I think I may be the neighbor from hell. I don’t throw raucous parties, or drive like one of those douchebag Audi owners through the parking lot. I pick up other people’s trash, and have even been known to say hi when I’m not daydreaming about almond croissants.
Despite my best efforts to be a decent member of society, some apologies to current and former neighbors are definitely in order.
To the neighbor who saw me topless:
Your expression really said it all. It was a mixture of pity, lust and confusion. Coincidentally, that was the same look I once gave to my reflection after eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza by myself. I’m sure you had no idea that breasts could double as suspenders, or have so many stretch marks that it looks like there’s a freeway system tattooed on them. The truth is, puberty was not kind to me, and my breasts are now registered weapons in nine states. I guess I should’ve rushed to cover myself up, but I was pretty sure it was the last opportunity I’d ever have to show my chesticles to a man, and I had to soak it up. I’m sorry if this has stirred up a weird fetish, and your future wife finds you searching for “low-hanging tits” on the internet one day.
To the neighbor who saw me peeing in the bushes outside his window:
You’ll be happy to know my drinking has calmed down considerably since we lived next door to each other. I had a bionic liver at the time, and was known for consuming so much liquor that you could cut me, and get drunk off of my blood. That night I had downed an entire bottle of Hennessy along with a few Smirnoff Ices by myself. I’m embarrassed by this not because I was drinking alone, but because no self-respecting human being drinks a Smirnoff Ice. I had been playing “Wannabe” by Spice Girls for what seemed like 17 hours, and prancing around my apartment like some drugged up Burning Man hippie. I was so disoriented that I couldn’t remember where my own bathroom was, and wandered outside to find a place to pee. I pulled down my underwear, steadied myself against your window, and started treating the bush like one of R. Kelly’s dates. I am very sorry that the commotion woke you from your slumber, and forced you to stare directly at my urine-soaked labia.
To the neighbor who saw me retrieve food from a dumpster:
You seemed like a nice guy, and despite the fact that you’d adjust your balls from inside your pants, were the most normal person in that complex. It’s very important to me that you understand I don’t normally search dumpsters for food like a rabid raccoon. Anyone who has smoked pot will tell you that hunger can consume you, and you’ll find yourself eating bizarre concoctions like peanut butter and smoked salmon tacos while laughing hysterically at your hand (which you’ve just discovered is hilarious). I was a human garbage disposal that night: deli meat, a banana, leftover lasagna, and an entire bottle of dijon mustard. In an attempt to be healthier, I’d thrown out a bag of chips the night before; I blame Suzanne Somers who had hypnotized me through my television with her thighs of steel. I needed those chips back, and my trash bag ended up being much harder to find than I anticipated. That’s why you found me waist-deep in garbage calling out to a bag of Dorito’s as if we were playing Marco Polo.
To the neighbor I accidentally farted on:
I promise you that I don’t go around farting on people for fun. Except my sisters. And my 7-year-old nephew. And my roommate. Sometimes I’ll crop dust strangers, but that’s only if I think they deserve it. Not only was I menstruating the day I let my ass whisper on you, but I had also eaten some questionable chicken the night before. Do you know what that combination does to a woman? There was a 5-car pile-up in my gut, and I was worried that holding it in would result in me burping up something that tasted like what Charlie Sheen looks like. You crept up so quietly at the mailboxes, and I had no idea you were behind me when I unleashed the Hindenburg on you. I’m sorry for not only spraying you with my fecal dust, but for not having the courage to look you in the eye and apologize.
I can’t take back my shameful behavior, and I wish I could say I’ve grown as a person since then. Anyone who has read this blog even once would know that’s a huge lie. I just want you to know I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for exposing myself to you.
I’m sorry for invading your dreams with my bodily functions.
I’m sorry for having dinner in the community trash can.
I’m sorry for my booty cough.
I’m sorry, I really am.
Sips of Jen and Tonic 
Oh man. Please don’t take any more breaks from blogging. The world needs this.
I never will. Even if it means having to blog from a jail cell, or a gas station bathroom.
Just avoid the dumpster nearby, if it’s the second option…
Yay!! She’s back!!
OMG, I was jonesing for a J&T post! This was too good to be true – you have no idea how much I needed to laugh – I’m emailing you. Right now.
I’m like herpes– you guys can’t get rid of me.
AHHHHHHHHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA this is the best post I have EVER READ. You had me at ‘chesticles’, but by the time I got to you farting on your neighbour, I’d farted on my own hand.
Thanks for the fart! 🙂
I’d love to fart on your hand sometime.
You need your own reality show.
I completely agree with you.
I think what and Calahan are saying is that you want to watch me pee. Perverts.
If I got one, it wouldn’t be on one of those good stations like Bravo or VH1. It’d be on the TV Guide channel.
That means my mom would probably be watching it, though, so, hey, you have a viewer.
The R Kelly reference was the best yet. That excuses public urination in my book.
Nobody comments like Speaker 7. She makes my heart pound.
Agreed.
I want Hugo to be my R. Kelly.
Hahahaha! “booty cough” make me spray coffee all over my laptop. Thank you for sharing this, Jen. You are a fantabulous!
Please send the invoice for your computer repair to my email.
No worries this time, i just had some wiping to do. But I’ll keep that in mind for future endeavors.
Thank goodness! I was just looking up “selling drugs to make money” on the internet.
I am so glad that “urine soaked labia” can be found here. Because everywhere else Google sends me makes me so uncomfortable.
Just Googled it, and I’ll never be the same.
Not doing it, not doing it not doing it…
I think the market value just went up on the houses on either side of you. Everyone wants to be your neighbour. Of course you are required to wear a Mr. Rogers sweater at all times.
I always hand out fart-laced cupcakes when new people move in.
Have you seen 2 Guns, with Mark Walburg and Denzel Washington? In the movie Marky-Mark serves up a “cup-o-cheese” to a guy in the truck bed. Automatic rewind and rewatch.
No, mostly because I hate Mark Wahlberg, but I may have to try to find the clip on YouTube.
It’s worth a peek. Feels almost like an ad-lib.
There you are.
Ask and you shall receive! Thanks, Jak.
You’re welcome. I was thinking, “I shall have to look that up myself.”
I didn’t know you had post moderation set so that videos auto-embed… some bloggers don’t.
I think those bloggers are worried that someone may embed dirty videos on their Rated G site, but this blog is not clean by any means.
oh good! That means that my last comment should be considered kosher, yes?
Hey, if Cimmie doesn’t care, it’s all good.
why apologise? you gave these people great stories to share at dinner parties.
“And that’s when I looked up and saw some woman eating pizza from the trash. Can you pass the potatoes?”
This is hilarious. I’m so glad I came here and got “ass whisper” and “booty cough” to add to my vocab.
Same! “Booty cough” was especially brilliant, haha! 🙂
Glad I’m not the only one who thought so! STEALING IT!
I cannot imagine someone as classy as you saying booty cough. I’m a bad influence on you. Get away while you can.
I just read this to my husband, who belly laughed and said, “They think you’re classy! That’s adorable!”
Wait, you’re one of us?! I’m not sure I believe it.
I want in the club, Jen! How many questionable phrases is it gonna take?! Meat wallet! Axe gash! Yogurt pump! Come onnnnnnnnn…
I’m laughing out loud. You’re in!
SWEET! I HAVE NO CLASS! (I feel like such an adult right now. Awwww yeah.)
I can’t begin to imagine what a dinosaur fart would be like.
Please spread the word. More people should be talking like this.
OMG! LOL I can think of worse times to fart… like when having your female exam, but that is pretty embarrassing. LOL and NO I didn’t fart while having a female exam..it just popped into my head.
I know someone who did that. She actually switched gynecologists because she was (rightfully) mortified.
lol 🙂
Oh crap. This has always been my fear in that office.
I’m still stuck on “ass whisper.”
Aren’t you happy you moved closer to me?
As long as you promise not to cropdust me.
You know I can’t do that.
A warning at least?
We may have a problem if a compromise can’t be reached.
Okay, I’ll only fart on you M-Sa. Even the good lord took a break on Sunday.
We’ll always have Sundays.
You are hilarious! Super gross, but hilarious!
‘Gross’ is the nicest thing anyone has called me all day!
High five!
Oh wow, why are farts always so funny? I’m laughing right now. A badly needed laugh. So thank you for that. I would be your neighbor, I’d at least get a giggle now and then.
Farts are always funny, especially when it’s a woman because so many of us go to great lengths to pretend we never get gas.
This is brilliant. Did you find the doritos? Was it worth it?
I didn’t. That incident taught me that you CAN feel shame even when you’re lit like a candle. I got out of the dumpster as soon as I was spotted.
Outstanding work Jen. You made me snorf down the phone to 400 conference call attendees.
If they ask you why you’re laughing just tell them you’re coming down from the drugs you did all morning. That’s what I do at work.
These aren’t reasons for apologies. These are just more reasons I love you so. Except for the Smirnoff Ice. Dude. Just say no.
I know. I KNOW. I’m glad we can still be friends even though you’ve learned my shameful secret past.
Everyone needs more neighbours like you!
Spoken like someone who wants to be farted on!
I would LOVE having you as a neighbor… Well, maybe except for the farts.
Nah, who am I kidding, I’d laugh my ass off if I walked up on you as you made the cheeks shake.
I am giving a whole new definition to the phrase ‘make that booty clap’
After reading this, I should be able to find you without problem. If I cruise SW following deep dark odors emanating from a chick with low hanging breasteses standing in a dumpster. Portland may be weird but I would notice you.
I’ll be standing next to the woman in my neighborhood who walks her pet rabbit in a stroller.
Just burst out laughing at work. I’m sure these people wonder what the hell I do all day.
It’s Portland! No need to explain sudden bursts of laughter because, well, this is a play where coyotes hop on the Max train and go for a joy ride: http://www.portlandmercury.com/endhits/archives/2008/08/15/knw-yr-pdx-light-rail-coyote
I’m thinking I want to be your neighbor now just for the blog, Twitter, and FB fodder it would give me. 😉
I have often wondered how many statuses were generated just because of the dumb stuff I do.
You would be a welcome neighbor of mine. I can handle farts. Gossip not so much… And that alone should speak volumes about the community I live in.
Usually I’m the one people are gossiping about so I never get to be involved in that kind of fun.
I would tell you to give them something worth talking about, but it seems you’ve already mastered that one! 🙂
The only sign of bad behaviour that requires an abject apology here is drinking Smirnoff Ice on top of a bottle of brandy. Whatever were you thinking of? For shame.
I don’t know. It was obviously a questionable time in my life.
Oh. My. God. Laughing so hard I can’t breathe.
This post should have come with an Oxygen tank.
didn’t want to scroll to the end, so leaving my comment here:
‘chesticles’ — hilarious! thanks for the laugh, xo LMA
I was going to scold you for being a lazy scroller, but then I see that you’re a cat, and well, that allows you to get away with everything.