Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Playing Well With Others

It was an uneventful day. I did not win a Pulitzer Prize. I did not win a Nobel Prize, or even a Booby Prize. I was not chosen (again) for Miss America. It's getting old, this not being chosen. That ain't no way to treat a lady.

There is a thong on the floor of the lobby in my building. It has been there all day. Somebody was in a hurry. It is brown. A brown thong.

I didn't know that Sheryl Crow lived here.

If I got to choose my neighbors, some of them would not make the cut. Princess Leia would be plying her wares elsewhere, and a young man whom I usually refer to as "Dickboy" would be gone, too.

He has the charming habit of leaving his garbage outside the door of his apartment, sometimes for days at a time. I have concluded that he is waiting for the Garbage Fairy to come and take it away, perhaps leaving a few quarters under his doormat.

I parked in the driveway for less than a minute while I unloaded some heavy bags, leaving my motor running. Dickboy drove up in his giant SUV and leaned on his horn, even though he could see what I was doing and assume that I did not plan to leave my car there all night, blocking admittance to his obscenely large vehicle. Although somebody should.

I have lived here longer than he has, so if anyone has a right to be a territorial asshole, it would be me.

He rarely bothers to click the garage door shut, which upsets me because we keep our mountain bikes out there, attached to a pillar with a flimsy chain. Our helmets were already stolen once, so we now keep their replacements in the apartment.

He slammed into the garage after me, removing a section of the door frame he missed last time with his fender and strewing large splinters everywhere. Once I had gathered up the rest of my parcels, he had already entered the building.

A huge trash bag was blooming right in front of the door. The drawstring was not fully closed, so I peered inside at soda cans, beer bottles, empty potato chip bags, cigarette butts and other garbage which had clearly come from his car. (So comforting that he drinks beer while driving.)

Dickboy was too lazy to carry it upstairs and throw it down the garbage shute into the dumpster. I extracted a postcard with his name on it.

After hauling the heavy, leaking bag up four flights of stairs and placing it against his door, I propped the postcard on top so he would know that the Garbage Fairy didn't just make a wild guess as to whose trash it was.

I am not his frickin' mother. I already raised my children. They turned out fine. I do not care to raise him, too. I don't even like him.

I'm sure he was raised by rabid weasels. It's nearly Mother's Day. I hope he takes his mother some fresh roadkill on Sunday.

Today, I got an e-mail called a PajamaGram. "Mom Deserves To Be Pampered This Mother's Day," it proclaimed in big bold letters.

It advertised All Women's Pajamas Delivered With Free

*Keepsake hatbox
*Lavender sachet
*Do not disturb sign
*Gift card

Who thinks of this stuff anyway? Will they bring back housedresses next?

Apparently, lavender and old lace are alive and well. Does anybody under the age of 70 even know what a sachet is? And who uses hatboxes? I have never owned a hatbox in my life, but if I did, I would keep cat litter or crayons in it.

Women who use sachet and hatboxes most certainly have no use for "Do not disturb" signs.

A billboard offering some kind of freebies might be more useful. Maybe Tuesday Twofers. Or hummers.

Tomorrow may be the day I win a Pulitzer, Nobel or beauty crown. But in the meantime, I got to live another day, and it was good.


seventh sister said...

Maybe tomorrow you will be Queen For a Day and win a new washing machine or ironing board.

thailandchani said...

Well, I know what a sachet is... but it's only because I learned it from Gramma. :)



heartinsanfrancisco said...


Heavens to Betsy, I certainly hope so.

I don't iron other peoples' thongs, though.


My Grandma kept them in her dresser drawers, right next to the pomander balls. :)

Jocelyn said...

Stop waiting for that Miss America gig. You have already arrived, just as yourself.

And what a kick you are.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


Does this mean that you like my yellow topless bikini in the top photo?

Bad hair day, though. Really bad.

alphawoman said...

Man-o-Man do I remember the horrors of having to share and apartment building!! really great post and I do shudder at the thought of Dichhead...I mean Dickboy.

alphawoman said...

Oppssss...I meant!

EsLocura said...

I was hoping to win the whole miss america thing too, I already practied my "world peace" speach. My neighbors steal my chickens and eat them, it ain't easy.

Lee said...

The thought of Sheryl Crow's brown thong was a lil scary this morning. I didn't want breakfast anyways.

Sorry you've got such crap for neighbors. I used to ponder the meaning of life. Now I just ask why people have to be such assholes.

Bob said...

wow. I thought neighbors like that only existed in the movies. just before the bullets start flying.

I keep cedar blocks in my drawers. does that make me ancient?

Sven said...

"I didn't know that Sheryl Crow lived here."


That line was worth the price of admission.

urban-urchin said...

perhaps dickboy needs to experience the propped up container of piss that is stragetically placed to pour into his apartment when he opens the door. Cuz it would be irresponsible for me to suggest a burning bag of dogshit on his mat (as his front door is inside the building)

Open Grove Claudia said...

It's the small things that drive anyone crazy. We have neighbors like that.

It's unbelievable to me that 4 year olds are more considerate and kind than adults. I wonder what happens in the process.

Happy Mother's day.

Ian Lidster said...

You deserve a Pulitzer for this entry, 'Heart', I loved it. You are so very funny and so very honest. I do think with the name 'Dickboy' you are being too kind. I think he might take it as a compliment.
I also think you should create a history of that thong. But maybe it's because I have a perverse mind I think that.


furiousBall said...

Holy crap (literally),the Sheryl Crow - brown thong joke just killed me dead.

Anonymous said...

oh dear, I own hatboxes that I actually keep hats and purses in above my wardrobes. I also have lavender sachets. I am so dated. Excuse me while I hang my do not disturb sign to sulk a little. :(

Christina_the_wench said...

For a small fee, I can have Dickhead made penis-less since he seems to be overcompensating for a small one anyways. Let's just whack it off for him.

MsLittlePea said...

I've been looking for my brown thong panties! Damn! I guess I should stop sleeping with the your neighbors....

Anonymous said...

On the ground, I am literally on the ground here, larfing and larfing. Sheryl Crow, Dickboy, Garbage Fairy, "a keepsake hatbox," satchets. This stuff is so golden, so golden.

I don't know what is in your future, HinSF, but I am thinking maybe a Booker or an Academy Award for you, my friend.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


I wish we still had a house, but that isn't possible in San Francisco.

This is a small building of only 9 apartments. Most of the tenants are lovely people, but for the two I've featured here.

Thank you for your visit!


You win. Stealing chickens and eating them trumps bad garbage habits any day.


Why, indeed. Do you think that IS the meaning of life? Ulp. I hope not.

I just assumed that Sheryl Crow buys only brown panties, considering.


You must smell woodsy.


As a musician, do you like her music?


You astound me. And you look so angelic, too.


It's true. Children are usually altogether delightful. And then they become people.


My, but you do have a perverse mind. (I like that in a man.)

It hadn't occurred to me that "Dickboy" could possibly be construed as a compliment. I also do not say it to his face, which resembles Fred Flintstone.


You too, eh? See Sven and Ian. Maybe you guys could form a band. The Crowettes. Or Brown Thong.


Oh, dear. My mother would have loved to trade me for you. Do you wear white gloves, too? She was big on white gloves. I had no use for them myself.

I think I need a hatbox now. With a wide-brimmed hat in it. Red, the hat. The hatbox, flowered.


Or should I call you Lorena? That's a very kind offer. I'm really touched that you would do that for me.

But then, he'd probably want to borrow my shoes. We can't have that, can we?

Sweet Pea,

You don't want to sleep with him or the other single guy in this building. They make your alligator look realllllly good.


Isn't the Booker Prize for Commonwealth writers? No problem, I'll convert.

An Academy Award is out of the question, though. I don't have implants, and my face still moves.

meno said...

Seriously, would you even WANT to be Miss America? I know you look hot in a bathing suit, but really, you are probably out of the running because you are too smart.

I know what a sachet is. And i am a few years under 70 too.

riseoutofme said...

Obviously this guy has neither a brain or a social conscience ....

He probably had a deprived uprbringing.

Maybe we should feel compassion for him???

And then, maybe not.

I know what a sachet is too ...

Its a type of sexy walk isn't it???

thethinker said...

I know what a sachet is. In fact, I have one somewhere in my dresser right now.

That guy sounds like an idiot. I would've "accidentally" emptied the trash bag in front of his door.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


Yes, sachet is a sexy walk. Sorry I spelled it wrong.


I knew it! You're not really 17.

I wish I'd thought of dumping it on his threshold. Where were you when I needed you?

Anonymous said...

Ah hell, when then I will give you a Booker, or perhaps just a book. But something, anyway.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


Oh, goody. I love books. And a Booker would be nice, too.

I'll practice my British accent, and they'll never guess my dirty little secret.

flutter said...

holy balls, brown thong. I need to pee, right now.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


It's a good color for the one-square gals.

Sienna said...

This is Boofhead in maroon Ford, (your Dickboy I mean)... he lives somewhere far north, of me... a boofhead in his car, he keeps trying to run me off the road, he is a maniac.

So he did it to me again last night coming home just roared up beside me (very narrow resheeted road here, so unsafe) and floored his car, totally ran me off the road and struggled to gain and hold control of, I take a bit of upsetting but I thought that's it mate, your dogs breakfast and followed him, I'm gunna follow you and confront you, and I hope your Mum and Dad are home and you cop it good, boy will they get told what your up to on the road...

Had this all planned, as I tried to follow him (find where he lived)...not a hope in hell, he drives like a madman possessed, lost him.

I am contemplating hiding up at the mailbox and catching him, I will work on a plan, even if it's just to get his number plates and ring the Police.

There are some that literally have nothing upstairs Hearts!


Odat said...

"rabid weasels" hahahaha...sounds like you had a great day!

Kate S said...

Ah, hearts, you are too much. The thong comment was priceless, and I'm so proud of you for taking the garbage back to the trash who left it out.

However, I can tell you that a "Do Not Disturb" sign would be most appreciated in this house! :) I may make myself one for mother's day. I'm sure it will do me no good though - there's no rest for the wicked.

heartinsanfrancisco said...

Meno, (I'm confused. I didn't see your comment before.)

No, actually I wouldn't. And I especially cannot see myself as Miss Congeniality. Or Miss Vapidity either. They'd have to change the rules.

My cat is also too smart, although she is quite beautiful.


That's scary. I hope you are able tog et his license number and report him. The guy is a menace and will probably kill someone driving like that. It must not be you.

But don't confront him yourself. You have no idea if he carries a gun, or is on something that makes him drive so fast and erratically.

Good luck. I'm going to worry about you now. Please find a way to involve the police so he won't be on the road any longer.


Yes, rabid weasels. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


It's funny how that goes. When your children are young, they won't leave you alone. Then they grow up, and you feel totally blessed and happy when they call or spend time with you.

Michael C said...

Your neighbor does sound like a real jerk. I read this blog pretty regularly and I would definitely award you a Pulitzer prize if it were up to me.

I am not Star Jones said...

my bf believes in the garbage fairy, too.

I hope DickBoy wins the lottery and moves to a big house soon.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


It's the thought that counts.


Could you wish that for me, too, please? (It's the thought that counts.)

Josie said...

I saw that ad for the women's pajamas, and the gift hatbox and sachet, and I wondered which century they were in. Certainly not the 21st.

I hope you get rid of "Dickboy" soon. You should go to the pet store and buy a mouse to put in his garbage, then knock on his door and tell him he's attracting vermin. Or bet yet, tell the apartment manager. "Dickboy" would be gone.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


He'll be gone soon. Star is getting us both houses. (Mine is nicer.)

Judith said...

You should cut out a newspaper and stick the words 'hey buddy you leave your crap around the building anymore some boys will be paying you a visit to break your tumbs', he might be a bit litter concious then

heartinsanfrancisco said...


I was saving my newspapers for ransom notes.

Maybe an open letter on the wall in the lobby:

Dear Dickboy,

Your mother does not live here.

Man up and use the trash bin, 'kay?

CS said...

Ha! I just sent my mother a birthday card with a newspaper ad for housedresses! I kid you not. My grandmother used to wear them all the time, and I was threatening to buy several for my mother. She got a good laugh out of it.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


They still sell housedresses? I was pretty sure this was the 21st century.

I think I'm safe. I already got flowers, so their shopping is done.

My heart runneth over... said...

I know what a sachet is... and i use hatboxes in my closets to store my flip flops and little pocket books....

What does that make me? lol

As for the dboy, grrrrr! Not nice at all.


heartinsanfrancisco said...


What a wonderful idea, storing evening purses in a hatbox. Now I must get one, but sachet makes me sneeze.

Beehive Goddess said...

I so would have kept the postcard with his name and address and signed him up for as much junk mail as I possibly could.

But that's me.

And I'm a mean old bitch.

What can I say, I've learned from the best.

heartinsanfrancisco said...


What a wonderful suggestion. Since we live in the same building, I know his address and could easily sign him up for all kinds of junk mail.

Penile enlargement ads keep coming to me both by mail and e-mail. The former is especially disconcerting because my name is Susan.

Judging by the size vehicle he drives, this might be just what he needs.

Thanks for your visit. I checked out your new blog, and I'll be back.