livin in a stupid, get me out of here, apartment. but im not a pushover.

“Please practice your guitar before 10 pm.  Trying to sleep ”     10:31

“Understand but 11pm is the cutoff as outlined in the updated form our landlord we have received.  No offense but I have my life to live too.  I have tried but I work and volunteer at different hours.  Scattershot.  Also, the fact that you came up to my apartment and tried to open the door and then said you’d call the police on me for marijuana possession didn’t make you number one in my book.  That was outrageously disrespectful .  Please inform police of my rather soft guitar playing and coffee.  They will laugh, as will our nice caretaker.  They can come and find all my ‘illegal’ things.  Like Dunn Bros. ground coffee.  I’m going to play music and practice until 11pm.  Sorry.”        10:40

For the record, I have nothing illegal in my apartment.  Unless two cats are illegal.  Or like, a couple beers and a slice of pizza.  F. Off.

[For the record, I started playing Shellac’s “Terraform” extremely loud since the first message (with that beautiful bass).  As a challenge.]

Crazy lady:  “Then stop in 14 minutes.”

Me: “You got it!”

Crazy lady: “You are awesome”

Crazy lady:  10:55 “So I assume—–our landlord—– agrees that i should be laughed at.  VERY INTERESTING.  PLAY PARTY..GUESS I MUST BE A JOKE.  Hope you enjoy laughing at me.”

Me: “Don’t know what you mean.  I’m not laughing at you,—–our landlord—-is very reasonable.  Talked with them when I was sick a bit ago.  I like that about them.  I don’t get “Play Party” –maybe you could explain that?”

Voicemail at 11:03 (I had turned down music, very quiet):  “I am respectfully blah blah, until 11.  I go to work early.  blah blah. ….so this …I have a choice, respect my request and be quiet.  Or not and there is nothing I can do….Also please talk to me about —our caretaker—laughing about me.  Please answer your phone [my phone blocks her].’  Blah blah blah blah.”

To be fair my message did say our caretaker would laugh at her; I was more interested in the police, so I messed that up.  However, I have talked to our caretaker and she agreed my neighbor was excessive–basically crazy, which she is.  Thanks to my mighty smartphone I have a decibel meter on it, and I have never gone over what would be illegal.  And I don’t do drugs or anything otherwise illegal.  Is reading Heidegger illegal?  Or having that shoebox out there for cats to sit in?  I guess walking around until 11pm is against the rules.

I’m a loner, Dottie, a rebel.  I stay up past 11.

Ha  I love this shit.

Changes, Changes

So when I first started this blog, I thought it was a way for me to post things that otherwise wouldn’t be posted.  Be that because they were old, forgotten, bad, or just tossed away.  I have decided that that needs to change.  I am going to start publishing newer material simply because reading these writings has made want to start up writing again.  (Not that I ever really stopped.)  In that vein, expect posts soon, some newer; some not as new.

Good day!  Good ladies and gents!

June 9th 2007.

Growing on the boulevards were tall trees shooting up from the ground and then exploding above the houses in bursts of green.  The houses sitting underneath them sat back from the road, and were each painted a different color–and each had its own unique architecture.  Cars lined the streets, parked on either side, and it was almost impossible to find a spot, should one happen to own a car–it was not needed.  Life was everywhere: people biked, walked, laughed and talked up and down the streets, moving arm in arm or holding hands, sitting at cafes and eating or sipping on cold coffees, or sitting on porches with friends and drinking beer.  At noon, the sun would shine down and bake the ground; at dusk, only the tops of the buildings and trees would be lit, leaving their bottom halves draped in shade.

She was thin and always wore her hair in a pony tail, which bobbed up and down as she walked–and at times she would wink, turning up the corner of her mouth and squinting her eyes slightly.  Her family was the usual topic of conversation (for her), and she talked about her mother with the greatest care and concern, with a genuine tone of voice (no false starts, no retooling) and unblinking, saucer-like eyes.

Vomiting on a church 7/26/2008

I vomited on the church I was on top of, and there was this grating up there–about two feet by two feet square, and I was on the roof and finally after much fighting I just leaned over and vomited all over it and I could see the chunks precariously poised on this grating and then they fell to the ground.  The more liquid-y portion of the stew just slid in, but the chunks stayed and held on and only fell afterwards and with the liquid’s helping.

%d bloggers like this: