Being Neighborly Fat Girl Style

When I was growing up, I lived in a small town in Iowa where everyone knew everyone else.  You knew all your neighbors by first name and always watched out for each other.  When someone moved into the neighborhood, I can guarantee you several of the neighbors brought over food to welcome the interloper like cookies, brownies, hot dish or pie.  Mmmmmmmm….pie.  I moved into my neighborhood over ten years ago and since having moved in, most of the houses around me have become rental properties.  I once knew my neighbors because we all moved into the new area around the same time and because my ex was friendly.  Being an introvert, meeting new people is not really my thing.  I could really care less who my neighbors are unless they bug me like the driveway parking assholes or the garage band rejects.  I have no need to be social.  Why would I?  I know you extroverts out there may find this hard to believe, but introverts really are quite comfortable in their own little bubble.  For reals.  It is BFF who makes me leave my house and do stuff.

One day, where she made me leave my little bubble and go on a shopping excursion with her, BFF and I returned to my house to work on a work project she had to finish.  In other words, she needed my craft skills and my supplies in my craft dojo.  Oh…and free labor.  When we were finished, I helped her carry stuff to her car and was going to walk to my mailbox after saying goodbye.  You will remember that we have those big mailboxes for everyone in the next three-mile radius it feel like.  Ok…maybe just half my street and around the corner since I know SOTL Man gets his mail there as well.  Yeah…I get the pleasure of him getting his mail right across from my house, probably scoping me out for his latest fat skin suit creation.  Fun times.  We get outside and right away I notice several of my neighbors have also stopped to get their mail.  I inwardly cringe, knowing that at least one of them will want to stop and talk to me and I will have to be friendly and not have Resting Bitch Face (this is something I excel at, trust me.  I don’t mean to, but somehow BFF and I manage to have it quite a bit).  It’s a real thing.  You can look it up and I bet you will see my picture.  I let out a big sigh, causing BFF to look at me questioningly and then one of our conversations happened.

Me (with apparent Resting Bitch Face):  “I guess I will wait to get my mail.”

BFF (now noticing others are at the mailboxes talking to each other and being all neighborly): “Why?  You don’t like those neighbors?”

Me (noticeably disgusted by the thought of having to actually have a neighborly conversation):  “That one on the left is annoying and weird and lives over across the street.  She totally bugs me.  The other one is a weirder guy who lives around the corner and is friendly with SOTL Man.  There are too many weird people here who want to like talk to me and stuff.  I really don’t like my neighborhood.”

BFF (with a slight knowingly smile on her face):  “You don’t like your neighborhood or your neighbors?”

Me (thinks for a moment):  “Well…ok my neighbors.”

BFF (laughing):  “So what you are saying is you don’t like people.”

Me (now laughing a little):  “Yeah.  Basically.  I don’t like people”

I adore her.  So glad she gets me.  Oh and by the way, by the time this conversation was over, the neighbors had left the mailboxes and I was able to go get my mail in peace. Thanks BFF!

Oh yeah…I didn’t die today.  I did avoid being neighborly and discover I just don’t like people, but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl who is not a friendly neighbor with Resting Bitch Face Running.  The experiment continues…

Why I Hate My NEW Neighbors

I get that not everyone keeps the same hours as I do.  In fact, I get that MOST of the world functions on a Mon-Fri 8-5 schedule.  However, it would also behoove people to remember that there are people who work nights and therefore sleep during the day.  I mean, who do you think mans that 24 hr gas station/Wal-Mart/diner/hotel or who takes care of patients at night?  That’s right…the night shift workers do.  And if we work nights, guess when we have to sleep?  Duh genius!  During the day!  That being said, I got some new neighbors in one of the rentals across the street from me and they just happen to be…my favorite…college boys.  After all the problems I had last year with the one house full, I was really hoping not to have to encounter the same type of rudeness and disrespect I had encountered before.  But then this morning happened.

I came home from work and as usual got ready to go to bed.  Why?  Because it was 830 in the morning and because I was tired after working a 12 hour night shift.  I had just snuggled down in the cool bedroom with rain softly falling outside to sleep in the gloomy darkness, and had closed my eyes when I heard it….the countdown and then a very LOUD very BAD garage band start to wail in the neighborhood.  Immediately, my walls were vibrating and freaking out Ms. Ninja Kitten.  I sighed, got up, and shut my window in hopes that would be enough to drown out the sounds of what sounded like a poor kitten being tortured.  Nope.  Didn’t help.  I could still hear every obscene word, which should have been my first clue as to what was about to happen.  Sighing again, I got up, reluctantly put on my shoes, and went outside to talk to the creators of the strangling monkey sounds that were coming from the garage across the street.

Approaching the boys, I waved politely, smiling through my dog tiredness, and they stopped screeching and making “music” so I could talk to them.  Quietly, without anger, I explained to them that I lived across the street and worked nights and was trying to get some sleep so that I could return to the land of Peds that night.  I then asked if they could please shut the garage door today while they were practicing to muffle the noise.  NOT ONCE did I ask them to stop playing or turn it down.  I just asked that the garage door be shut so I could leave my window open as to enjoy the cool air.  The conversation then went like this:

Me:  “So is that agreeable?  Just shut the garage door and I will be able to sleep.”

Cat Strangler #1:  “No.  We have every right to play right now.  It’s after 8 am and we don’t have to be quiet PER THE LAAAAW.  Get a fan, bitch.”

Monkey Torturer #2: “Yeah lady.  We don’t give a fuck if you are trying to sleep.  Get a real fucking job like the rest of the world.”

Me (incredulous):  “Well, for your information, I do have a real job.  It’s called being a nurse.  AND I work nights AND I know the noise ordinance and you are violating it.  I am asking nicely for you to just shut the garage door.”

Cat Strangler #1:  “You have no idea who you are dealing with right now.  We LIVE here.  We can do whatever we want.”

Puppy Kicker #3 (finally piping up):  “Yeah quit being such a CUNT” (at this word, his “bros” laughed and high-fived each other)

Me (now smiling a smile they should really have been frightened of, channeling my best Scarlett O’Hara going to Miss Melanie’s party in her red dress ):  “Ok BOYS….thank you ever so much”  At this, I turned and walked to the end of the driveway, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket.

As the boys congratulated each other, they did not notice I was on the phone with Flagstaff PD, politely explaining the noise complaint I had.  They even were nice enough to begin to torture small animals again for me while I was on the phone and I could say to the dispatcher that yes…that WAS the noise and yes, I was in front of my own house.  Call me a bitch fine.  Call me a CUNT, and you have no idea what you have just unleashed.  Those boys are damn lucky my Bubby is out-of-town training for his new job (YEAH!) or that my cousins do NOT live nearby.  In my family, that word is NEVER used and to use it against one of the girls in my family is to unleash the fury of an Irish tight-knit clan that will make you sorry you ever thought the word.  Pretty sure.  I finished with the dispatcher, hung up the phone an waved in response to their flipping me the bird and screaming new found uses of the C word while I sat on the steps and waited for the PD to show…which they did in about 5 minutes.  Needless to say, 15 minutes later and a tongue lashing by the officer with noise ordinance violation tickets in hand, the garage door was shut.  The sounds of torture stopped, allowing me to climb into my bed and dream the sleep of sweet revenge.  Just you wait boys…just you wait.  Don’t piss off this Irish tempered girl because I might just punch you in the taint…or key your car…just saying.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I did meet my new neighbors and learn that their vocabulary is something to be rivaled in the obscenity department, but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl hating my NEW neighbors who seem to pose as small animal torturers and am contemplating showing SOTL man where they live running.  The experiment continues…

Another Round With Annoying Neighbors…Thank Goodness For Vacation

So we all know how much I DESPISE my neighbors.  I mean really despise them.  The fact that I am surrounded by rentals probably compounds that fact since most of them are college students. And rude ones at that.  You would think the last run in with the Po-Po over parking in my driveway would have taught them how tolerant I am to them.  But, alas, this did not.  This last run in occurred after a snow storm while I was at work. I came home after white knuckling it down the barely plowed streets of Flagstaff (seriously the city workers need to learn how to plow) and pulled into my driveway.  I went in and changed my clothes to go and clear my driveway as scrubs are not the warmest clothes.  I brave the sub arctic temperatures at 8 am and start-up the snow blower to clear my drive so that I may go in and go to bed and not have 12 feet to clear when I got up at 4 pm to go to work again.  Should be simple, right?  I get several swipes done when I see one of these wonderful and oh so considerate neighbors of mine that like to park in my driveway coming out of their house. And not really dressed for the cold, I might add.  Nor for being in the snow.  In fact, he is in his jammies and coming over to my house.  Great.  He waves at me to get my attention and so I politely stop what I am doing even though I am tired, cold and now annoyed.  The following conversation happens:  Obviously cold shivering neighbor:  “Do you really have to run that snow blower so early in the morning? We are trying to sleep”  Me with what could only be described as an incredulous how stupid are you look on my face:  “It’s 8 am and yes I do.  I need to clear it so I can go to bed and sleep.”  Shivering hung over and now increasingly annoying neighbor:  “You are making a lot of noise you know. I could call the police and report you.  You really should wait until after 10 am to do this.”  Me now pissed annoyed and trying not to laugh: “Go right ahead and call the police Buddy.  I am clearing my driveway for safety so that I can go to work to save children’s lives later.  Your hangover is no concern of mine and at 10 am I plan on being sound asleep so that I can actually do something with my life and not drown it in beer.  How about you take the time to clear your own driveway and not park in mine?”  Blue lipped slightly green now EXTREMELY annoying neighbor:  “You have no consideration for others you know.  This is a violation of the noise ordinance and I am calling the police.”  Me:   “Go right ahead and call because I am sure they have nothing better to do today than bother a public servant trying to clear off her driveway at 8 am so children don’t die.  Let’s see how that works out for ya.  Have a great day.”  Now insert sound of snow blower starting up here and snow being blown on stupid annoying as fuck neighbor.  Pretty sure the Po-Po never came out to talk to me about me using my snow blower to clear my driveway.  Also pretty sure that neighbor was even colder as he walked back to his house covered in snow.  Hey.  Don’t stand in the direction of the blower spout.  Just saying.

Starting with the annoying neighbors….

Thank goodness I am going on vacation this weekend with my BFF.  House of Mouse here we come (did you think we would go anywhere else?).  I need a break from the snow and the annoying neighbors.  In fact, BFF and I are so excited to go to DL that we have already planned out where we are eating.  Yes I said eating.  That is what happens when you go on vacation with the Fat Girl.  You plan where to eat.  I cannot help it that three different ice cream places are on that list either.  It just happens.  In preparation for vacation, though, BFF and I made a trip to Kohl’s to buy me some new jeans because I am wearing the same two pair over and over now.  Sigh.  We all know how much I hate pants shopping.  About as much as I enjoy going to the duck lip appointment or dealing with my annoying neighbors.  As I walked quickly to the Fat Girl section, BFF stops me and says that she thinks I am shopping in the wrong department now.  I laughed.  Nope.  Trust me.  I need the pants that have the huge W behind the number as if the double-digit size is not enough humiliation but the manufacturers actually have to put W for WIDE ASS behind it.  Into the dressing room we go with an arm full of jeans.  BFF is there for moral support and to make sure I don’t have camel toe.  Seriously.  You need someone to tell you if you have camel toe before you put on your new pants thinking you look all hot and there you are showing your camel toe to the world.  Not pretty.  First pair slide on a little too easily that makes me look at the size.  Huh.  Too big.  Second pair a size smaller and still a little big.  BFF smiles and runs out for more sizes.  She hands me a pair that makes the Fat Girl in me shiver and want to throw up.  It is a pair without the huge W behind them.  I hand them back to her shaking my head.  There is no way my fat is gonna stuff itself into those pants.  I don’t wanna look like a stuffed sausage even if they don’t give me camel toe.  BFF insists so I decide to suffer the humiliation and try them on.  I know I can cry in front of her if they don’t fit and she will understand.  And take me for pie.  She proceeds to tell me that the W sizes only go to 14 and those were slightly roomy on me so to trust her.  I gulp and put them on.  And before I can even shockingly zip them up and stare, BFF is doing the Happy Dance Of Joy for The Fat Girl…because THEY FIT.  A pair of pants without the W behind them FIT.  of course then I had to deal with her saying “I told you that you were shopping in the wrong section”.  There is now video again at Kohl’s of 2 girls doing the Happy Dance Of Joy in the dressing room.  At least we weren’t naked. Only semi naked.  Let’s hope nobody mistakes that dressing room video as some form of weird Fat Girl dance lesbian porn.  Since BFF insisted I try on a smaller size, I insisted she do the same and we did the Dance again as hers fit as well. And no camel toe for either of us.  Happy pre vacation to us!

Oh yeah. I didn’t die today. I instead triumphantly covered an annoying neighbor with snow and created another YouTube dressing room video.  I am fat girl celebrating no camel toe with my BFF today running.  The experiment continues….