Thursday, February 20, 2014

It is finished.

I've passed the Forum Moderator torch.
And boy, did those forumers make sure I went out with a bang.

In the week preceding my departure, I banned 5 individuals for misbehavior. One of them accused me of racism because she's....wait for it....German.

Another made me this:

Obviously this was created to insult. I can't remember why this particular person doesn't like me, but if I had to guess, it's probably because I told him not to post while drunk or to stop swearing or whatever. 

While previous artistic renderings successfully heart my feelings:

this latest piece has the opposite effect. I love everything about it. 

It's titled "Megheart"

The crappy quality, the hack photoshop job, the guy to my left. It's the happiest thing I've ever seen. I want to blow it up and hang it in my living room above the fireplace I don't have.

Anyway, it was an interesting two years. I learned a lot. Like the definition of a troll, and the meaning of IMHO. I learned how to not take things personally and not care if one basement-dweller on the internet thinks poorly of me. I learned that I never ever again want to be in charge of a large group of people. There go my political aspirations. Better return all the pant suits, I guess.

I'd be lying if I said I would miss the position. But I will look back fondly on names I was called, the crazies I encountered, and the thick skin that I grew. 
Thanks for the memories, interwebs.

Friday, February 14, 2014

I'm posting this here so you can't blackmail me later.

Clearly, this is not a great photo of me. 

And yet, on this V-Day, it fills me with love to see me with my two valentines, shaking our booties.

Happy heart day, friends. Enjoy the sugar cookies.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

I fought the law and the law was pretty reasonable

"This is not what I was expecting," said one of policemen standing in my apartment.

What he was expecting was a meth lab. Or a drum set. Or fifteen rhinoceroses. Or anything, anything at all, that might make sufficient noise to bother a neighbor enough to call the police.

What the two fully uniformed, armed officers found was me, Ivy and Ollie going about our day.

So far that day had included breakfast, my working, and Ivy playing with some left over birthday balloons, one of which popped. The incident was traumatic for two minutes. Ivy cried. Ollie barked. We all settled down over some graham crackers and Finding Nemo.

But I guess our neighbor, Edith, was far more shook up about the loud, singular noise than we were, decided to call 911, and send the aforementioned authorities to our door.

So there we stood. Me, holding back tears, the officers, looking around in confusion, one of them patting Ollie's head.

I explained that this had happened before. I explained that the Home Owners' Association ignores Edith's weekly letters of complaint about us. I explained that the wall we share with Edith is next to the kitchen and she can probably hear our cupboards open, and our dishwasher run and our knives chop. I explained that we'll be moving in three months. 

The two men listened. They nodded their heads sympathetically. They said that no one should expect a two year old to be silent and that hearing your neighbors is just a part of apartment living. They suggested I call city mediation, or maybe just endure for the next three months because ultimately it's probably just not worth the hassle.

I thanked them and they left. Then I heard them knock on Edith's door. I tried to listen to their conversation for a minute (yes, our walls are that thin), but Ivy had a pediatrician appointment so we had to leave. 

I assume the police told Edith that a toddler and a dog live next door. I assume they mentioned the city mediation. I assume they reminded her that hearing neighbors is just a part of apartment living. I know for sure they told her that we'd be moving soon.

I know this because later that day while I was checking the mail a woman I have never met before said to me, "Hey, I heard you're moving." 

Here's the thing about where we live: It's lovely. We have a great two bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood near walking trails and two parks. We pay very little rent for the amount of space we have, and the buildings are fairly new and appliances rarely break. But, our neighbors are primarily single, older women, which is fine, except we definitely don't fit in. The majority of these ladies are nice, and say hello when our paths cross, but no one knows our names, no one knows our story, and no one, until a few days ago, knew we were moving. Now, however, everyone knows, which leads me to believe that we've been a subject of discussion for some time now.

Our history with Edith is long and sordid. You can read about it here and here and here and here and here.  It seems that from that very first note three years ago, she's been besmirching our reputation within community. And since bird of a feather flock together, we never had a fighting chance in winning over the geriatric residents.

The day after my run-in with the fuzz, I saw Edith outside in her bathroom headed toward the building next to ours. She was probably on her way to spread the good news about the annoying balloon-popping family's soon departure. I wondered if I should follow her and offer some correct information to those she might be communicating with. Try and reveal her lies. Win them over with some baked goods, perhaps. 

But in a few more months Edith will have new neighbors to hate and we will soon be forgotten, nuisances of the past. So whatever.