I don't know her name, and I don't know what she looks like, but she has the voice of Fran Drescher. And she talks...a lot.And that wouldn't be so bad if it didn't sound as though every conversation she had wasn't taking place in my living room. Every time she goes to smoke a cigarette, she stands on this tiny island of cement and welcome mat and talks on her cellphone. From these activities happening in tandem, I can only assume my neighbor is also adept in the art of multi-tasking. Regardless, I am worried about her level of stress. I have been awoken from countless naps by the sound of her aggressive cigarette/cellphone rants. Apparently her friends have a lot of relationship issues all of which my smoker friend here takes on as her own, shouting angrily into her cellphone as if she is the injured party. She is nothing if not impassioned. Sometimes I want to open my living room window and yell down to her, "You go girl! Tell her what's good! I can't believe she caught her boyfriend cheating with her best friend!"
Today, however, was a first. Today, for the first time since I moved into the apartment in February, I heard her laugh. For two months I have heard nothing but anger and hate seething out of this woman's mouth, but today I heard joy. And it was...awful...and ongoing. Smokey the cellphone talker apparently caught a giggle fit. And, once again, it wouldn't have been so awful if it didn't sound like it was taking place in my living room.
Maybe I'll leave a note under that welcome mat for her. Reading it might keep her quiet for a few minutes.
Dear Smoker,
Ever thought of becoming a therapist? At least your friends would have to pay you for all of your counsel. Perhaps they could pay you in cigarettes. Please don't ever laugh again.
Sincerely,
Concerned Neigbor
