Why Do Other People Have To Live Around Me?

Hi, Wanda.

Sun, 28 Aug 2011 18:56:00 -0400

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!”

Barbara Billingsly, I Need You.

Tue, 16 Aug 2011 10:13:25 -0400

I am a morning person today. The coffee turned out unusually well, birds chirping, a notable lack of humidity, friendly neighbors offering a nod as they walk by with friendly little dogs. It is a rare Leave It To Beaver kind of day. But not any episode with Eddie Haskell, that louse.

I might as well have my own soundtrack. Maybe some Bobby Darin while I wait for my bread to turn into toast, and Nancy Sinatra while I brush my hair.

Or, I can listen to my repulsive neighbor yell incessantly at her sweet, darling, five-year-old grandson. The idea that she can yell loud enough to cut through the layers of bass is impressive in a way.

Why can’t she have a nice day for once? She can’t even start out on a good note. I picture her heart sometimes, blackened and sticky like a dirty engine. In a few minutes, a friend (yeah, I don’t get it either) or a family member will call her and she will yell at them too.

It’s days like this when I understand why she is always out of breath.

Cous Cous: What Is It?

Fri, 01 Jul 2011 00:48:39 -0400

“I don’t know, I think it’s like, a grain?

And, kind of, I don’t know, fluffy?

I don’t know, it takes like two seconds to make. You use like oil and stuff.”

-My neighbors two doors down, trying to hammer down some of life’s more puzzling mysteries.

Dr. Bad Neighbor, Ph.D

Sat, 18 Jun 2011 15:34:01 -0400

My downstairs neighbor turned on her very loud music this morning with the very loud bass. This is normal. It doesn’t mean I’m not enraged by it, just that it’s normal. What isn’t normal, is the fact that after she turned on her very loud bass, SHE LEFT THE HOUSE. WITH THE MUSIC ON.

This is an entirely different caliber of rude. This is not The Idiot’s Guide To Being A Shit Neighbor, this is post-doctorate bad-neighboring. Where you are so good at being a bad neighbor, that Ivy League schools will give you money to buy a bigger sub-woofer so you can be the worst neighbor of all time. Like being the Richard Feynman of bad neighbors.

I’ll spare you the unnecessary details, but after she was jokingly confronted when she got home, about you know, maybe turning the music off before she leaves the house, she went inside and turned that shit up louder than it has ever been. I’m tired of people saying “Who does that,” but REALLY. WHO DOES THAT?! The bass was so extreme for about an hour and a half that the change bowl in my bedroom was rattling.

Today was so bad, that we have finally started straight-up antagonizing her. It should be noted that I am trying to quit smoking. Anything we have watched or listened to, has been watched or listed to at such a ridiculous volume that it is not even enjoyable (except when I watched the video for “Cars” by Gary Numan for the seventeenth time this week, because that jam is always enjoyable, all the time, no matter what).

Anything that has been set on the floor has been done so in a way that “throwing”, “heaving” or “dropping” would be more accurate words than “setting”. While I normally have a light step, and am pretty good at sneaking around, I have been stomping around my apartment like an angry teenager. I might try to find Hungry Hungry Hippos at the thrift store.

I know none of this will help. In fact, I’ve got a pretty good feeling it’ll just make things worse, but it feels really good to stop being polite (and start being re- SORRY, COULDN’T HELP IT) to someone who has pretty much said “too bad my music is too loud for humanity, I’m going to keep doin’ what I do.”

I have to go now, I just realized that my typewriter is really loud, and that using it directly on the floor is a really fabulous idea.

Would You Be Mine?

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 17:26:00 -0400

I have so much need to complain about my downstairs neighbor that I started this blog. I will occasionally talk about other neighbors from other places.

The following things will be addressed:

- Her very loud music

- Her very loud music at 8:30 on Sunday mornings

- How I resent her so much, that I have taken to sitting on the floor if I have to fart, and I hope that she can hear it and knows that it’s because I hate her.

- How I would fart right into the vent if I thought it would even go anywhere.

- The unspeakable stench that leeches into our apartment because she fries fish all the time and changes the oil in the fryer maybe once every 4 months

- The ridiculous demands she makes of our landlord

- Her Betty Boop licence plate frame

- How she goes through our mail

And much, much more.