Kill thy neighbour

25 04 07

I am hacked off and exhausted to the point of numbness.

I arrived at my flat at 22:00 last night to discover that my f*&king half-wit, inbred neighbour (the same one who drilled at 7:20 the other morning) was having some sort of dinner party on her balcony, complete with music and loud talking and shrieking. It ended at midnight. In that time I physically went down to the guard’s hut and asked him to intervene. After no audible change in the decibel level, I then called the guard on my intercom to ask him to tell them to shut up. G-d knows if he did anything as they clearly only shut up when they passed out from their Klippies, the frigging classless bastards!

So today I asked a guard on the next shift if he had the rules for the complex. Blank look. Blithering. Me saying “nevermind” and driving off.

I have now emailed the guy who collects my levy to ask if he has the body corporate rules or sectional title rules.
To say that I am severely f*&ked off, would like to rip off the worthless parasite’s arm and beat her to death with the sticky end, and that I would like to sell the f*&king flat and move to a remote caribbean island, would be an understatement.

But since I can’t do that today, I’m at work. Seething. And plotting. Any ideas for revenge will be MOST welcome, though I hope they’ll be far more damaging than my idea of lobbing year-old bottles of fishpaste, which have been left in the sun for a few days, from my kitchen window onto her balcony.


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One metre thick concrete walls make good neighbours

20 04 07

My day started off with a bang today, literally. My neighbour, whom I’d not yet met by 7:45 this morning, decided to begin drilling, hammering and talking very loudly at 7:20 this morning. This is a woman whose voice I was warned is “operatic” in tone and volume. Great. I have heard her talking on her phone on her patio, which is about three metres from my bedroom window, and even closer to my kitchen window. But until now I haven’t been sufficiently irked to walk up the stairs to her block to politely request that she lowers her irritating voice.

However, that all changed this morning.
Waking up to loud talking is really irritating.
Waking up to loud talking + drilling is maddening
Waking up to loud talking + drilling + hammering at 7:20 = fury of eye-glazing, teeth-clamping, dog-kicking and bullet-pumping proportions.

In this mood, I slapped on some clothes and headed off to meet and greet my most considerate neighbour. On opening her door, I spotted her, a workman-esque man, and a bloke dressed impeccably wielding a drill, introduced as the interior decorator. My complaint began in a rather friendly way somewhere between “I’m your new neighbour and I don’t want us to get off to a bad start but….” and “F&^k you, you inconsiderate cretin, who do you think you are making such a f*&king noise so early in the morning?”

She then blamed everything squarely on the poncey interior decorator who was meant to come do all the drilling last night. He then butted in saying he didn’t think there were any body corporate rules forbidding drilling. In a rapidly worsening mood (if possible) I pointed out that it wasn’t about rules, it was about common courtesy and consideration for one’s neighbours when you’re almost living on top on one another. Doos!! As I was about to leave, poncey-boy announced that he just had one more hole to drill. Helpful, considering I’m up and angry already.

So, a successful first meeting with my neighbour. Perhaps I’ll go meet another lot later today on the other side of my unit, where two young children start screaming and playing from 8:30 on a Sunday morning. We’re all going to be one big happy community!


You Could Die!

15 04 07

I have found a fantastic crackpot site! Every once in a while I come across some Internet sites which make me laugh in either amazement, disbelief (closely related to amazement) or genuine mirth at what these individuals choose to publish. I’m still hooting about what I found today….clearly a medical doctor with a fetish for conspiracy theories, the author of this site must be one pedantic bastard of note. Here are just a few examples of the headlines of articles he’s published in the past few weeks:


Is the Chicken You Eat Poisoned With Arsenic?

Worried All the Time? You May Die Young

Another Reason to Avoid LASIK Eye Surgery

How Often Does YOUR Pharmacy Makes a Mistake?

Another Myth Exploded — Dieting Does Not Work

Another “innovative” Drug Ready to Bite the Dust

Why Are Swimming Pool Workers More Prone to Colds?

Get Rid of Your Hazardous Cookware Forever!

Healthy Green Tea Soda (I can’t begin to describe how gross and unappealing that sounds to me!)

Have you ever read a more alarmist bunch of headlines in your life?

What he’s really saying is this: If you eat chicken, you will die. If you worry, you will tomorrow. If you consult a pharmacist, you may very well die soon. You will remain as fat as you ever were, and if you cook, you could die.

Surely all this man does is provide fodder for already panicky hypochondriacs about how everything they’re currently doing in their lives will lead to their death…which, ultimately is true anyway, but is still not really cause for that degree of daily terror.

On another note…

Last night, Maggot, Golden Beagle, Chicsa Fashionista and I headed off to compete in a quiz evening held at a restaurant in Greenside….that is if one defines “compete” as “guzzling much white wine and screaming and shouting for joy when one gets a question correct.”

It was ridiculously fun. We’ve booked again for next month. We also managed to win the metaphoric bronze medal on our virgin run.

There were, however, a few questions that had us stumped, predominantly in the Sports section. This one, we felt, deserved at least half a point:

Question: In what sport might the size of the goals differ for opposing teams?

Correct answer: Waterpolo

Our answer: Sex or quidditch


Great fun!


I’m Blotto and Bravado!

12 04 07

I’ve rediscovered my Nirvana cd and was playing it loudly, as one has to when it’s Nirvana, on my way into work this morning.

At one point during “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, I found myself singing the biggest bunch of bullshit lyrics one could ever conceive. Ok granted, the verse that begins “A mulatto” is a completely arbitrary collection of words strung together in Kurt’s unmistakable rasp, but it does give me a thrill to sing the correct, strange words (haven’t quite figured them out in Mika’s “Grace Kelly” but I reckon that’s because I’m so busy concentrating on matching the peaks of his alien falsetto that words are almost irrelevant as my brain all but bursts from the effort.)

All that got me thinking about Mondegreens.
Mondegreens are mishearings of popular song lyrics or other frequently heard phrases.
They are usually absolutely hilarious.
My most recent embarrassing Mondegreen was in The Killers’ “Somebody told me”. There I was merrily singing:
“Somebody told me that you had boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that I had in Fairvale… *uncertain pause*… it’s not confidential, I’ve got potential…”

I subsequently heard my sister singing the very same lines….almost. Her version went like this:

“Somebody told me that you had boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year, it’s not confidential, I’ve got potential…”

God only knows how I came up with FAIRVALE??? Where the hell is Fairvale anyway? How could I not hear “February”??

Anyway, here are some pearlers I found:

Nirvana, “All Apologies”

Wrong lyric: Found my nasty salt
Right lyric: Found my nest of salt

Nirvana, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”

Wrong lyric: I’m blotto and bravado/I’m a scarecrow and a Beatle
Right lyric: A mulatto, an albino/A mosquito, my libido

Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Bad Moon Rising”

Wrong lyric: There’s a bathroom on the right
Right lyric: There’s a bad moon on the rise

The Pretenders, “Brass in Pocket”

Wrong lyric: Gonna use my sausage
Right lyric: Gonna use my sidestep


Elton John, “Tiny Dancer”

Wrong lyric: Hold me closer, Tony Danza
Right lyric: Hold me closer, tiny dancer


R.E.M., “Man on the Moon”

Wrong lyric: Edith was troubled by a horrible ass
Right lyric: Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp

R.E.M., “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?”

Wrong lyric: You wore a skirt made of cream cheese
Right lyric: You wore a shirt of violent green