AlienRedQueen, meet Ripley Wolfwood

Well, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such an instant rush of fury.  As I read the comment, my heart rate sped up and I could feel my hands begin to shake. I actually had a hard time typing my response.

Today I commented on an article about the death of Scott Weiland.  Articles like these sadden me and but also hold interest for me, in this case because his music was a large part of the grunge/alternative scene that made up my adolescence.

Anyway, I commented using my Disqus sign-in , “Ripley Wolfwood.”  You know why “Ripley.” (Hint: it’s another nod to my favorite horror franchise.)  But at the end of my comment I added my blog pen-name.  And this jerk, this utter tool, responds to my comment telling me not to sign with AlienRedQueen like it’s my name, “because it’s not.”

I’ve argued with people online before.  Most of us have.  And I’ve gotten pissed… But I think this may have been a new level of pissed.  I actually felt my blood pressure raise.  Why should I care this much what some random trolling asshat thinks of me? you may wonder.

I think it was the idea that I would claim someone else’s work as my own by signing “their” name, combined with the idea that I was lying about my identity (so could not take credit for my own work) that absolutely and instantly infuriated me.

Is it possible he meant to not use a pen name at all because it was not “my” name?  I guess.  But, that’s almost as ridiculous.  Yeah, cuz everyone wants to use their real names online all of the time.

Perhaps a nice rebuttal from this page claiming my Disqus pen name will help.  Because now, for some reason, I can’t even respond to the guy; my rebuttal comment keeps magically disappearing.  Three times I posted tryin to explain that ARQ and Ripley Wolfwood are in fact the same person… me.  Three times the comment disappeared within a minute or two.

So, finally, to the commenter who thought they were “calling me out” or what the fuck ever, try to think before you type and make yourself look like a douchebag.



Open Letter to the Asshole Next Door

Dear “asshole that likes to play your music at top volume at 4:30 AM,” or, for brevity’s sake, just “asshole,”

I wasn’t stoked when you moved from the building across the parking lot to our building.  Our old neighbor was always nice and quiet.  We hardly ever saw her, let alone heard her.  I am always apprehensive when a new neighbor moves in next door anyway because you never know who you’re going to get, and in your case, I had already heard stories about how you were an obnoxious perv.

But I was always nice to you when I saw you outside, and even talked to you from time to time.
I didn’t give you a hard time the first time when, at 2 am, I was outside to take the dog to pee, and you were out there with your car door open and your radio on.  The dog immediately didn’t like you that night though.  In retrospect, he could probably smell the alcohol and desperation from all the way over where we stood.

In the past few months, I’ve repeatedly woken in the middle of the night to the sounds of your music through my bedroom wall or out my window, and also been woken from a dead sleep by you allowing your storm door to bang shut at four AM, because, as unfortunate luck would have it, my bedroom window is right next to your front door.  One night, there was repeated banging coming from your apartment.  I finally got so pissed, I got up and put clothes on (which is in and of itself an inconvenience to me, as I generally prefer to remain pantless,) and I went and banged on your door.  Interestingly enough, you didn’t answer, and only came out and peeked as I was going back into my apartment…

A couple of weeks ago you had the cops called on you because you didn’t want to move your car to your own parking space because birds might shit on your precious paint, so you got pissed and threw a pencil at the landlady.  While I understand the sentiment of wanting to chuck things at her head, you were sauced then too, and didn’t open the door when the cops came.  Your car was towed, but it was back in its place in front of your apartment by the end of the day.  Clearly, this is your most prized possession.  That week, though, when hubs and I were outside, you staggered across the grass, in a state of extreme agitation because someone had spiked your tire.  Then you proceeded to get in your vehicle, which by then had already had the tire replaced, and peeled wheels out of the complex…again, you couldn’t even walk straight.  I don’t know how you drove.

Anyway, back to this morning…This morning I was treated to the baselines of the classic rock soundtrack of your life for full two hours, during which time we banged on the wall, hoping you’d get the hint.  You didn’t.

Neither did you open the door for the guy from the back side of the building, whom I heard banging and yelling at you that is was “four o’clock in the goddam morning!”  So apparently you have some sense, because he probably would have kicked your ass.  Or you’re a complete chicken shit.  But I was sort of hoping that would be the end of it.  The music went down for about ten minutes.  Then for the next hour went up and down repeatedly.  Are you deaf, or does your hearing get worse when you’re blotto?  Or maybe you were trying to antagonize the guy…?
And there was no way I was going to get dressed and go out in the fucking rain to bang on your door. I finally got pissed and called in a noise complaint.  Low and behold, when the officer came by, the music was magically on one of its quieter revolutions.  The cop stopped long enough to shine his bright ass light randomly in the parking lot and then left.  The music went back up.  What I want to know is, did you just get lucky…?  How did you know they were here?  They came quietly, no lights initially.  Did your drinking buddy up in the other apartment up the lot hear dispatch on his CB and call to warn you?

But the music went up again, so I called the dispatcher back.  She said the cop hadn’t heard any music, but since I was not the only pissed off neighbor, I assume I wasn’t imagining that shit.  I told her I was listening to it again through my walls as we spoke and she said she’d send another car out.  By this time I was wide awake, hungry, angry, and having to pee.

I have to say, if you’re so worried about your precious car, perhaps you should stop being so inconsiderate to your neighbors.  I can tell you, your behavior is very…provoking.  So now I come to the conclusion of this letter and want to assure you from now on, I will be a right bitch when I see you, and if I decide not to complain to the landlord about this (she hates me as much as she hates you), then the next time I hear your music when I am sleep deprived and hungry, I will be way scarier than the dude who was at your door this morning.  Also, I will bring my dog.

You provoke me...

You provoke me…