Sunday, January 21, 2007

Just running my mouth, or fingers as it were.

IASHRN.

When we were little, my brother fell out of my dad's crane and hit his head on concrete. It was a long fall. My mom says half-way jokingly that this is why he is fucking crazy (she of course does not use the term "fucking crazy" but that's the best way to describe him to outsiders). I, too, hit my head on concrete (bicycle wreck trying to spin-out in gravel at the end of the neighbors' driveway) when I was in the third grade, and fractured my skull. Every now and then I think back on that time and seriously ponder whether that has something to do with the fact that my capacity for making appropriate decisions is missing altogether. This weekend is one big example in a long line of big examples of me making big, shitty decisions.

Unrelated to the shitty decisions, on Saturday I went to my co-workers church for her mothers 70th Birthday surprise party. They decked the place out, and it was nice, but there were co-workers there -- which is wierd in hindsite -- and being in a black Baptist church fellowship hall filled with churchy people made the whole thing basically a religious service complete with sermon and singing and hand-waving "catching the spirit" outbursts. I get immediately uncomfortable with that because I'm visibly unemotional and maybe even a little eye-rolly. I stand out, percieved as a heathen, which I am.

I went out Thursday after work. I met this dude. We hung out last night when I ran into him again in this shady bar on Christopher Street. As I am typing this he is on my bed and will not stop talking. He's been kind of hard to shake today. I have enjoyed the company though. He has been in prison, has multiple tattoos, smokes a lot of pot, and will not shut up, so you know, EXACTLY MY TYPE.

On another note, this is a funny documentation of crazy-neighbor notes: Notes from Apartment 5 [via Little Buggy Tounges] This was in a building in our very own Astoria, Queens, which is funny, because as someone says in the comments, every building in the city has a crazy note-writing neighbor. However, in my building, we have all out note-writing wars,
where one neighbor will post a note in the stairway, and then later a reply will be up, and then other parties start posting shit...

Also, next door S.D. had an all out battle with this woman downstairs who would come upstairs drunk as hell demanding that he not walk around in his own apartment so much. She is a nutjob, but we do have the luxury of living on the top floor (as the woman in the link notes about the note-reciever).

In my friends J&T's apartment where I've stayed to catsit, her upstair neighbors sound like they are strait up bowling and it does get frustrating.

The woman downstairs from S.D. (who has since moved) had a little girl who would do kind of obvious critiques of her family (for example, one of her masterpieces was a blonde headed monster with a huge wide open mouth screaming at a tiny little stick person -- paging Dr. Freud). Her mother, oblivious to the fact that these are clearly depictions of her, would post them to the front of her door. She even talked to me in the hallway about it as if I have anything to do with what goes on next door to me, getting a little heated even, and then days later I'd see her and she'd have no idea who I am.

Well, my roommates have returned from their months long trip to NC in a moving van with plans to move out by Tuesday. They brought their menstruating dog with them and had a guest, and I have had a guest, so it's been a full house with five people and two animals, and chaos abounding due to the moving in process. My life got flipped turned upside down as the Fresh Prince would say, and I'm wondering where I can get an extra $500 per month to keep this apartment to myself.

Holla.

1 comment:

Mona Buonanotte said...

I attribute my lack of focus and poor decision-making skills to the swing that broke underneath me in third grade, while I was WAY HIGH UP. I went unconscious for a time, and woke with a huge goose egg on my head. And the school wouldn't send me home.

Which also started my issues with 'authority'....