Hey momma zita with the big tetás! Come here and kiss my chips for good luck!

Celebrate good times, come on!

8/19/2006

Oh, Lord. What a night. What a story I have the privilege of telling, owning, and calling my own! I just feel so lucky, even though I didn't win a dime. Then again, I didn't gamble, I just kicked back with a glass of wine and watched four girls rock the house with such favorites as Let's Get Loud, I Love Rock and Roll, and Lady Marmalade.

I must start from the beginning. First of all, earlier in the evening we discovered that my Jeep is NOT broken. A freeze plug on the engine was not screwed in tight enough, hence the insane leakage of anti-freeze that I witnessed on Monday morning. This discovery came just in time for my poor, lovely, innocent, and caring little sister. It turns out there's something crazy wrong with her cute little Saturn and she can't drive it. She's also broke on the money tip so she wouldn't have been able to fix it this week anyway. Well, lucky for her she's going to have the Jeep to drive until she can save up enough money to fix her own ride.

Later on hubby and I were sitting on the couch and I abruptly sat up and said, "Let's go to Atlantic City!" Of course, he was all about it. I began to feel kind of sick, though, and needed to be convinced. I told him that I wasn't going unless his sister was willing to come along as well. He picked up the phone, dialed her, and asked, "So what are you doing tonight?" to which she replied, "I'm going to Atlantic City with daddy." I couldn't fucking believe it! All four of us had the same idea in our heads without even consulting one another! It was predestined, I tell you.

Hubby told her that we would meet them at Harrah's and we hit the road. Along the way, we jammed out to such favorites as Linkin Park and 30 Seconds To Mars on the bangin' ass system in our brand new car. I swear, the technology for 2007 simply blows my mind. I'm in love with that Chevy. Who'd have thunk it?!

When we arrived, hubby hit the roulette tables first thing. I kind of wandered around a bit because I stopped gambling in A.C. years ago. I'm still up on the money I won and I'd like to keep it that way. I wasn't there five minutes before some random chick playing the wheel called out to me, "Hey momma zita with the big tetás! Come here and kiss my chips for good luck!" I laughed, because I sometimes appreciate the comedy provided by people who speak before they think, and obliged her. That's when she said, "Holy shit, girl! How much did you pay for those things?" I laughed yet again and told her that my boobs are in fact my own. She called out, "Bullshit! No way! Let me feel them! That's the only way I can tell ..." She was reaching out and I actually had to swat her away, claiming that my husband would kill her. She drunkenly yelled, "That's because they're not real. No way are those things real!" I kept swearing to God and she kept denying it. I guess I'm honored that they look too good to be true? I walked away still laughing and found hubby in order to tell him the story. He was dumbstruck. If it had been a guy, he would have dropped his chips and probably been thrown out of the casino within three minutes.

I hung out by his side until sis-in-law and Daddy D showed up. The boys both play table games so sis-in-law and I took off so she could play some slots. That got boring for me pretty quickly. That's when I spotted the bar with the live performance going on. Scantily clad bitches were singing and dancing and a mob of people were seated around them, gawking and drinking. It was my scene to a T. I drug my bestest chick over, sat down front and center, and ordered a glass of Chardonnay. We laughed, we cheered, we sang, I danced, and sis-in-law took pictures. It was honestly the most fun I've ever had in Atlantic City.

After five or six songs, sis-in-law told me that she wanted to gamble a little and I sent her off without a backwards glance. I was people watching, getting my buzz on, and just plain having a good time. About ten minutes passed and hubby showed up. I insisted upon one last dance because he wanted me to accompany him to the roulette wheel for his last go round. He was already up $50 at that point, which isn't too bad considering how fast paced of a game he plays. He bet a few times, I hit the bathroom, and when I came back I told him to make a bet on the inside numbers for once. He usually sticks to red or black, odd or even, etc. I called out 7,10, and 22. He put $15 on even and $5 on each of my numbers and also threw a chip on 4 in honor of our son's birthday. Well, guess what hit! My little baby guy's B-day! We were thrilled! Especially because he never bets on the inside.

We were jumping all around when Daddy D came upon us. He snapped a picture of us with chips and drink in hand and bid us farewell. Hubby told him that we were going to cash out, put $5 in a random slot machine on our way out the door, and hit the road. Hubby picked a $1 game right at the entrance way, put the money in, hit max bet, and I pulled the lever. Don't you know three sevens in a row came up and we hit another $150! We were screaming like banshees, that's how pumped we were. We had to find the Papa Bear one last time to brag about our good fortune before we split. Hubby had walked in with $150 and we walked out with $500 all together! Is my love lucky or what?

I'm still soaring from our fantastic night out. So much so that I haven't even noticed that I only got 4.5 hours of sleep. Yes, I am at work on Saturday but it isn't phasing me a bit. I'm in such a good mood right now and nothing is going to bring me down today!

Being shipped to me from Italy! YIPEE!

A piece of history.

Genuine Telephone Black Bakelite SIEMENS (Tischapparatet W28mT-210/25) made  in Nürnberg is important for the age July 1938 and revised Mar.1941 as per the dates stamped in red on the closure.

The support of the rotary disc shows the following inscription on the back: SIEMENS - Eigantum Der Man—Work Nurnberg—ABT1G.W8.This phone was in use by the Wehrmacht during the years of greatest expansion Nazi in Europe. In March 1936 the Nazi army militarily occupied the Rhineland. In 1937 was signed the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo axis. In March 1938, Germany had conquered Austria and part of Czechoslovakia in March of 1939 occupied Bohemia and Moravia, on September 1939 invaded Poland. In 1940 Germany attacked Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Holland and France.

Evidence that the telephone was used by Vermacht is stamped in red on the back WS1A followed by the number 239.

Note: This telephone was used in the films: The Last Days of Hitler, “Der Untergang” and  in the film Valkyrie .

This phone wisely revived today, will give you the privilege of a prestigious past and give your home a touch of class that only objects with great historical value are able to give. It works well today after beyond 70 years and will continue to work for many years to come. 

The dial is the original one with the numbers blacks still well preserved on a white porcelain, very elegant , fully checked and rotates freely and smoothly; it can also do the numbers of mobile phones. At the center of the disc are the raised letters A to K to facilitate the formation of numbers to the visually impaired.

This telephone is proper for collectors, gifts, schools, museums, works theatrical and films of the age. 

The Infamous Cheez-its Incident

Jan. 13th, 2005, Conversation via AIM. 
Me [9:42 P.M.]: Hey, I almost got arrested tonight.
Me [9:42 P.M.]: lol
Friend [9:42 P.M.]: O,O
Friend [9:42 P.M.]: wha???
Me [9:42 P.M.]: Yeah, I had an entertaining night.
Friend [9:42 P.M.]: what happened???
Me [9:42 P.M.]: I'll have to write about it. I threatened to kill some bitch that lives in my sister in laws apartment. She's a psycho. 
Me [9:43 P.M.]: I scared the shit out of her.
Me [9:43 P.M.]: She doesn't have a phone or furniture. 
Friend [9:43 P.M.]: good lord. lol
Me [9:44 P.M.]: So, I knew if I pounded on her door, she'd have no recourse.
Me [9:44 P.M.]: I know, my life is a fucking whirlwind.
Me [9:44 P.M.]: It's kind of a long story ....
Friend [9:44 P.M.]: Well you know I'll be interested in hearing it when you have time to tell it
Me [9:44 P.M.]: Suffice it to say, the chick won't be destroying my families property any more.
Me [9:45 P.M.]: I even spit cheez it crakers on her door
Me [9:45 P.M.]: lol
Friend [9:45 P.M.]: LOL
Friend [9:45 P.M.]: ewwwwwwww... lol
Me [9:45 P.M.]: And the best part about it, she has no idea who I am and the cops didn't do too much investigating. She refused to open the door, so I damn near busted it down while screaming and threatening her.
Friend [9:46 P.M.]: wow
Me [9:46 P.M.]: I think said ...
Friend [9:46 P.M.]: Yes??? :)
Me [9:47 P.M.]: "If you put your fucking hands on one more thing that isn't yours, I'm going to put my hands all over you, bitch. I'll fucking strangle you to death the next time I see you .."
Me [9:47 P.M.]: Amongst other things
Friend [9:47 P.M.]: holy shit, Lilli!! lol
Friend [9:47 P.M.]: Are you feeling a little, uh, riled tonight? lol
Me [9:47 P.M.]: All while eating out of a box of Cheez its
Friend [9:47 P.M.]: LOL
Me [9:48 P.M.]: I wanted to spit them in her face, that's why I brought the box with me when I drove over.
Friend  [9:48 P.M.]: but she wouldn't answer the door. priceless
Me [9:49 P.M.]: I was very scary sounding. I had a crowd in the hallway, all of the other neighbors who were afraid to fucking approach her about her tampering with their personal items wanted to hear me put her in her place.
Me [9:49 P.M.]: I was called in!
Friend [9:49 P.M.]: this kills me! I'm tearing up. Oh, my kidney hurts. lol
Me [9:49 P.M.]: They knew I'd take care of the situation. The bitch is afraid to come out of her apartment.
Me [9:50 P.M.]: When I first knocked, she didn't answer
Me [9:50 P.M.]: The second knock, she asked, "Who is it?"
Friend  [9:50 P.M.]: was your mouth full of cheezits already?
Friend  [9:50 P.M.]: lol
Me [9:50 P.M.]: I said, "A friendly neighbor" in a not so friendly tone, yes, with a mouth full of cheez its. 
Friend [9:50 P.M.]: LOL
Me [9:51 P.M.]: I had stuffed them in my mouth so that they were ready to spray.
Friend  [9:51 P.M.]: cheezits... I'm dying here
Me [9:51 P.M.]: I know right!
Me [9:51 P.M.]: Told you I'm Randall from Clerks
Friend  [9:51 P.M.]: awesome!!
Me [9:51 P.M.]: And she answered back, "Welll, I'm not answering."
Me [9:51 P.M.]: That's when I went off
Me [9:51 P.M.]: I couldn't tell you everything I said ...
Friend [9:51 P.M.]: I'd have payed money to see that

Me [9:52 P.M.]: So, after I left, since she doesn't have a phone ...

Me [9:53 P.M.]: she walks to the police station!
Friend [9:53 P.M.]: LOL
Friend [9:53 P.M.]: Man, you could have waited for her and nailed her with cheezits
Me [9:53 P.M.]: The cops come, and I'm LONG gone.
Me [9:53 P.M.]: I knew I had to get out of dodge
Friend [9:53 P.M.]: yeah
Me [9:54 P.M.]: Right, so I get a call from one of the neighbors who works with hubby ...
Me [9:54 P.M.]: and he tells me the cops are asking all kinds of questions ....
Friend [9:54 P.M.]: yeah?
Me [9:54 P.M.]: They want to search his apartment
Me [9:54 P.M.]: I'm thinking, O great. One of these morons are going to slip up and spill TMI
Me [9:55 P.M.]: ...and here I left my DNA all over the door
Me [9:55 P.M.]: lol
Friend [9:55 P.M.]: lol
Friend [9:55 P.M.]: But it turned up squat?
Me [9:55 P.M.]: I left the open box of Cheez its in my sister in laws apartment ...
Friend [9:55 P.M.]: doh!
Me [9:56 P.M.]: They would have wanted to search her pad, but luckily, I made her come home with me. I knew the cops were going to nose around
Me [9:56 P.M.]: After the cops spent a little more time with the chick, they realized that she is CRAZY
Friend [9:56 P.M.]: So do you think everyone was telling the cops she had it coming?
Me [9:56 P.M.]: She's already being evicted for destroying property
Friend [9:57 P.M.]: sweet
Me [9:57 P.M.]: The cops have to notify the landlord that they were called....
Me [9:57 P.M.]: He comes by and RIPS HER A NEW ASSHOLE!
Friend [9:57 P.M.]: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Me [9:57 P.M.]: He's pissed at her for starting trouble
Me [9:57 P.M.]: He doesn't believe a word she says ...
Me [9:58 P.M.]: Last month, she supposedly had a stalker ..
Me [9:58 P.M.]: The landlord had to put all these new locks on the door, there was a whole bunch of drama
Friend [9:58 P.M.]: oh goody...
Me [9:58 P.M.]: And I don't even live in this building!
Me [9:59 P.M.]: Some of the shit this lady was doing to her neighbors is OUTLANDISH
Friend [9:59 P.M.]: oh this is funny as hell
Friend [9:59 P.M.]: what was she doing?
Me [9:59 P.M.]: She's certifiably PSYCHO
Me [9:59 P.M.]: Well, I'm not going into all of that, too much typing ...
Friend [10:00 P.M.]: Another day?
Me [10:00 P.M.]: Suffice it to say, you would rather have a "cat lady" living in your complex
Me [10:00 P.M.]: Or even a drug dealer
Friend [10:00 P.M.]: haha, nice
Me [10:00 P.M.]: The bitch tried to burn the place down once
Friend [10:01 P.M.]: good grief
Me [10:01 P.M.]: I don't know why she wasn't in a nut house
Me [10:01 P.M.]: Any way
Me [10:01 P.M.]: I hope I entertained you a little. I've got to run! 
Friend [10:01 P.M.]: definitely
Friend [10:01 P.M.]: :D
Friend [10:01 P.M.]: You cracked me up

Freak Magnet

I must have Freak Magnet tattooed on my forehead in invisible ink that can only be seen by sexual predators and perverts.

Little Johnny & I went to the grocery store and, as we were finishing our shopping in the deli, a weirdo, that we had both first noticed near us in the dairy aisle 10 minutes before, appeared at my shoulder and started interjecting into our conversation about cheese. I brushed him off and we walked away. He followed. Even Little Johnny noticed we were being stalked. We started zigzagging around the store in a completely random pattern, but still, the guy trailed us.

We were finally able to lose him by breaking into a coordinated jog and darting through a crowd in the seasonal aisle. That's when we decided to very stealthily loop around and begin following him. He was on a frenzied tear, head darting in every which direction except for ours, looking for us, like a predator desperately chasing a fading scent of blood.

After awhile, he appeared to give up and got in line at the checkout. That's when we jumped into an empty que and quickly started putting our stuff on the conveyor belt. The lecherous bastard spotted us again, left his cart in his line and got behind us, just staring. I eyed him down with as much indignation as I could muster and he stuttered, "Just checking to see if that was you," and darted back into his lane.

What a sick comment, in and of itself! "You"? As in who? Oh, yeah! The lady with the preteen that you were just stalking! I was absolutely blown away that such a thing came out of his mouth! The walking freak show confessed to his pursuit of us with that statement alone! I was speechless!

Little Johnny was totally freaked out by that point. Luckily, we were able to get out of there before him and, with a very real sense of urgency, we jetted to my vehicle, bags in hand, and buckled in. I've never been so thankful for my limo black privacy tinting as I was at that moment! We were able to watch him exit the store and meander around the parking lot on the hunt for us once again without having to worry about being seen.

We waited until he was well away from our location and pulled out of the shopping center in shock. That's when Little Johnny turned to me and said, "Wow. You can't trust anyone these days." Probably the perfect lesson to take away from such a bizarre experience.

Mama Bear Ain't Scared

A mother sends Little Jane, her 4th grader, to school with an expensive piece of electronic equipment. On Friday afternoon, Little Johnny, a 6th grader, asks to borrow Little Jane's expensive smart phone to shoot a video on the school bus. Little Jane says yes and hands it over. Little Johnny then accidentally drops the phone, which causes a big ol' crack in the screen. Who's to blame? Little Johnny for the accident? Little Jane for allowing Little Johnny to use her phone in the first place? Little Jane's mother for trusting a 4th grader with an expensive piece of electronic equipment at school? All of the above? Who should be financially responsible for the broken phone?


Well, Little Johnny's mother got an email from the Principal today:

Dear Parents,

Little Johnny informed me today that you have decided not to reimburse Little Jane's parents for the phone he broke on Friday. I asked him to have you put that in writing so that I could have a record. The phone is unfortunately smashed at the top and should be replaced, but Little Jane's mother told me that she did not want any trouble, so I am not pursuing this, other than getting your statement in writing. I hope, however, that there has been some consequence at home for his actions. Even though I do believe this was accidental, there is still a broken phone.

Sincerely,

Principal Priss

Little Johnny's Mother wrote back: 

Miss Priss,

I'm not going to pay for the phone for a few reasons. Firstly, it was an accident and they should have insurance (on an expensive piece of electronic equipment belonging to a fourth grader) which would cover any repairs. Little Johnny does not have a cell phone, much less a smart phone, because children at this age do not need one, nor are they generally responsible enough to take care of them. If Little Johnny loaned his Kindle to another child at school, for instance, and that child broke it, I would hold Little Johnny responsible for said breakage and never dream of asking that child's parent to pay for the damage. I'm sorry that Little Jane's phone is broken but hopefully she'll also learn from this experience and think twice before she allows other kids to play with her toys. That being said, we have already dealt with Little Johnny about this situation. 

Thanks,

Mr. & Mrs. Little Johnny 

What the mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.

It's so strange to be going through life perfectly fine and dandy. For me, anyway. I try to forget my painful past, my traumatic childhood, my misspent youth. The older I get, the easier it becomes. Then, out of the blue, I'll wake up and my heart will remind me that it's forever broken, that I'll never be completely whole, that I have learned to "live half a life". 


The strangest, most random of things will remind me. Be it a song or a passing reflection of myself, looking so similar to my mother, in the window of a store front. Either way, when it happens, it's an emotional gut punch. Today I fully understand the meaning behind the very famous quote; "What the mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin." 


I know it's something that will dog my steps until the day I die. 


Brokenness, unspoken.
Captivity, self-inflicted. 
Can't concentrate when reality is twisted. 
Fun house mirrors morph into dreadful inflections, 
potential futures cast ghastly reflections. 
Can't seem to change direction 
or see past illusionary imperfection.  

Took the wide path toward the left.
The floor dropped out from underneath careless feet.
Falling, calling, echoing into emptiness;
a foretaste of eternal loneliness.
The bitterness of which is reminiscent of death,
life's great equalizer, there is no contest. 
A finality to so many pointless conquests.  

Lived, loved, lost.
Laughed, cried, humbled selfish pride. 
Through winter's thaw to fall's first frost,
spring brought rain and summer always came.  
Every season, without treason, 
taken for granted, still the sun shone on. 
One morn will dawn and I'll be gone.  

No lament can resurrect the dead. 
No hope can soothe a soul's regret. 
No yearning can prevent decay.  
No light can penetrate the grave. 
No gold can erase the lifelong debt 
that each one must pay 
for the privilege of even a single day. 

Just call me your (not so friendly) neighborhood Wonder Woman.

We moved into this apartment building nearly one year ago and we're moving out in less than a month. The days cannot pass quickly enough. If I needed a final reason to forgo apartment living forever, God gave it to me today.

My BFF lives in Minnesota and she's been so excited about my decision to finally become a homeowner that she bought two gardening books, that are specific to the area in which I live, and had them shipped to me. Last week, I received the first one. Unfortunately, I didn't get the joy of opening it myself as someone stole it from the top of the mailbox in the lobby and tore into it before I even knew it had arrived. My husband found it on the floor in the hallway, ripped open and discarded.

Naturally, I was irritated. This wasn't the first time my mail has been opened or flat out stolen but I figured I'd never be certain of the culprit as there are so many people living in our complex. I told my BFF about the incident and she was concerned. This was only the first of two shipments and she was really hoping that the next one wouldn't vanish forever and for good.

Needless to say, I've been on the lookout when I can be. Today was my day off, I was running errands, and happened to be coming in and out of the building bringing in groceries right after the mailman made his daily delivery. On my umpteenth trip back out to my car, I spotted a neighbor that I've seen around the property quite frequently, always trying to bum cigarettes, standing in front of the mailboxes. I also noticed two packages on top of said mailboxes.

I quickly glanced at the name on the big manilla envelope and saw that it was addressed to someone by the name of "Arran." I said to the neighbor, "Nope, not me. Is it yours?" She replied, "No." I zipped back out the door and figured I would check the name on the other package on my way back in since the woman was blocking my access to it at that particular moment.

I was outside at my car for all of 60 seconds. When I came back in, the woman was walking toward her apartment with both packages in her arms. I said, "Are those yours?" She replied, "Yes." I then asked, "So, your name is Arran?" She replied, "Yes." I knew right then and there that I had caught the lying bitch red handed. I finished with the groceries and within 10 minutes, my husband went out into the hall to check out the scene of the crime. Sure enough, my second book was tossed out in the hall devoid of its original  packaging with the packing slip slipped between the pages. I snapped.

I looked out my window and spotted the building's maintenance man in the parking lot. I told him the story through the screen and he said, "You'd better call the landlord," then he looked up and said, "Oh, here she is now!" As luck would have it, Jen was here showing an apartment. I ran down and repeated the story for the first of many times. She couldn't believe it because she had just been handling a complaint from another tenant in the building. A St. Patrick's Day card that her mother had sent was stolen, cut open, and tossed in front of her door on Friday, sans the $50 giftcard that had been inside of it. The gal's name was Rae-Ann and she was more than happy to come down and talk to the police after I called 911.

An officer and a detective showed up, I told him the culprit lived in apartment 108, that there would almost certainly be evidence with my name on it in her trash, and they went up to confront her. Sure enough, they found my packaging as well as the other package addressed to Arran. Turns out the thief's name is actually  Annabelle. I hid in a door alcove like a crazed stalker and listened to the entire interrogation. The dipshit flat out lied and claimed that Arran had asked her to pick up her mail. The officer then said, "Did she tell you to open it, too?" Annabelle was stuttering ass stupid from that point on. Moments later, the scumbag was taken out of the building in cuffs and stuffed in the back of a squad car.

I was asked to identify her as the woman I encountered in the hallway, which I did quite gladly. I wouldn't have hesitated to point my finger (or my fist) directly into her face, that's how little I care what that piece of shit thinks about me. I don't shy away from confrontation and it takes an awful lot to intimidate me. I've been dealing with trash like her my entire life, having grown up in one of the worst neighborhoods in Delaware County, and I'm not afraid of her ilk. I believe in justice being served and I'm more than happy to do my part.

After that, Rae-Ann and I had to go down to the Upper Darby police station to give our written statements. The detective was quite honest with us about the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to hold her due to the types of misdemeanor charges that she was facing. Though opening other people's mail is a Federal Offense, the local police can't bring that hammer down on her no good, lying head. He was planning to interrogate her to see if she was stupid enough to admit to her crimes, which I knew she would be, and then go from there.

Once we were through at the police station, Rae-Ann and I decided to join forces and made a trip to visit our Post Master. He brought us into his office and assured us that he would pursue Federal charges against the criminal, especially because there had been a number of similar incidents reported in our building which fit her pattern of theft.

Our landlord was also livid. It turns out Annabelle isn't even on the lease of the apartment she's been residing in. She's been staying there under the guise of "caretaker" for the older woman that lives there. However, the truth of the matter is that they're lovers and Annabelle has been taking advantage of her girlfriend's clueless kindness for a very long time. She's stolen jewelry and pawned it in order to feed her crack addiction. Of course, I didn't find any of this out until I posted this paper in the hallway:

Have you had mail stolen?
A woman was arrested this morning after being caught red handed stealing packages that did not belong to her from on top of the mailbox. Several neighbors have come forward and the police are trying to build a better case. If you are missing something or have had mail opened and thrown back into the hallway, please contact Detectives at the UD Police Department @ **********. We want this flagrant thief to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law! Please, come forward with any information that would help make that possible!


 That's where I ran into another victim, the Arran that Annabelle claimed to be during her act of thievery. She filled me in on the neighborhood gossip (that I must confess to be completely clueless about as I keep to myself and barely acknowledge the fact that my neighbors even exist). 


Rae-Ann also filled me in on more on her way out the door to work just moments ago in this note:

Shortly after you left, Jen called me. She told me that the woman would no longer be allowed on the property, but as you had told me, she discovered she could not legally do that due to Pennsylvania law. So, Jen filed to evict Annabelle and she also told the woman on the lease that if Annabelle returns, then she could be evicted as well. Jen also found out that Annabelle was arrested in 2002 for theft, but since it was so long ago, the police don't care. The detective is probably not going to charge the woman until he investigates the situation more and he can advise her not to return but cannot force her to heed his advice. 


Rae-Ann


PS- After I wrote this, Jen called and said that Annabelle admitted to everything and said that she probably will not return to the apartment, but if she needs to get her things, the police will escort her. 


So, as usual, the justice system sucks. It appears that there are more laws made to protect the perpetrator  than the victim. I may actually have to come face to face with this lowlife at any time. Well, bring it. Let that crack smoking joke come at me. I'll bust her right in her double chinned chops. Let her say one effing thing to me. I'll dial 911 so fast, her empty head will spin. In fact, let her so much as look at me sideways. I'll call the cops and report her for harassment. 


To add insult to disappointment, people are gathering in the hallway to whisper to one another. As I walked by one of their little chatty Cathy sessions, I heard one say to the other, "Is that her?" AS IF I'M THE FUCKING CRIMINAL. Yeah, fuckwads. I'm HER, alright. I'm the neighbor that's looking out for your best interests. I'm the Wonder Woman that shut shit down up in here with my Lasso of Truth. OK, that's a little over glorified, but hell. Let me have my moment of triumph. The law has done little enough to satisfy my thirst for justice. I may as well enjoy the afterglow of catching the ho.


Update: On Tuesday, March 27- So, I get home after a long, hard day at work and step into my apartment building. I'm in the hallway, unlocking my door, when the mail stealing culprit's gal pal yells out, "LYING ASS BITCHES UP IN HERE!" I stopped short, door halfway opened, and hollered back, "THIEVING ASS BITCHES UP IN HERE," and punctuated the statement by slamming the door behind me.