Smeagol and his mutha strike again! (One final time)

Packing.  Purging.  Blah. 

Yesterday I emptied bottle after bottle down the drain, rinsed each one and tossed them into recycling bags.  Old (nasty) cologne, bottles of mayo, zesty Italian dressing, spicy mustard, expired Robotussin, NyQuil... 

The collective smell was enough to make even the strongest stomach feel queasy.  It was totally barf worthy.  (And after our raucous going away party this past Sunday, The Odd Broad has experienced quite enough vomiting to last an entire lifetime.  Sadly.)

"Why are you being so CRAZY with the garbage?"  My sister wondered.  Why?  WHY?  With each new bag we take downstairs, within maybe two minutes, like clockwork, my landlord Smeagol (or his mother) will sneak outside to investigate.  I know because I can see them in the reflection of our neighbor's window.  (Hubby laughs at me as I stand there and watch, hands on hips, outraged.)

So my landlord and his mother rifle through our trash, this isn't really news, right?  Well our neighbor apparently doesn't sort her trash and five minutes ago our phone rang.  It was Smeagol, asking gently if the bag with the bottles in it belonged to us.  I, true to form, lost my shizz.  Hubby, naturally, explained in a calm manner that we always sort our trash so it must be the neighbor girl.  The one with the rabbit.  The one who is probably behind the stinky, suspiciously rabbit poo scented aroma that is festering in our hallway as I speak. 

One last vent...I've taken items outside over the past few days...framed prints, barely used lawn chairs, etc, all of them with "FREE, PLEASE TAKE!!!!" plastered on them.  They've been disappearing quite rapidly, much to my joy and delight.  Too rapidly, come to think of it...

I hear a screen door squeak open.  Through the reflection in the window I see a Sophia Petrillo look-a-like slowly dragging the chairs down the alley.  So it was HER!!  (Smeagol's dementia ridden mother!!) 

They have this obsession with not getting ticketed when it comes to garbage.  Not that the department of sanitation makes many stops on our quiet, out of the way road.  And it's not like we're putting out crap!!  These are nice things, we just don't have room for them anymore!!  Not to mention, this is New York; free items placed on the sidewalk disappear faster than my appetite after watching the Valentine's Day episode of The Two Corey's!!  (Did you see it?  It was real bad.  And by bad I mean wicked awesome.)

We totally ratted the old lady out to Smeagol.  It felt kind of nice, actually. 

PS:

8:54 PM

We just saw Smeagol's Mom outside on our way to the Thrift Shop.  She was very, very sweet.  And now The Odd Broad is feeling rather...ashamed of herself.  I have not been behaving like a very nice girl.  Not very Zen.  No siree Bob.  I will blame it on the dust.  What is it with all of this dust?  Where does it come from?  We are fairly clean people!  And yet...

OK, back to packing.

Comments

[Sister]

But now Smeagol will verbally abuse his mutha, probably in a marijuana induced stupor. Do you regret your decision to rat her out?

[The Odd Broad]

Well, they verbally abuse each other on a good day, so this will be nice fodder for them. I'm helping, see?

[Sister]

They will be sorely missed.