Send Me an Angel

It's rainy day in Tucson, which is surreal.

I keep thinking it's like 4 PM when I walk by the window because this time of year, you're usually guaranteed big sun until at least early afternoon.

I hasped audibly when I went out with the dog this morning and it was raining. In the progressive tense, rainING.

Well, interesting to me at least.
If it rains all day, there could be some kind of alien bug explosion in my courtyard and then I wouldn't be alive come Monday because of the total paralysis over having to touch any of the bugs.

Speaking of home, my evil hippy neighbor is moving out.
That bitch is C-Razy.
Straight up, woo-woo, loco.
This condition, I believe, to that been induced by too much LSD in the early seventies because although she looks like a sixties relic... I get the distinct impression that looks are deceptive in this case.
I think the mis-matched socks are contrived and everybody knows that nothing ages you faster than wearing mis-matched socks with your Birkenstocks.

Anyways, she's moving out.
Now, I don't know what went on in that place but I do know that I used to hear a lot of banging around and I could never see like, a furniture arrangement or anything when her door was open and I was acting one of my favorite roles, "Old Maude Neighbor". If your door is open, I am looking in your house. I don't look in windows, because that's annoying, but if the door is open, I'm going to use my 20/20 to make all kinds of inaccurate conclusions about your sexual orientation and financial situation.

Now, I never saw a couch or a chair or anything in this lady's house, ever.
We really didn't get along and according to another neighbor, who is equally as nosy and open to inappropriate spying as me, told me that the lady is moving into her car.

I don't care what you drive, a chaise lounge doesn't fit in your car and neither does a cute two-top from Ikea.

Anyways, the hippy lady has never been a pal. She likes to lecture about the evils of America and I hate that because when I hear things like, "There's no room for art anymore!", I think to myself, "Capitalism rocks!" She makes me feel like a Republican and that's.....

She's always maligned Tucson, and unfairly, I think. She puts it down the same way I put down really hot chicks from Scottsdale. Like, you know she really wants to let her guard down and figure out how to fit in but she can't because then she has to admit that she doesn't measure up.

So she's been hating on Tucson forever, acting like I am a mean animal killer from the time I told her that I was going to call the city to deal with the sick stray cat that she insisted upon feeding, even though its fur was falling out and it made really creepy noises like it was going to start foaming at the mouth. She originally pulled attitude with me when I came home one day and politely asked her to move her car from my parking place.
It's not personal - I just want to park my car in my spot. It's my spot.

I also totally wouldn't be surprised if there was some spell-craft shaking down; if hexing was at play. One day I came home to find some rocks arranged in the not-too-subtle shape of an arrow pointing to my door. I did find this disturbing and in the dark of night, messed up the rocks, just in case she really was trying to put some juju on me... I didn't want to risk her seeing me mess up the rocks because, you know, then the next time she would be craftier, so to speak.
Hey, you can't be too careful when you're dealing with hippies.

Finally, though, she's moving.
Finally, the apartment next to me will hopefully be restored to its rightful, gay boi occupation and a collective sigh will be heard as the Neighborhood Nellies have something more colorful to explore.

In the meantime, as she was moving stuff out, I mentioned that she could leave the key with me because I would probably show the place to a couple of people.


In a panic that I am going to use her empty apartment as a kegerator and invite druggies over for orgies where we graffiti the walls, she recoiled visibly at my request to leave the keys with me. It was all I could do to not laugh out loud when she told me she was really worried about her security deposit, so much so that she's going to photo-document the place.

I've only lived there forever and have, at one time or another, had the keys to every single unit. I probably have the keys to her place because my landlord doesn't change locks when people move.
I have also had a total of one person over in the entire time she's lived there, which isn't very long. Now granted, it was my Viking and that was a sort of, uh, loud relationship, I haven't had anyone over since January. I am really not sure what she's worried about unless I'm right and she put witchery on me and now she's worried about her own Karma which... is not my problem.

She was finally moving her bed out last night, which is usually the last of it. I suppose I'll have to go home to see if there are keys waiting for me.
If not, I'll totally have to break into my stash of Spare Keys That Are Not Mine, call up everyone I know, and get busy with ordering a keg and several cans of spray paint.

God I am not going to miss her.
And as a prayer, "God? Would you please send me another little gay angel?"

arizonasarah at 11:20 a.m.

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