mizChartreuse || redefiningSuccess

For all the wonderful experiences of Christmas 2009, it sure ended on a super-dramatic note (including us calling the police and our downstairs neighbor calling Sean “Steve” in a drunken stupor).

But let’s back the truth trolley up a little bit before I get too deep into the ridiculousness.

Christmas Eve was pretty low-key for us this year–we didn’t end up going to church, so we decided to watch The Fugitive. (I know! The Fugitive is such a great holiday film! Non-sequitor much?) The 1993 flick was pretty good– it featured such notable acts from today’s pop culture: The Cheerleading Coach from Glee, the Janitor from Scrubs, and a cameo from Chicago’s finest: Senator Roland Burris, who years later would replace President Obama’s Congressional seat in a shady act orchestrated by former Gov. Rod Blagojevich.

The movie ended around midnight, and as the screen faded to black, we heard loud music in our downstairs neighbors’ apartment.

A woman in her mid-30s named Anjelica lives below us with her partner, Ruben, and their 12-year-old son. Anjelica has always been friendly and welcoming: separating our mail, bringing our packages in from the front stoop, and even coming upstairs with toys and learning games for kids which she suggested we give to our nieces and nephew. Anjelica was always quite nice to us, while the residents in the basement apartment consistently smoke weed in the back porch area, subsequently stinking up the entire building and especially our kitchen.

Ironically enough, Sean recently wrote a blog post about how nice Anjelica is and how horrible the basement tenants are. Little did we know what was about to ensue, and how potentially wrong we were about the people right below us.

Sean and I heard the booming music and decided to pay them a little visit and “crash” their party, at least just to say hello. We got “dressed;” he put on jeans instead of sweatpants and I put on boots and a sweater.

I wrote out a Christmas card for Anjelica, thanking her for being such a sweet and thoughtful neighbor and always looking out for us. I also grabbed a bottle of white wine from our refrigerator and stuck a gift bow on it for her.

When we rapped on their door, expecting a booming party of sorts, and were kindly greeted by Anjelica and her family…only to see that the loud dance music was simply coming from their TV screen because her son was playing his new DJ Hero system.

Yawn.

But we had barged in, so we figured we may as well stay and chat for a bit since everyone was up and alert and invited us in.

“Would you like some of this wine?” Anjelica asked me.

“Well, I brought it for you! It’s a gift,” I responded, declining.

“Honestly, I never drink,” she explained. “I especially can’t drink right now, because I’m sick, but I probably won’t ever drink that wine. I can serve some to you, if you’d like.” I refused again, but figured I’d take it back when Sean and I went home since it’d go to waste otherwise.

We talked, mainly mindless drivel, but Anjelica and Ruben were friendly enough as we got to know one another. The two of them have been together for 16 years and have lived in the building for the last five. They are quite easy to talk to, but conversation didn’t flow as naturally as I felt it should have. As in, they’d answer one of  our questions or vice versa, and at the first lull in conversation both their heads would turn straight back to the TV screen of colorful DJ Hero lines until someone said something again.

Eventually, the subject of age came up. We were surprised to learn that Ruben, who looks to be in his early 20s, was 38 years old. Sean and I told them that we are 29 and 23, respectively. Anjelica seemed a bit shocked to learn my age (which is part of the reason why I don’t particularly enjoy telling people how old I am), but she said, “Wow, you’re so mature and wise for someone your age; I definitely thought you were older!”

I generally take such statements as a compliment, but I just had to say something to do some damage control (because I know how older people sometimes judge younger people). It could have been construed as being overly sensitive or defensive, but there are people out there who wonder about the potential longevity of me, a sprite young girl in her early 20s, shacking up with her boyfriend who is rapidly approaching 30. I could just tell.

“I know I may be young,” I explained to her, “but don’t jump to conclusions about me, and Sean, and our relationship. We’ve been together for nearly a year, and things are great. I’ve had long- and short-term relationships with SO MANY IDIOTS over the years, and I FINALLY know the difference between a good and bad relationship. He treats me like a queen and takes such good care of me, and I couldn’t be happier. He’s really an AMAZING man, and we’re so fortunate to have each other.” She didn’t have too much of a response to that.

It may have been a bit long-winded, but I just had to put it out there before she started trying to give me matronly advice about living with men and “being careful” and all that. Been there, done that.

We small-talked some more and eventually decided to head back upstairs to our humble (but definitely nicer than theirs, what with our brand new hardwood floors and new windows) abode.

*****

Christmas night. Sean and I returned home from a long day of familial activities, with his  family’s Christmas dinner in Bloomingdale at his aunt’s house, and a Zambian party for my family up north in a Gurnee mansion. Fun times, lots of driving, a bit of snow, but it all worked out.

We got home shortly after 2 a.m. and went to bed a couple hours later.

Around 4:30 a.m. when we were all snuggled up and naked in bed for over half an hour, our DOORBELL RANG.

AT FOUR-THIRTY AY-EM.

Sean: I’m gonna go ahead and ignore that.

Me: Duuuuuude.

[Footsteps in the front staircase, a loud rapping on the door]

Sean: I’m gonna go ahead and ignore that.

Me: Duuuude! Who IS that? Go see who it is.

[More rapping, and knocking, increasing to pounding]

Me: GO SEE WHO IT IS.

Sean: [grumble, grumble] ehhh, okay.

It was our “lovely” downstairs neighbor.

I heard a lot of hushed discussions going on near the front door, so I put on Sean’s bathrobe (which was a Christmas gift for him that I wear more often than he does) and went to see what all the commotion was about.

Anjelica apparently wanted to talk to me more than she did Sean. “Can I just talk to her?” She asked. Reluctantly, he went in the kitchen so he could overhear everything. I invited her in to sit down and “chat,” despite the fact that the circumstances were much different this time than they were when we went over to her house the night before. Because I was in a bathrobe, hair wrapped, and it was 4:30 in the fucking morning.

“I just wanted to talk to you woman to woman,” Anjelica started. “Things aren’t good with me and Ruben,” she said. I nodded that I understood. “We’ve been together 16 years, but it sucks!” Anjelica exclaimed. “We’re not intimate anymore, and you know, I used to have a great figure like you and be super cute and all.” So what was I supposed to say to that?

“We aren’t intimate any longer, and he doesn’t treat me good,” Anjelica continued, repeating herself. “I’m basically the only caretaker for his mother. She’s 78 years old, and she’s dying, Char,” she told me. “Basically, I’m the only one who takes care of her. I wipe her ass, and she’s dying! Charlotte, never let a man take your life away from you,” she said. I didn’t say anything and let her ramble.

“I don’t have any of my friends anymore,” Anjelica went on. “I don’t talk to my family anymore; Ruben took my life from me. We’ve been together SIXTEEN years! It’s not very glamorous and it really sucks.” Okay, so that explained the subdued awkwardness I picked up on while we were in her house. “It sucks,” Anjelica went on. “I wipe his mother’s ass and it’s horrible.”

Still, I said nothing, wondering, WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR POINT, WOMAN? It’s late!

She eventually got to it, after talking more about gangs in the area and how horrible life is (again).

“Charlotte, last night, you opened your legs to my husband.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. WHAT.

I looked at her like the crazy woman she obviously had instantly become in my eyes, in ABSOLUTE SHOCK. I told her I have ZERO recollection of anything like that happening, especially because I am incredibly conscious about such things, and especially because MY BOYFRIEND WAS SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME ON THE COUCH.

“But you did, don’t try to deny it, even my son said he saw your private parts.” First off, her husband was on the couch perpendicular to the one Sean and I were sitting on. Second, her son was sitting to my left, deeply engrossed in his DJ Hero game THE ENTIRE TIME. The only way BOTH of them would have been able to see anything would be if I’d removed my panties and had my dress up around my waist. Yeah, NO.

She went on to explain how Ruben’s friends came over and he was making comments about how he’d seen up my dress. (?) Then later on when Ruben and Anjelica were in the midst of their epic drunken fight, he mentioned it to her again.

“When you first moved in, I was so excited to maybe have a friend, because I don’t have ANY friends! That’s why I don’t understand why you would do something like that, you seem like a good girl.” Instead of slugging in the face her like I wanted to, I calmly told her once again that no such thing had occurred the previous night.

After more meandering and rambling, Sean finally stormed back into the living room, in his coke-bottle glasses and boxers. “This needs to end NOW. You have to leave. It’s 4:45 in the morning and you’re talking out of your ass. No such thing happened, and you are NOT going to drag me and Charlotte into your drama!” He clearly was a lot less diplomatic than me, and RIGHTFULLY so.

“You know what? You better treat Charlotte right!” Anjelica yelled, now turning on Sean. “Don’t take her away from her life or family. I know how you men are!” She turned to me as she stood up. “Charlotte, don’t let him control you! Watch out for yourself!” She continued yelling and Sean started to dial the police because she wasn’t leaving and was becoming increasingly belligerent, but Anjelica wasn’t done: “Charlotte has a BACKBONE! She’s a STRONG WOMAN! Don’t you take that away from her!”

He told her again to leave. She finally opened the door, saying: “I’m going. Whatever, STEVE!” and slammed our front door and stumbled down the stairs.

“It’s Sean, thanks,” he jokingly said as he turned the deadbolts.

What. The hell. Was that!?

The police showed up shortly thereafter, and it wasn’t just one cop–it was FOUR vehicles: two SUVs and two Crown Vic sedans. Clearly, the Chicago Police Department doesn’t mess around with domestic violence. Sean let the officers into the building when they called him back, but nobody in the household below answered the door.

Funny, Ruben is a complete abusive asshole to Anjelica, but she didn’t want to do anything about it when we oh-so-nicely gave her the opportunity. Rad.

******

Neither of us have seen any member of the family since. We’ll occasionally hear the main downstairs door open, but have not encountered anyone face to face. Personally, I’m a bit surprised that Anjelica hasn’t come back up to apologize, nor did she even at least write a passive-aggressive note in acknowledgement of her incredulous behavior.

It’s quite clear to me what happened.

Anjelica is miserable with her existence, looks, and her lost independence. Sean and I are a young, attractive, and most importantly, HAPPY couple. Our visit, however well-intentioned, only served to make her jealous of us and more disappointed in her life (my mini-speech about how good Sean is to me probably didn’t help matters).

The flashing of the goodies never happened, of course–I’m sure her husband was saying that to get a rise out of her, and their little twit of a son was joining in with his father, trying to further get under Anjelica’s skin. I swear, Antonio’s eyes never left the screen; he barely gave me two seconds of eye contact when I introduced myself to him.

Anjelica, who claimed to “never drink” the night before, even returning to me the bottle of wine I gave her, got drunk and fought with her husband. Things escalated and in her drunken state of mind she thought it was appropriate to rouse us from our sleep at 4:30 a.m. and ramble for a quarter of an hour: she made false accusations, yelled at Sean, and then defended me because I’m a “good girl.” Even though I “opened my legs to her husband,” who’s not even her husband.

Sad.

And this is what happens when you try to be friendly. People are always nice–until you get to know them.

For the longest time, Sean has been against associating with neighbors, as he described in his blog about the douchebags with whom we share an address. I felt he was being overly cynical, but I’ve learned my lesson: keep to yourself, and don’t hang out with people who are excessively less attractive than you are.