Echo

Now, I want to ask all you out there in rhetoric land a question:

I know we live in a society where both sexes complain about miscommunication, dishonesty with feelings and fears of intimacy and commitment. Monogamy reigns supreme and that is what we all “strive” for. But then everyone knows that everyone checks everyone else out, regardless. Perhaps this is the most basic of our instincts at work.

There’s this family that I’m friends with that happens to have built the building that I currently live in. While they were building it, the matriarch of the family passed away from cancer. It was a sad affair, especially considering what a wonderful family they are. Well, my neighbor downstairs is a total bitch. She’s a pathological liar and martyrs herself to get attention. She makes up complaints and all her complaints end with something like this: “blah blah blah I’m a wench I’m a wench I’m a wench…and then I was so upset, I cried for hours.” Yeah. Totally. Psycho. She used to complain if I made any noise, such as my 240 lb. lil’ brother walking across our living room. Well, I was at a homeowners meeting last week where she was complaining to everyone about how back in the day, the guy who had built the building had “called me a pig. I have lived in America for many years and I have never witnessed such behavior! I was so upset that I cried for hours.”

Now, I have heard both sides of this story and I happen to know that he didn’t call her a pig and that she was pulling this story out of her ass and making up her own details to fit into the landscape of Warped Crazy Lady Land. Everyone was “ooh”ing, sympathizing with her and it made me sick at the possibility that intelligent people could fall for this self-pitying (and pathological!) crap. But then she continues and says, “They’re horrible people. I bet they gave her the cancer!” I snapped back, “Who?” Just because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She said, “That poor woman! I bet they gave it to her because they’re such terrible people. I bet if I had to live with them, I would get cancer, too.” I had been trying to ignore her but at this point I had to say something so I said, “I don’t think that’s a fair thing to say.” And by “fair thing,” I meant “non-crazy bitchy HUMANE thing, you crazy liposuctioned motherfucker.” So she continues, saying, “I would get something like, colon cancer, if I had to live with them.” Huh??? Is your anus particularly sensitive to insult? Does its immune capabilities weaken in the face of imagined name calling? And Stupid Lady…are you telling me that even hearing those words coming out of your mouth doesn’t shock your frozen heart into a jumpstart? I’ll give you colon cancer. In the form of my foot up your ass. Just give me a second while I put on some heavy boots.

I give you this anecdote as a character sketch because…

TODAY

I had written a letter and given it to each unit in this building about how the homeowners association should now require formal written proposals and budgets for all spending. Lately, they have been spending money at whim on the most random things, like a $300 plant, and hell, that’s my friggin’ money too! Well, she called today to complain that I was being too noisy on my little mini step machine (the portable ones with just the steps). We had “words” and she, being the martyring little snot that she is, tries to tell me when I can and can’t exercise. I, being the sarcastic little snot that I am, tell her to write out her schedule so I can make sure to work my exercise schedule around it. So she’s going off on her bitching, and out of the blue, says, “And furthermore, don’t you dare write me letters and try to intimidate me with your big words.” I had to supress giggles. Apparently, she doesn’t understand multi-syllabic words. And furthermore, it’s not freakin’ about her! I had the strong urge to retort, “The universe is heliocentric, Anna. It doesn’t revolve around you.” But I realized it was a lost battle because she wouldn’t have understood what “heliocentric” meant.

So it ended when I called her pathological (which Webster Dictionary defines as: 1. pertaining to or caused by disease; 2. Unhealthy or compulsive behavior, ie pathological liar ), which I’m sure she didn’t understand because I said it twice and she glossed over what was clearly a huge insult. Then I chuckled while she was in mid-sentence then told her, “I’m busy. I’m watching TV,” then hung up on her. And went back to watching Celebrity Mole.

I’m sorry I ran your car off the road. It’s just that I thought you were your mother.

and

My name is Ryan, I put out fires
I like dogs and football, I dislike liars
I went on TV to find a wife, because I am
cute
My mom told me that and…she plays the flute.

I’m going to win this game because I make Trista cry
With my beautiful poetry about love and blue skies
And dolphins and sunsets and things that rhyme with Cat
Like Fat and Hat and Iguana
And Beer Can and Bat

Dear Mr. Dick Fox:

It has come to my attention, via a bombardment of fawning media, that you fancy yourself the best looking man alive. Perhaps this is the result of too many post-game groupies cooing at you out of naivete because you remind them of their fathers. Perhaps this is the result of too many yes men complimenting the size of your gat. Perhaps this is because your unnaturally white teeth blinded a beautiful woman out of her good senses and she consented to marry you, thus raising your goodlookingness stock by misguided association. I have taken it upon myself to inform you that not only are you an aesthetic boiling blister on the collective face of malekind, but I am also requesting you to stop fancying yourself an actor, and please remove your narcissistic smarmy image off my TV set.

In a petition of sorts, I have made a list of all things better looking than you (in no particular order):

1. Every NBA player outside of Sam Cassell and Popeye Jones
2. Every US Senate Member, both living and deceased
3. Jared from Subway
4. The stain on the ceiling in Room 206 of the Las Vegas Howard Johnson
5. My Ass

It is my sincere hope that you take this letter to heart and reconsider your national compaign to stroke your ego. Any future endorsement obligations requiring media representations should be forfeited to Mr. Taye Diggs or Tiki and Ronde Barber.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Warmest Regards,

So I’m contemplating whether or not to use this for my journal, or if I should create a seperate one. I’m not sure. All I know is that there is no reason for me to still be up at almost 3am. But I sure do like the sound of myself typing.