing!