Keeping it classy...

The landlords have been doing some outer maintenance on our side of the apartment building for the last two days.  Which is fine, not like they asked or care what I think, but hey... it's their building, right?  And I'm not complaining, but absolutely everything they're doing seems to involve them standing underneath one of the five windows we're currently paying rent on.  Sawing wood?  Under the bedroom window.  Painting Mr. Awesome's porch railing?  Under the other bedroom window.  Hammering stuff together?  Under the kitchen window.  Taking a lunch break?  Under the living room window.  Smoking their lips off?  Pick a window, any window.  


This has left me with the stress of keeping the dogs quiet, the tv turned down (like I want them to know I'm sitting in here watching back to back episodes of Maury that I DVR'd last week... embarrassing, right?  But so sad and so true), only flushing occasionally when I pee (they don't need to know I pee 15 times a day, either), talking quietly on the phone (I'm pretty sure they would be shocked and appalled by what generally constitutes a "conversation" in my life, not to mention how many different and creative ways I can use the word "douche"), and making as little noise as possible so as not to disturb them (God forbid I bother them with the fact that I live here and stuff).


I've been tip-toeing around, like a little mouse in it's house.  I've been so quiet, so peaceful, it's almost like I'm not here.  Javi and Maisy have been stuffed full of Pupperoni for all the not barking they've done, and we've been model apartment tenants for the past two days.  

Feeling pretty smug about all of the quietness I've accomplished, I turned on the tv after returning from the store this morning and decided to watch something intelligent (since basically all they heard coming out of my apartment yesterday was "You are.... NOT THE FATHER!" followed by, "It's gonna be a changing day in your life...").  I settled on Behind Mansion Walls (okay, not necessarily clever, but at least I learned something about the murderous habits of the rich and drug-addled).  I popped my popcorn, poured myself a diet Pepsi, and settled down for some sipping and munching while the landlords and their workers chilled beneath my livingroom window, smoking, gossiping,  and obviously taking a break.


So there I was, mid-munch, taking a giant slurp of my diet Pepsi, when suddenly, without any warning, one of those huge, almost painful, spontaneous backward burp/hiccup combos erupted out of my mouth.  


"HEEEEEEE-UUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPP!" said my esophagus, as if it were bidding at an auction where the auctioneer was extremely hard of hearing.


"WOOF!" said Maisy, falling off the couch and charging to the window, apparently intent on killing whatever beast had awakened her with such a hideous sound.


"YAP!" said Javi, who has no mind of his own and always barks when Maisy barks.


Dead silence thickened the atmosphere from below my living room window.  The chatting ceased, the cigarette smoke hung in mid-air as my hic-burp echoed through the window and down, down, down through the mountains, the prairies, to the oceans white with foam.


"What the fuck was that?" I heard one of the workmen ask.


Sounds of hushing ensued as they all fled from the window and back to work, obviously terrified of finding out what kind of dog (or sea lion) would emit such a heinous bark.


I think for an encore I should hang my ass out of the window and fart.  Seriously.


Want.  To.  DIE.