So there’s this couple. They live in the apartment above mine. One half of this couple has lovingly been given the nickname of Crazy Girl Caitlin because she’s crazy, and possibly dangerous.
This all started months and months and months ago when we began hearing Caitlin and her live-in boyfriend, who we’ll call Bob, fighting. Although, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Bob just spends these “fights” curled up in the fetal position as Caitlin screams at him about all sorts of ridiculous things including the jeans he didn’t buy her because she didn’t find any she liked (true story).
The husband and I, being naturally curious, ALWAYS attempt to listen in on these screaming fits of Caitlin’s because it makes us feel better about our relationship and assures me that regardless of how many times I might yell at the husband for something ridiculous, I’ll never be a crazy as Caitlin. Ever.
One porch night, after Andrew and I had assured everyone in our entire apartment building that Caitlin is crazy and Bob might be the victim of domestic violence, Bob came out to say hi to some friends of his that were out talking to us. Apparently, he’s not allowed to talk to people because Caitlin came flapping down the stairs, out to the porch, stomped (like a five year old) right up to Bob and said, “Are you ever coming home BOB?!” and then made the most ridiculous and nasty face I’ve ever seen in my life. I was scared. And Bob, being brave and an apparent glutton for punishment, left the porch, his tail tucked between his legs. Later than night, Andrew and I heard the fighting yet again, which was no doubt about something silly like light bulbs or the nerve of Bob to strike up a conversation with people other than PyschoBitch.
Fast forward a few months. The husband and I are out of town, so this story is not one I witnessed but I believe it happened because hey – it’s Crazy Girl Caitlin. Apparently, she came to the porch one night, all stupid drunk. She broke a bunch of bottles, on purpose, just for the fun of it and because she’s CRAZY, and was allegedly cursing the very day that Bob was born because he had sneezed or something. Eventually, she had to be escorted back to her apartment because she was completely and totally inebriated. A married man ended up CARRYING her to her apartment and what did Crazy Girl Caitlin do? She hit on him. Because she’s CRAZY!
And thus, we refer to her a Crazy Girl Caitlin because not only does she give everyone the stink eye and blatantly ignore everyone who dares to say hello to her, she’s totally and completely batshit crazy.
I will not miss Crazy Girl Caitlin when I move out. I will not miss the screechy yell she reserves for that stupid little pug of hers (I’m sorry, but pugs are not cute cute, they’re ugly cute and dumb as nails) and for Bob and I will not miss hearing “No, StupidPug*! No!” at all hours of the day and night. I will not miss hearing her and Bob engage in whatever it is that they do that makes their bed squeak as I’m trying to go to sleep at night and I am certainly not going to miss days like today when Crazy Girl Caitlin goes all psycho and starts vacuuming at 6:30 in the morning. I mean really – who does that?
* Names have been changed to protect the insane.