I've had many derisive nicknames for our next door neighbor, but this is the one that I've come to use regularly.
The Queen moved in about a year ago. The renters she replaced were awful and nasty, and she's not that way at all. That's her only good point.
The Queen set up a little overdone Martha Stewart wannabe paradise next door. Inside it's all perfect decor. That's bad enough, but I'm used to being a 53 year old living in what looks like a bookstore/junk store. I'm not happy about it, but that's how it is.
It's the patio that pisses me off. It's all goshdarn perfect, and it makes my patio look shabby.
My beloved patio that the Man and I worked so hard to renovate after the tree was removed, the one where we literally removed 2 TONS of brick, and spent a lot of money to get them relaid! The patio where we set up our lovely porch swing, that looks weather beaten next to her pretty-pretty couches. The patio where the dull brown umbrella the Man selected looks boring, while she has a pretty floral design.
The Queen sits out there on a regular basis, often with loud friends, having a merry old time.
She cooks on a propane grill, which she set up in the bend closest to the house, so the smells travel into the mutual breezeway and into our bedrooms. Why the feck does anyone bother to cook outdoors on a gas grill anyway, when there's a stove inside?
I will give a pass to a certain Knight in Tarnished Armor because he CAN cook. But Vulgaria also now subscribes to a stupid thing called "Blue Apron", which sends her two boxes a week of meals where everything is prepped and chopped and measured. In other words, she can't cook. Snort..
If we had a fence, it might not be so bad. But our well meaning former neighbor put in some ugly arborvitae shrubs to appease the renters from Hell, and they have not spread as she thought they would. There are big gaps in the divide between our units, and we are not allowed to use fencing.
I have no privacy out there.
This is why I hate the Queen of Vulgaria with all my heart and soul.
Because it was a place I was able to furnish the way I wanted it to be furnished. No bookcases, no belongings of the Man get out there. He's not into outdoor life anyway.
It was MY place, my only truly "happy place," and now I can't enjoy it most of the time.
I hate her. I truly hate her.
And the Man should appreciate that. Because instead of being angry at him all the time for the condition of our home, I can be angry at her instead.