Our new across the hall neighbors are gross. Gross with a capital G.
Their major offense? They have the world's leakiest garbage and drag/spill it down the 2 flights of stairs that we share in order to get to our parking lot. Almost every morning I am met with this kind of horrifying sight:
What kind of person does that? Who doesn't notice they are leaving a huge smear of nastiness wherever their bag goes and freakin DOUBLE BAG it!?!?! Times are NOT that tough. It makes me want to get protective booties to wear over my shoes.
The only thing that fixes my mood after seeing a scene play out like this is a new-found joy in my life. There is a radio station here in the Denver area called "The Party." It's been around awhile and I never listened to it because I figured with a dumb name like "The Party" it had to be focused on the 11 to 17 year old demographic.
However, when I got a new battery for my car all my preset stations were wiped and I had to search around to find them again. This happy accident led me to "The Party."
And I was right...it is a music station for teenie-boppers. But not today's teenie-boppers....the teenie-boppers of the 1990's!!! (That'd be me!)
I can't tell you how the melodic offerings of Lauryn Hill's Killing Me Softly has soothed my soul after almost slipping in the neighbor's grease slick. How passionately I sing along with TQ and his account of life in the Westside. How deeply I feel Gwen Stefani's pain while I belt out that I, too, would like you to not speak. How really and truly I, like my good buddy Montell Jordan, know how we do it.
Now if only I could get my dumb neighbors to figure out how we do it too.