Tuesday, 11th April '06
My Crazy Neighbour
On Sabrina's goading - and because I refuse to crack open a Family Law book merely one hour after the Legal Accounting exam, I am sitting here in the Student Union Building at Dal blogging and waiting for episode 16 of Lost's second season to find its little way through the vast expanse of cyberspace and into my darling little Mackie.
I know. The Powerbook needs a better name than that.
I also do get rather rambly when I'm blogging for the sheer sake of time-wasting. So as I sit here, I'll try to piece together any observation that hits me - starting with last night.
I'll probably have to start this with a disclaimer stating that I barely know the girl and that she's probably a really nice person if you get to know her. But the fact is that I don't and I don't really want to because it's hard to be this annoyed at someone if the someone is your friend.
See, I think she keeps a hyena in her room. Oh yes indeedy. If she doesn't keep on in her room than she herself IS a hyena. No, wait, stop - it's a PACK of hyenas. And this Hyena (it or her, it doesn't matter) gets activated by alcohol. Once they start partying in her room - for heaven's sake! Go upstairs to the TV room, that's what it's for! - that's it for the peace and quiet on the third floor. So fine, a number of us - at least me, Franzi, Susann and Grace have gone and banged on the door and told them to shut up, but good glory, she doesn't seem to REMEMBER it. It really doesn't help to apologize everytime we meet in the bathroom when you're going to do it again anyway. You know how Scar in the Lion King sings to the hyenas "I know that your powers of retention are as wet as a warthog's backside"? It's true! Hyenas have no memory, and I know this because I've told the one next door a million times to keep it down, and it never remembers.
I guess what pisses me off is not the fact that it happens, but the fact that it happens in such an INCOMPREHENSIBLE manner. In the sense that I DON'T KNOW WHAT GOES ON IN HER/ITS HEAD. Susann puts it very well: "You know, I'm happy that she's a happy person, but is there really a need to screech with laughter every single minute?" Oh yes, folks, it's not general loud talking or drunken debachery we're talking about here. It's witchy, cackly, shrill, piercing, screechs of laughter that are about as soothing to one's ears as nails on a chalkboard. Try this:
Ok, now imagine this happening 3 times a minute. It's not an exaggeration.
Now imagine this accompanied by
- foot stamping (oh yeah, I felt the earth move under my feet - and I'm not talking figuratively);
- German song singing (in aforementioned screechy pitch, each stanza gradually growing lower and intespersed with said hyena laughter); AND
- an open door.
The open door also drives me crazy. Sometimes I want to walk over and just slam it for them.
Excuse me for a few seconds while I take a short break to fantasize about nailing her hide to our shared dividing wall and using it as a dartboard.
But back to the incomprehensibility of it. It's incomprehensible because I don't even know how it's humanly possible to laugh like that - humans have God-given laughter that's supposed to tinkle pleasantly and be the best medicine! Our vocal cords and lungs (and our EARS) are not MADE for this kind of insane howling cries. Laughter's supposed to make the people around you feel good - not inspire them to engage in psychopathic hallucinations of sticking their hands down into your trachea, pulling out each vocal cord one by one and cooking them in spaghetti bolognaise. I also don't understand how a person can feel so little shame about being such a bloody nuisance. I don't understand how she thinks its REMOTELY socially acceptable to burst into laughter at FIVE BLOODY O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. Maybe she didn't have anything better to do, but I don't understand how did not see that her long-suffering neighbour might have a legal accounting exam the next morning. For the love of Mike, it might actually take EFFORT to be this bad a neighbour, you know? She'd either have to be stupid, inconsiderate, without a conscience, or all three.
By the way, she says she's stupid. Dammit, it was still the beginning of the semester when she said that and I actually said "oh no, it happens; forget it, just don't do it again". She's done it again and again and again and now I'm tempted to go right back to her and rehash the topic and go: yeah, maybe you really ARE.
It's gotten bad enough that Grace (who lives on the other side of her) has taken to banging on the wall so hard that Alex on the fourth floor upstairs hears it. Hahah, serves them right. I've just taken to sitting in my room and yelling "SHUT UP" - sometimes it actually works.
ROAR. I know I've said it many times to people - once you accept that the world is full of morons, you'll be a much happier person. I just didn't expect to live next to a social retard.
I miss Ben Schneider.
[4 photographs developed.]
hahah strange neighbour u have there..
oh and why do u have such a lousy name for ur powerbook? my friend calls his 'bigmac' ... i can think of a name for him if u want
wah liao eh. you ask for it, man. i'm gonna let 'er rip:
YOU?! YOU WHO NAMES EVERY BLOODY THING YOU OWN "BRANDON"?!!??
but i admit, big mac is a kinda cool name for an apple computer. mine is smallmac, though.
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