Well, perhaps you may have heard that I made an offer on a house the other day. I don't want to jinx it (or run the risk of you leaving a flaming bag of human excrement on my doorstep) by disclosing the location so let me simply say it is a fair distance upwind of you malodorous cretins. Don't get me wrong, our time together has been magical. . .if by "magical" you mean "a steaming cafeteria tray full o' crazy". . .but it is time to bid you all adieu:
TO THE FRAT BOYS ADJACENT:
Oh how I will miss seeing you and your veritable wealth of Ed Hardy swag crossing the parking lot on your way to your part-time gigs at Abercrombie and 24 Hour Fitness. Remember the fun nights we've had together? Me banging on the wall like Gladys Kravitz with a hard-on while you and your merry band of brothers loudly debated which was the hottest 'Teen Mom' and performed what I can only presume was some Theta Eta Beta golden shower initiation rite off of your balcony at midnight as the six foot walk from your deck to the bathroom was obviously more than your cirrhotic livers could bear.*
*By the way, the liquor bottles I periodically find thrown on the grass below our balconies are a lovely touch. Our landscaping had been in desperate need of your personal brand of ghetto feng shui.
I will recall with great affection the sound of you clicking your cars auto locks so that they screech "Beep...BEEP, beep!" seven times in succession, thus ensuring the safety of your Brandon Roy bobblehead doll and vast collection of underage porn stashed in your ride. I know that I threatened to go all Carrie Underwood on your car with a golf club and kick you in the sack so hard that your kids would be born cross-eyed but you know I secretly loved how you took such pride in your KIA Spectra with it's " 'Sup Cop" vanity plates. Most of all, I will miss the sound of your shitty house music pounding through my bedroom wall at 3:00 am. Remember last month? You and your homies were playing Ministy from 10:00pm to 2:30am; enjoying a merry lark and secure in the knowledge that all were enjoying your private concert every bit as much as you. And do you also remember the following morning? When I left for work at 7:30am, after leaving a Taylor Swift CD playing at full volume, on constant repeat, with the speakers pressed against our common wall? I'm relatively certain that after listening to about eight hours of that squinty-eyed freak you will never, ever, ever be pulling that shit again. Like. . .ever.
TO THE ELDERLY SISTER LIVING DOWNSTAIRS:
You may be rude, and intolerant, and quite possibly suffering from a mild form of dementia, but by God, your mystical 'Grey Gardens'-like existence fills my blackened heart with so much joy. Many is the time I have chuckled while reading one of the myriad notes you've left on my door commanding me (not asking or requesting, mind you, but commanding me) to cease and desist all wearing of shoes in my apartment and only run my washer and dryer and flush my toilets between the hours of 10:00am and 3:00pm. I am, of course at work during those hours but beating my laundry against a rock on the banks of the Willamette River and catheterizing my children is a small price to pay for your comfort. Sadly, I can no longer reference the note where you insisted that my children "remain confined to their beds until 8:00am" as I summarily returned it to your door, along with several pamphlets for 55-and-Over communities in the surrounding area. One would think that the amount of "medicinal" marajuana you are smoking would make you a scootch more tolerant, but alas. . .no. While I can't say I will miss how your midmorning 420 sesh makes my living room smell like the Port-a-Pottys at Burning Man, I can say that the hours I've spent laughing at the thought of you two passing the dutchie on the left hand side over an episode of 'Matlock' like the bastard love children of Betty White and Jeff Spiccoli have been well worth the aggravation. Stay Golden, Girls.
TO THE HIRSUTE MAN ACROSS THE LAWN:
For the last year I have been privy to your daily activities, due in part to your proclivity to perform said activities in front of your sliding glass doors and in part due to your obvious aversion to any form of window covering. I have watched in bewildered awe as you performed some sort of interpretive dance wearing nothing but a Speedo and pondered how a man with seemingly endless pairs of banana hammocks could own only one shaggy mohair sweater. It was not until I saw you briefly by the pool this summer that I realized the sweater in question was in fact a layer of body hair so thick it had Jane Goodall following you with a video camera. I hear that you have a girlfriend now. In fact we ALL hear that you have a girlfriend now. We hear it every night. . .we hear it all weekend. . .and, on a particularly impressive occasion, we heard it for about four hours. I get it. You found yourself a woman who is hot for your kind of monkey-lovin. Congratulations. It's rare to find a woman who is not only sexually voracious but who obviously doesn't have an issue with bestiality. Thank you for the nights I lay awake wondering when exactly you were going to "do it right there" or "make it hurt". Thank you for the nights I had to assure my short people that the screaming woman who woke them up at 2:00am was more in need of a 976 call than a 911. And thank you for reminding me that there is in fact, someone for everyone. God bless.
TO THE OFFICE AND MAINTENANCE STAFF:
*Thank you for coming to my apartment at 11:00pm when my oven wouldn't shut off and I envisioned some horrific Farrah Fawcett "Burning Bed" scenario.
*Thank you for responding to my repeated complaints about my neighbors without openly admitting that you thought I was crazier than ashithouse rat.
*Thank you for always keeping the grounds, the fitness center, and the common areas spotless and secure.
*Thank you for the massage gift certificate you "anonymously" left in my mailbox after I told you it was finals week and I was running around like a ferret on crystal meth. I totally recognized your handwriting, Stephanie.
*Thank you, Jorge, for noticing the scratch on my car and showing up unannounced to help me buff it out.
*Thank you Dustin and Mike for helping me move when I showed up three years ago with a loaded U-Haul, $17 in my pocket, and two crying children. I'll never forget it.
*Thank you for always making my short people feel like valued members of the community, and not something you merely tolerated in exchange for rent.
*Thank you for the Pokemon cards you gave my son.
*Thank you for the time we had a power outage and you threw an impromptu midnight candlelight pizza party in the clubhouse. My kiddos STILL talk about it.
*Most of all, thank you for those months when I struggled to make rent and you supported me with a hug and a whisper of "Pay what you can, when you can. We know you'll pay us back eventually." And I did. At least monetarily. But I can never pay you back for your faith and trust in me. That was priceless.
Although my neighbors suck harder than an airline toilet, you guys on the front lines have been amazing. I truly WILL miss you. But I know I'll continue to run into you at the store from time to time.*
*You aren't fooling anyone, Darby. I know you're totally hot for the deli guy. Oh, and Amber Alert? He likes you too. :)
Best of luck and love to you all. Thanks for the memories.
PS: OK, this may be a tad premature since I don't actually, you know, HAVE the house yet, but I believe in being proactive, y'all. But, in case I don't actually get it and wind up living among these troglodytes for another year. . .destroy this.