I wouldn't normally write a blog post about someone specific unless I knew for certain that they would never see it. But, after facing many sleepless nights due to fits of RAGE, I have decided to dedicate this lovely blog post to my land lady Ms. Esther. I'm quite sure Ms. Esther won't be reading this because she doesn't have internet or email. In fact, she doesn't even have an answering machine because "the government could be listening". Yes, that is correct, "the government could be listening". Dear Esther, what are you hiding that would be of ANY interest to the government? The lack of a current annual elevator inspection certificate? The disconcerting fact that the water in our pool is a enigmatic shade of swamp green/smokers teeth that doesn't occur in nature? Are you worried about the girls living in 204 who are actually hookers posing as music students? Esther, they don't care, trust me. Have you read the newspaper recently? No government official anywhere is ever going to have a problem with a hooker.
When your 85 year old Jewish landlady's name is Ms. Esther, it is a sitcom just writing itself. I knew she'd be a constant source of both aggravation and hilarity from our very first encounter. The first words she ever spoke to me were, "Are you a Jew?" I didn't know how to respond, so I just said, "I once played a matzoh ball in my pre-school production of Shalom Sabot". She didn't laugh and she's been suspicious of me ever since. I remember after about a month living at the apartment, I was coming back from vacation and she accosted me from her balcony. She is the Jewish Evita. She asked me, "There were some people on the roof---and they were drunk----and they were naked, do you know who it was?" I told her, I had no idea, but next time it happens please let me know because I would love to join them. Again, no hilarious laughter from Esther, not even a chortle. I, In fact, knew exactly who it was. It was a very attractive but somewhat dizzy boy named Todd (who lived in 409) and his gang of gregarious gays. I certainly wasn't going to report my sexy neighbors to Esther, especially considering one day if I was sociable enough and tricked Todd into thinking I was nice, I could probably weasel my way into getting an invitation to a midnight rooftop romp.
The twist of the entire Esther saga is that last week I found out (via my lovely neighbor Peter) that Esther is actually only in her early sixties. I was shocked at this revelation. SHE'S ONLY 62!? WHAT?!? I, for a brief time, had convinced myself that Esther was actually Elie Weisel's grandmother. The shock was similar to when I found out via IMDB that Blake Lively is only 24 (I had guessed around 41 or 42). Esther's a lady with a big heart, but she thinks I'm some sort of ungrateful, smart ass, mouthy hooligan. She's only half right. Recently, I have had an issue with my living room blinds which has rendered me quite testy…..
After a recent run-in with her, I'm really quite agitated with her and I'm looking for a little sympathy. I've been trying to get my living room, plastic, thirty-dollar blinds replaced for three weeks now. Ms. Esther believes that because I don't have a degree in engineering and I enjoy making her sweat I probably broke them myself. Well the truth is, that they fell down because they are old and cheap, like you Esther. A month ago Esther broke into my apartment while I was in the shower, she cornered me as I was drying off, and she gave me a twenty minute lecture on how to open blinds correctly. She kept saying "you gotta make sure they're all facing the right direction". Thank you Ms. Esther on the lesson in advanced aerodynamics. She was was talking to me like I was a half-naked, drunk carnival worker who's job it was to assemble the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. Esther is in fact, outside my door right now, still giving that lecture, even though it's six days later and I'm at work. This lecture coming from the woman who told me not to put Draino down the sink because "it damages the pipes". Who told you that? I'm guessing a plumber. Esther at one point actually even suggested that I turn the blinds upside-down and punch holes in them rather than making management buy new ones. Can't make it up! Turning the blinds upside down and punching holes in them is possibly the most dumb fuck, cheap, Jewy ass idea I've ever heard.
It's now Monday almost a week later. My blinds still won't open and another one has fallen down. PS if you live in my building and tell Esther about this entry I will pump our nasty-ass, swampy pool water into your apartment until you drown in your sleep. Have a good one.
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