Cream this, bitch

The lady across the hall hates my guts.

I think she always did for the most part, but now I think she is plotting to kill me.
This lady never smiles, lives alone, never has company, and busies herself with everybody else's business; and i'm the unlucky broad across the hall. She can see me from her peephole, for pete's sake.

Behind our building is the dumpster. We have no shoot. To take the garbage out we have to go outside and around to the back of the building. Needless to say, by the time I finally take the trash out, I'm taking it out in a heaping stinky pile. Right in front of the door (much closer than the dumpster!) is a big trash can that is supposed to be used by the older tenants who, what?, can't walk another 15 feet to the trash? I guess not. Anyway, yesterday I was lazy and on my way to the dollarama so I just threw the garbage into that can and scurried away.

I get home later and whaddayaknow! Someone has left a note on my door:

You don't look like a senior citizen, you must tell me what cream you use.
Why don't you start using the dumpster like you're supposed to?

Umm. Fuck. Someone saw me. I wonder who that could be? Could it possibly be the person who is standing at their door watching me read this, who is obviously holding their phone, which rings as if it is right beside me?
That stupid old bat.
Anyway, I wrote a note and stuck it to my door that said Get a life.
I saw her in the elevator last night and usually she at least says hello. But instead she just looked at me as if staring really really hard activated the deadly lasers in her eyes...

I don't want to die! I want to see a gorilla up close, i want to visit Angel Falls. I want have children and say goodbye to all my loved ones!