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Ophelia (Reprise).
Mar. 27th, 2010 03:03 pmSitting outside on the porch in the lovely sunlight trying to de-plague myself when Landlady pulls up and exits her Lexus, clutching a small box. "Hello there!" she says cheerfully and walks toward me.
"Hi," I said, squinting up at her. "Something broke?"
"Yes," her tone darkened. "They destroyed the garbage disposal over there by putting rice and 35 cents in it."
"Uh oh," I tried to share in her disdain while reflecting on the half dozen shot glasses I'd shoved in the disposal at my old apartment. Before I could even take offense to the realization that I didn't have a garbage disposal at this place, she launched into a new discussion.
"Ophelia woke me up twice last week to complain about your music at night."
"What!" I cried, shocked.
"Don't even worry about it!" she began shouting over the train that rolled up, which I found highly ironical given the circumstances. "I don't even answer it anymore!"
I started babbling about how I'm usually in bed before 10:00 and that I'm almost always watching Celebrity Rehab directly prior to that on my 80's television with no speaker enhancement whatsoever. I pointed to it through the screen door for reference as angry tears formed in my plaguey eyes.
"Don't worry about it!" she repeated as she started down the driveway. "Bye honey!"
"Don't worry about it," I muttered, smearing eyeliner all the way to my ears with the back of my hand. Yeah right. I'm transforming the voodoo dolly given to me by Foot Fetish Guy into Ophelia's likeness and ramming pins up its fat ass.
"Hi," I said, squinting up at her. "Something broke?"
"Yes," her tone darkened. "They destroyed the garbage disposal over there by putting rice and 35 cents in it."
"Uh oh," I tried to share in her disdain while reflecting on the half dozen shot glasses I'd shoved in the disposal at my old apartment. Before I could even take offense to the realization that I didn't have a garbage disposal at this place, she launched into a new discussion.
"Ophelia woke me up twice last week to complain about your music at night."
"What!" I cried, shocked.
"Don't even worry about it!" she began shouting over the train that rolled up, which I found highly ironical given the circumstances. "I don't even answer it anymore!"
I started babbling about how I'm usually in bed before 10:00 and that I'm almost always watching Celebrity Rehab directly prior to that on my 80's television with no speaker enhancement whatsoever. I pointed to it through the screen door for reference as angry tears formed in my plaguey eyes.
"Don't worry about it!" she repeated as she started down the driveway. "Bye honey!"
"Don't worry about it," I muttered, smearing eyeliner all the way to my ears with the back of my hand. Yeah right. I'm transforming the voodoo dolly given to me by Foot Fetish Guy into Ophelia's likeness and ramming pins up its fat ass.
