Apartment Dwelling

Ok, so I love my apartment. Seriously, it's the envy of all apartment dwellers. It's in a small building with a church and a cop shop within walking distance. I have a sun room which is very important to a former basement dweller like myself. I have a fireplace and a dishwasher-after being without one for friggin' years. It's big and it's totally all mine. I love my apartment, I hate my neighbors.

Let me introduce them to you.

Madeline. Madeline is 92 years old. And if asked, she will tell you all the pains that come with being a 92 year old woman. From Jersey. She fell and broke her hip last fall but I found out only after I'd convinced myself that the reason she didn't answer her phone or door was because she'd finally died and was slowly rotting on the other side of the wall. Turns out she'd gone to the hospital and was just fine, recuperating in a rehabilitation center.

They wouldn't let her come home until they knew she had someone to help her. Guess who? I couldn't help it. I mean, seriously-92 years old. From Jersey. How could I not pick up her mail and help her into bed every night?

But Madeline is tough. A tough broad even. She didn't need my help any more than a maybe a month before she was up and walking around, even driving. In fact, she's going to see her family next week and she's asked me to check on her place while she's away. The woman has more energy than I do most days. Yes, she's nosy, more than a little bossy and I doubt she knows the meaning of the word 'tact'. But she's fierce and I hope I have half her spirit when I get to her age. Or hell, I'll take it now.

Above Madeline lives Shawna. I rarely see Shawna but I hear her all the time. She and her boyfriend work in a bar-she's a beer wench and he's in the band-and they get home after 3 in the morning. The steps that lead up to their apartment are directly on the other side of the wall my bed is against. First night I moved in, they pounded up the stairs so loudly the lampshade on my nightstand quivered. I seriously thought the cats and I were in an earthquake.

I ended up asking them if they wouldn't mind being a bit more quiet since I mostly worked mornings and their elephant imitations were waking me up. Shawna was really great about it, apologized, said she forgot someone had moved in....and that would have probably been the end of it except for, you know the screaming fights she and the boyfriend sometimes engage in. It's even more interesting when their chihuahua gets into it.



Next to Shawna and her 'rocker' boyfriend, a new family has moved in. They are friendly, quiet and I couldn't even tell you their name. I'm ok with that.

Below me is Greg. I know nothing about Greg except that he shares the laundry room with me and uses Arm&Hammer laundry soap. He doesn't mind leaving laundry soap rings all over the washer either. Just sayin'. He also owns a PT Cruiser that he washes obsessively and that he doesn't go outside except to do just that.

And then we have the newest tenants. They have spent the last couple of days moving in and well...I don't have high hopes. To be fair, the guy before them was the perfect downstairs neighbor. He worked nights, slept during the day when I was gone so I never had to worry about being too loud at night. I never saw him and when I did we exchanged pleasantries. But these new peeps....

And I use 'peeps' for two reasons. One, I like to pretend I'm hip with the ghetto-ease. And two, they kind of fit in that genre. I've lived here long enough to recognize my own kind.* She's thin, white tank (or wife-beater if you will), short shorts, ponytail and hoop earrings. He's tall, baggy pants (a 'loaded with shit' look if you will), doo rag, and gold necklaces. They have two beautiful little girls and they like to talk about who's turn it is to take care of them in the parking lot under my window.

They also like to smoke cigarettes and blow the smoke up so it floats into my open previously fresh breeze giving windows. And they listen to what I presume is considered 'hip-hop' at an obnoxiously loud volume. The music has been limited to their cars and as a result I am only subjected to the last minute before the car is turned off.

Behind me, the building is currently housing (at last count)7 stray cats. Seven cats that have decided that their mission in life is to harass my calico from the other side of the glass causing many many cries of 'Dammit cat, ENOUGH! and Get OUT of the blinds!!'

In the front is the church which we discussed in another blog. *Hint: It's the one called The Church Across the Street


My friend and I decided we were going to run away. I told her I needed to hermit in a cabin somewhere and after she reminded me she didn't 'do' cabins, we decided on another plan.

She's going to win the lottery, buy a giant house that requires 'help' and I'll live on the land in a side cabin, grow a beard and only visit the 'big house' when I needed to shower and/or steal food. I may or may not make something shady.

We decided the 'help' should be someone half naked with male genitalia and then she reminded me about her husband and that he might protest. After a small debate, we decided he could live close by and come over only if we needed the computer or TV fixed.

I dream of living hermited up. But not for long. I'd miss laughing with people and smiling at strangers. I'd miss meeting nice people at the DMV (They do exist, I swear it's true) and making fun of peeps.

Working in retail, or any customer service job, you realize pretty quickly that individual persons can be fascinating, funny and kind creatures. But people as a whole....stupid.

And loud.


*The Lindsay is in no way connected with the ghetto genre or it's affiliates.