I just heard that The Thing that lives downstairs is being evicted. YAY! But enough about that, I’m not here to put myself in a bad mood.
There are so many strange and exciting things happening in the other houses around me, and I haven’t even touched them because I am constantly turning around in my future grave over the same gross woman.
The 20-year-old gay kids in the upper flat to the east were watching a Wanda Sykes special so loud that it felt like she was in my bedroom. Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great, but if I had wanted her in my bedroom at three in the morning, I probably would have started going to the gay bar way earlier in my drinking career.
I dealt with it, because they are nice kids and I like to see how much skinnier their jeans get every day. I even tried to listen, maybe even let Wanda’s shrill, demanding screech lull me into a tense, shallow sleep. When I had almost tricked myself into some sort of unconsciousness, the special ended and all three 20-year-old gay kids yelled in unison, “BYYYYYE WAAAAANDAAAA!”