Saturday 15 September 2007

GFG: the one where she is a fuckwit

The precious peace that I wrote about in my post this morning quickly evaporated with the sound of Ground Floor Girl (GFG)'s persistent door slamming and her blaring music and television.

There is no way she can have imagined that it was acceptable. I could hear – and feel – the door slamming so loudly while I was in the bathroom that I suspected there was building work going on downstairs. When the consistency and familiarity of the sound/vibration revealed what was actually happening, my neck tightened and adrenaline coursed through me. I was on fire. I was as rigid and tense as a steel girder.

S emerged from the living room and I could see that boiling point for him was not far off. He'd been sitting there, having breakfast, enjoying what had been a relaxed start to the weekend, having worked hard all week, as had I. He has been nice to her, giving her the benefit of the doubt where, for me, The Line had been crossed a while back. He looked bemused and hurt.

All we have ever done to her has been neighbourly: pick up her shopping, take in her deliveries, give her wine, feed her, tidy up the (joint gardens), paint the (communal) areas, pay for the (communal) plants, close her huge window that she had left open when she was away and prevent bailiffs entering her place.

She has kept me awake – or woken me up – with the amount of noise she generates when coming back from a night out several times. As an insomniac (she knows this), I think this is tantamount to abuse and cruelty. And her attitude ("I don't think I should pay my share"/"I don't care about looking after the place; it's just the way I am" etcetera), stinks as badly as a dollop of shit in your freshly-coiffed hair. It's just not on. No. No, no, no.

We are nice people. We are quiet. We are considerate. She is a total cunt.

I was shaking with rage. I am fucked off with people treating me as though my good manners and general amiability are an open invitation to take the piss. I don't often lose my temper properly but when I do, I can turn the air bluer than the sky over the sea on a clear day.
I was fully prepared for this to go down that road. And oh, it's nice to throw in a bit of blood-curdling logic when such situations occur.

I don't scream, but I suppose 'fierce' sums it up. It shocks people, and I find it excruciatingly unpleasant, but it has to be done in certain circumstances to stop liberties from being taken. Such times – and I can count them on one hand – are rare. I prefer to serve a dish icy cold – if I can be bothered to prepare it – when someone really needs to eat their words at some point.

It was just as well we'd already planned to go out as the mercury hit 'had enough' for S, who joined my level of disbelief and fury as she continued to pollute our peace. S screamed at her to shut up and I said something (that I shan't repeat here) as we passed her front door. GFG is surely wrong in the head if she thinks that it is OK to behave in the way she has. What? Does she think the stupid, polite people upstairs will turn the other cheek and say, 'thanks for the fuckage, please miss, can we have some more?' Er, no. No.

As we came back home, having deliberately stayed away from our home to avoid walking into a situation (which in itself is obscene to have to do), we saw GFG and her (poor bastard) fiancé leave, with bags in hand. He doesn't live with her – he is currently based in another country. Wise man.

So, we didn't wish her 'happy holidays' as they loaded up the cab. She saw me and stepped back behind her front door. I had my sunglasses on and she couldn't see my eyes. Just as well. If looks could, they would have done the proverbial.

----------------
Listening to: Editors - Munich
How apt – the lyrics are perfect.

12 comments:

  1. Oh my, she sounds like the neighbor from hell. I'm happy to report the idiots downstairs have moved out and the flat is still empty (heaven). I can't help but wonder how much this noise must upset your bunny. My cats hated sudden loud bangs. Get the animal rights people after her, no one likes animal cruelty.

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  2. She is straight out of hell, Chris. I cannot abide her.

    And yes, M, was all bunched up, all upset. She is a sensitive little creature. I know it sounds bit silly (maybe) but her effect on M makes me especially angry. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

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  3. How old is this ghastly person? My first thought was that she sounded like the worst kind of teenager - and that's risking giving them a bad name. Sounds awful and I wonder if you could go and complain somewhere. Commiserations.

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  4. She's nearly 29, Signs. She works for a major bank and really is a total banker. I have spoken to the police (who were doing their community thing) while out on Saturday and they've suggested the council's noise team (who are pretty good here) and the police safe neighbourhood team. I shall wait and see...

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  5. Hey Mell D, This is vitun stressful for you. Noise is bad enough (I have a lot from students, cooling fans, traffic) but dealing with such unpleasantness and unneighbourly behaviour just makes it SO much worse. Hope you get some kind of resolution. Were you not thinking of moving?

    x

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  6. Hey NMJ,

    Thanks for your words. It is indeed vitun stressful. Exactly: re the noise versus the blatant selfishness of the situation. There is a noisy-ish fan near here but the fan can't help it. However this vitun specimen of humankind can help it. And God help me, I feel like a mountain, tall and with the potential to throw a few rocks down, at the moment.

    We were thinking of moving but the market is slowing up and the place we want will probably be back on the market soon, as we have had no offers on this place, largely due to the slowing market and our somewhat inept estate w*nkers...

    x

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  7. So you like her, then? Unless I have totally misunderstood the situation, this sounds like it could be the start of a beautiful friendship. You guys really seem to be hitting it off. Nice.

    You should, of course, feel very free to swear at me now, Scullery Girl. I like your swearing, though, as you already know. Do it again do it again.

    Have you considered planting drugs on her?

    OGTAHAKASTY, MD.

    Pony Rook x

    (D'you like that? Ogtahakasty? It sounds like a Maori greeting - or warning - as opposed to a mere acronym. I'm well pleased with it.)

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  8. Welcome, welcome, PR... welcome! Ogtahakastybaydtpe, even.

    Now, look, I know you know that I know damn well that your comment is purely there to wind me up and make me swear. I have been vitun swearing all fucking day, me. Ha.

    You could plant drugs on her – she's so full of shit they'd grow like the grass where Laura runs down the hill in Little House on the Prairie. Word. Up.

    HYAFB, OTVBOTTYA

    Darkest of all Mellifluousity,

    x

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  9. Hmm. That obvious was it? Well, I think it pays to wind people up when they are in a state of highest agitation. You'll thank me for it one day.

    Listen, don't be using Laura's name in the same sentence as the word sh*t. Laura is pure, Laura is good and Laura, like the queen, doesn't know about these things. Shhh. Swearing is all very well, but I have my limits.

    The Prairie was a pure place, Mellifluous, a godly place, and not one single inhabitant of Walnut Grove ever went anywhere near a toilet. You know I'm right.

    Oh God. Did you ever see Michael Landon in Highway to Heaven? I got curiously hooked into it, but the thing was pure mince. He was an angel sent down to earth and he did "good" and had pretty glossy hair, too. Appallingly watchable for all the wrong reasons.

    Anyway, enough. I'll happily plant drugs on your neighbour, Imelda, she deserves it. Incidentally, never let up. I can't stand that people think they can act this way with impunity. Go after her with assiduous cunning and show her that wankers never win. (cover your ears, Laura)

    Singing the theme tune of Prairie (STTTOP) and skipping happily towards you, Bianca.

    x

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  10. I used to want to be Laura. I was a fan. LHOTP always made me cry, as did HTH (of course I watched it, it had Charles in it, innit?)

    I was also curiously hooked and was most upset (really) when Michael died. I thought that if there were such places as heaven and hell, he was definitely taking the lift going up.

    (Goodness, someone reminded me of Love in an Elevator yesterday and now that's polluting my head. Darn... How do I reconcile that with Laura et al?)

    Ah, Walnut Grove. It was a good programme – good in a Godly way. You know? It was indeed pure. Laura was pure (except for when she fell for Older Manley – remember?!). But yes, happy days (let's not talk about the Fonz here, K? Great. Thanks.)... What was the name of ... oh, I just remembered! Nelly Olsen. Excellent. LHOTP's version of Jade Goody!

    Please do come and sort out the fuckwit – oops – neighbour. Use a method of your choosing. I do not plan to let her get away with such behaviour again. She isn't back yet, shame...

    Skip, skip, skipping, Knight Gallop. See, 'knight' is both Pony and chess... Genius, me.

    Ta-ta!

    MD x

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  11. Kidnap the fucker. Tie her up with barbed wire and make her listen to ten hours of Perry Como, before digging her eyes out with a blunt spoon.

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  12. Ah, Minx, hello there. The solidarity from you brilliant lot is making me smilesmilesmile.

    She is still on holiday with her (poor bastard) fiancé... But when she gets back *rubs hands*, no more Ms Nice Girl...

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