Bent Words

Bent Words

July 21, 2011


For weeks now we've (K-Dog, my neighbors and I) been contemplating Barb's death. Barb, in case you're not keeping track, is the 50-year-old lady down the hall whose demise stunk up the joint for damn near a month. According to one of my acquaintances, whose job it was to clean said demise, Barb had melted through her bed and consequently through the floor below the bed.

Yes. Not as pleasant as a Sunday drive through the country in the fall but if you consider the fact that Dahmer's neighbors lived with the stench of SEVERAL dead people permeating his apartment walls for over a year, us third floor tyros are hardly to blame for the ignorance.

All I'm trying to say is that it could have been worse, people, so stop judging me. I thought it was just garbage, DAMMIT! LOTS of garbage!

At any rate, I seem to have found my perfect match in life as K-Dog is just as cynical about death (when it comes to strangers, at any rate) as I am.

Coming home at night and passing her door, we often say good night to Barb.

A strange noise makes its way through our walls and we blame Barb.

Can't find the scissors? Barb probably borrowed them.

I wrote "BARB" on the dusty windshield of the car sitting unattended for two months in the parking lot as a last fairwell to she whom we did not know but for her BO.

Perhaps it's not entirely tasteful but neither was the fact that she had to go an off herself, without giving anyone a head's up, in a fairly well-occupied edifice such as ours.

Bad Barb.

What's worse is her neighbor (Leah, we'll call her) who was apparently Barb's only friend, didn't become suspicious about all this. They used to talk in the hallway, hang out on occassion and do small favors for each other, from my understanding. The same acquiantance who cleaned out Barb's apartment also knows Leah as she works at a restaurance which he frequents.

The other day, K-Dog was talking to this acqaintance and mentioned the silver little car which had been sitting stoic in the parking garage for two or three months.

"Laura and I kinda figure it's Barb's since it hasn't moved in so long. And since it's so dusty."

"Oh no!" said our aquaintance, "That's Leah's car. She doesn't drive much since she works right down the street from your building."

K-Dog was stunned.

"Laura!" he screamed later. "You wrote 'BARB' on Leah's car!"


If I were Leah, I would be horrified.

But, I'm not. So it's kinda funny...


Now that's I've spent four grueling hours cleaning my apartment as though I were getting paid $50 per clean square foot, I'm not so entirely freaked out about K-Dog's moving in.

Well, I am a little bit but not like before.

I just had to get it out and get over it.

(Relate your trouble or it can well re-double).

Now it's time to get the superfluous crap outta here and start spending some serious insurance money so I can make it... Ours.

When I say 'ours' I mean mine. After all, it's my lease and my money, dammit. When we move out and into a home (yes, I just said that) we'll make it entirely ours. (Thank GAWD we both love motorcycles and easy chairs or that would be a daunting decoration nightmare).

But seriously. I'm okay with sharing my home.

We have a way of conforming that I've never felt with anyone else. Every once in awhile we irritate each other (me putting food garbage in the freezer if the trash can isn't full and him folding up damp towels four-fold on the rack as though THAT'S gonna make 'em dry) but, for the most part, we're both pretty easy going. As long as it's not on fire (!), and semi-organized, we're good. I believe that part of my "post-fire mentality" has rubbed off on him and part of his accepting nature has rubbed off on me.

There's something stimulating about his calm and effortless demeanor. Even when I'm mad at him, I know how much he still loves me. He's not the type (as I am) to answer anger with more anger (or stubborness or denial) -- he's understanding and patient. He knows when he's wrong and, when he's perfectly in the right, he still gives me the majority win when I know damned well he doesn't have to. He's just that secure and that willing to make me happy. And that makes me want to back off a bit and let him in. All the way.

He super generous and well-versed at making me feel like a queen.

And even though that sounds (to me) a bit like being WHIPPED, it's not like that. I can (almost) admit that it's what I totally deserve. It's an equal opportunity relationship. We prank each other, we tease each other ruthlessly and we love every second of it. We're like two kids in a bouncy castle -- just laughing and loving and trying to see how high we can jump to make the best impact on the other. To see how high we can make the other fly.

It's give and it's take and although we may be a bit off balance about it, it's a good balance for us.

It's a GREAT balance for us.

We've found the perfect combination.

And I wouldn't even attempt to compare it to another couple in the world because nothing can compare with this little experiment. We're too unique for the "norm," too outspoken to listen to another's advice and too certain to doubt a thing.

I think that, actually, is the best part. Everyone else can see how certain we are that they don't even bother to try to question what we have or where we are. They know it's good too and wouldn't bother trying to turn an inquisitive eye our way.

Instead, they just smile.

And wish they had what we have.

Written at 9:20 p.m.