I have good news and bad news...

Well, really there is no good news for you, readers, unless of course you are able to join me in a collective sigh of relief upon hearing my news.

I'll start with the bad news for you: all the stories about my creepy neighbor (aka mannequin boy, aka Operation 303, etc.) that you all love so dearly are going to stop. Why? Well, he got himself fired for being a douche-bag.

Which leads me into the good news for me...

In all seriousness, there is a part of me that, strangely enough, actually feels bad for the guy (I think there's a complex for that... its a Syndrome... a city... Stockholm Syndrome? Something like that. Google it). Yeah, okay so not as bad as the syndrome, but I mean the guy has no friends other than online World of Warcraft guild buddies and two dogs, is from the east coast so has no family in the area, is a social deaf/mute with no people skills, and now has lost his job. It’s sad, and the part of my soul that God is trying really hard to save from eternal damnation is working overtime to conjure up these feelings of pity and well-wishes on Creep-O’s behalf. I won’t get into details on why he’s “no longer with the company” (I love bullshit corporate America terms, don’t you?) but he’s out. Cube has been cleared out, and a peaceful quiet has descended upon my row. Its glorious.

The funny and ironic part is that he’s still my neighbor, which has made my arrival home each evening like a scene from a fucking Mission Impossible movie. I’ve had to resort to rolling by my complex parking area like I’m trying out for a damn rap video, and then depending on where Creep-O’s car happens to be I have two options: 1) drive all the way around my building to park on the other side and walk up the front stairs, only to brave Smokes-A-Lot complaining about the fact that I walk in my apartment, ** or 2) park in my space in the back, in full view of Creep-O’s back door, and work with the evening shadows to shimmy up my back stairs before he sees me.

** Smokes-A-Lot is a nasty, bitter old woman who lives in the apartment below me. She chain smokes what must be 9 packs a day in her apartment, leaking fumes up through the vents causing my whole place to smell like smoke unless I leave every window open and fan on and Febreeze every day, and the old goat has the nerve complain about every last movement or noise I make in my apartment. If I talk with my upstairs neighbor (the cool one) on my balcony for 10 minutes I’ll get a note pinned to my door later on telling me to keep it down because her yappy little ankle-biter of a “dog” gets too excited to rest when there is “so much commotion outside.”

So I guess the bad news is that I’ve lost a “shoo-in” source for good stories, but the good news is that with my newly restored sanity I’ll be able to come up with other outlets from which to find inspiration to write. And to Creep-O, here are a few things I’d like to personally thank you for:

- for teaching me the importance of double bolting my locks
- for being the “Karen” of the group (if you don’t know what this means you need to listen to Dane Cook)
- all the laughs (even though most were at your expense)
- for providing me with constant opportunities to think before I speak and not say everything that pops into my head

It has been interesting, Mannequin Boy. Cheers.