Our building, as of lately, (lately being at least a month, maybe a lil' more, but who is counting?) has been given the added flair and color of a couple who live in apartment F.
Let me set the record straight, they aren't friendly, but I don't really want to be friends, so it's fine by me.
However, living on the ground floor makes it quite difficult not to see their comings and goings, and what's more, HEAR their exchanges. (What with the windows open weather...)
and maybe it is mean of me to call them White Trash....I dunno... But...
It started quite simply...their move in.
The van pulls up, claiming five spaces, and the movers waltz around and around the truck, maybe, perhaps in hopes that it would unload it's self, but my friend, we don't have the technology for that yet.
The mover, whose name should've been Luigi, brought down their sofa from the big white van. And let me say, it made our hammie down sofas look like they are Ethan Allen Show Room Quality. I'm just sayin'...
They take it up stairs, and then bring it back down, and parked it...literally. As in our parking space.
Picture it: It's a sleeper sofa, and it is opened, revealing that they are people who just leave the sheets right on it and fold it back up for the next lucky spend the nighter to crash at their place...Saves on Cheer, Saves on Snuggle Saves on TIME to just fold up the mattress to reuse it later...
They are Green Eco-Earthwise like that.
Luigi points to the sofa and says (to no one in particular, or to whomever may be listening) "I'm NOT gettin' charged for that. I can tell you that much!"
The new neighbor guy (Who is military) comes outside. He circles the sofa, looking like he just lost a best friend. Cigerette in hand, he doesn't touch the sofa, he just circles.
Minutes later she makes her grand debut. The girlfriend.
She has blonde hair with black roots that were glistening in the sun.
She is barefooted, one arm folded over her chest, one arm bent at the elbow, forarm in the air, in her hand a cigerette.
She looks at the sofa, and bends over and spits. Letting the spit kind of fall out of her mouth. In slow motion. I cringed. I literally cringed.
And that was the first time I ever saw them as a couple. It's when I dubbed her as "Woman" because I am positive that he calls her that, or "My Ol' Lady"
Fast foward...Last week.
I have the sliding door open. I hear her bellowing out before I even see her. He is already in the parking lot.
"Are those jeans your 30's? Because they don't hang down over your boots good, and it makes you look bad."
her boyfriend looks back at her and says "Yeah, they are the 30's."
She appears, cigerette in tow, Jeans, Torn to the beat of the 80's big hair bands, hair in a bun/headband combo.
Again, barefoot.
She leans over and spits...AGAIN. I was left to think...the 30's make him look bad, but her spitting doesn't? Her fashion is so elegant, she's become the simon calwell of haute couture?
And i don't even know what 30's are.
I admit it, I am watching. How could I not?
They climb into her texas plated low ride truck with ground effects. Mike has a name for them...Dad calls them 'Possum scrappers" I don't call them anything, And off they go....probably down to friendly's liquor for an MD 20-20 pick-me-up...
It needs to be said, they are pet owners. I've seen a cat, and a dog thus far. The lil' dog is named Eric or Errlick. Which is what they yell when they are talking to him...
But these people need the Petco Pet Owner Super Award. Woman herself may've come up with the most beautiful way to walk your dog ever. This is what i again witnessed, and photographed for proof.
Woman had Errlick on a leash. In her hand a shasta. In her other hand, she was dragging her portable canvas outdoor chair...the kind with the cup holder in the arm rest (talk about eliminating the need for a coozie!)
The is dragging both Errlick and the chair across the parking lot (This is what got my attention, the loud dragging noise bouncing down into my apartment)
She takes herself over to the tree at the bottom of Mattress Hill.
Sets up the chair, opens the shasta, sips it.
Puts it in the arm rest drink holder.
Plops herself down in the chair.
Holds her arm out to let Errlick run as far as his leash will take him.
She lights up a cig, and sits.
It was so fancy that I had to snap some pictures.
This morning Mike & I were doing laundry. We passed 30's (which is what we've been calling him) in the corridor. I said "Your puppy is cute. How old is he?"
30's grunted. and mumbled "10months." Like it was one word. I said "Yeah, i see him running around by the window. He's adorable."
30's grunted and walked away.
We get inside, and Michael is gleeful. He says "Did you see it?!"
i said "see what?"
he said excited and laughing "30's was wearing a pooka shell necklace!!"
I said 'No! shut up! Reallly?"
Mike laughed and nodded.
I said "I can't believe I missed it!! Did you see! Did you see I was trying to be nice?"
He said "yeah, rude!"
later, while mike was snoozing (Since he's on nights, his days are reserved for sleepin') I was on the patio, putting my bell peppers into pots. I hear them yelling "ERRLICK! ERRLICK DAMMMIT GIT YER ASS OVER HERE AND QUIT RUNNING!"
30's and Woman are going out. They are dressed up, and errlick saw it as his big moment, his one chance at freedom.
The pup is in 7th heaven running down the sidewalk, zig zagging in the parking lot, up mattress hill, and down towards the other buildings. Errlick was giving it all he had!
30's is running after him, with cigerette in hand. Pooka necklace bouncing in the breeze.
Woman is standing by the patio. My patio. Cigerette extended.
I said "Hi! How are you?"
She looked at me, and puffed her cigerette, saying nothing in response.
Woman apparently had bigger things on her mind, like date night, and why her boyfriend insists on wearing 30's when they don't cover his boots good enough.
She had on a tee tucked into belted jeans. The belt was sporting a buckle big enough to have the entire state of texas engraved in it's shiney goldeness.(Which it did by the way) The sun glinted off of it, making me squint.
Thankfully, I shielded my eyes in time to admire and take in the details of her 'goin' out in O-town shirt.
The tee said "I got drunk on 7th street, and don't remember buying this tshirt."
One thing we can honestly know about our neighboring duo is that Adam Ant did not have them in mind when he belted out Goody Two Shoes.
When Mike woke up, he barely had time to shake the sleep from his eyes when I was telling him with pride that I did indeed get to see the Pooka Shell necklace.
His comment about the happenings were "Was he wearing his 30's?"
I got to thinking, maybe they are the alternate universe Amber & Michael. Our polar opposites...which is better than being our mirror images...
Oh well, yeah, I'm guilty of watching them...but with White trash Reality like that, who needs cable?
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