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so... these jackasses that live next door have been shouting and banging on things all night, freaking me out and making it impossibly for me to sleep. it is now 6am. in the last hour or two it's gotten a little scarier. i realize that they've been locked out. then one of them starts changing a flat tire in the alley. halfway through, he yells "tony, please come back! i need my bong!!" like really really loud and upset, like it's the most important thing on earth. and he totally looks like the disgusting chode of a guy from twilight. but he can't change the tire because either he's a total moron, or he's just too fucked up. the other guy is up on the 3rd floor relentlessly pounding and kicking the door. i am fucking tired, and the bong comment put me over the edge, so i called the cops. it is amusing to me. sometimes you know that sticking your head out the window and asking them to keep it down will just rile them up. but now the guy has gotten inside! how?? did tony indeed come back? but the car is still in the alley with its lights on... and the cops aren't here yet! now the guy who got inside is coming out to him... aw, who will the police talk to? oh well. at least now they'll shut the fuck up and stop giving me heartburn. i can fucking feel it. those bastards. oh, here's the cops. i'm sure they won't get in any trouble. unless that one guy is extra special fucked up. who's this other kid? is that tony? they don't seem to be agreeing on things. i think maybe this new kid locked them out on purpose. i wouldn't blame him. i mean, the less obnoxious one is wearing a track suit... "tony" and 2 cops go upstairs to have a chat. uh-oh, the cop in the alley is doing the thing where he turns his gun hip away. that means they don't trust you! i don't know if these guys even live there! now they have disappeared. i think they're all done. oh wait, they're all back in the alley. the cops are telling "tony" off. haha! now lori is out asking what the fuck is going on. she lives next door to whoever lives there. "tony" is on his phone making calls. screaming man is wandering. "tony" goes upstairs and inside with one of the cops. back again. what are they doing?? i think they may be trying to find someone to come and get these losers. maybe they're waiting for AAA. or AA. arrrgh i can't not watch. i really really need one of those satellite dish microphone dealies that you point at things far away and you can hear them. whoa, i heard the cop just now. he told bongman off good! that's it, man. i'm having a beer. i thought these guys would make the yelling stop! these kids are just magically obnoxious. i come down with great vengeance and furious anger on those who wake me in the middle of my sleep. ok, i think they're still in the garage, but i'm seeing no signs of movement. oh, there they are. talking to "tony". i think they're telling him that going to bed and pretending these guys didn't exist wasn't cool, since they were his guests. but he says he didn't even invite them over. there's an older cop fellow who has got them all together and they're having a little chat. he's pretty genial. he's doing the whole "i have a son your age" thing. now they're just filling out a report, and i think that will be it. the sun is up, and it is an hour and a half later than when i started this, so i think it's time to try to go back to sleep. happy easter, everybody.
tio hobo is back at Birthday Man's for a drink. his arm is in some sort of makeshift cast and wrapped with a ridiculous amount of ace bandage. he pees on BM's gate and wanders off.
Birthday Man is walking his dog. actually, i think it would be more appropriate to say that the dog is walking him; i don't think he'd be able to stand on his own. the dog, a big rottweiler, is not wearing his usual muzzle. a car pulls up next to them and someone sticks their hand out and waves. the dog lunges, paws up on the car. this is not a friendly lunge. there are teeth bared. BM pulls him back, and in doing so, loses his balance. he falls, sprawling, onto the hood of his friend's car. it takes him a minute to get up again. both he and the driver seem pretty shaken. the dog seems fine.
i look out and see a man with his pants around his ankles and untidy whiteys around his knees. he's leaning/sitting against Birthday Man's garage door, pissing slowly. he seems to be holding a balloon in his right hand. don't ask me why. it looks like he's about to move on to the pooping. the man from the second floor 2 buildings down from mine sees him and, pardon the pun, gets pissed. he obviously doesn't want the old hobo to finish his business with the explosive diarrhea that is bound to come next. since his wife and tiny son are on the back porch, i kind of see his point. yuppy dad starts shouting, rather violently, for him to pull his pants up and get out of here. old hobo is not really with it, and instead eats something he's been holding in his balloon hand this whole time. i'm trying not to wonder what it was. while doing this, he may or may not have given yuppy dad the finger. if he did, it was very slight. either way, yuppy dad loses patience and opens up the big sliding gate. he comes out shouting. his wife starts yelling "get away from him! get away!! don't touch him!!" i mean like screaming at him. i'm not sure if she's worried that this inebriated hobo has a concealed weapon of some sort (god knows where he'd be storing it), or if she's worried that her husband might assult the guy, or if she just doesn't want fecal matter on her spouse. so yuppy dad waggles his finger in old hobo's face and continues to shout, veins flaring in his neck, as he retreats through his fence. the hobo gets his pants most of the way up and meanders down the alley. yuppy dad is really worked up and asking his neighbors if they just saw that shit. he gets out his cell and calls 911, which really seems unnecessary since, i mean, the guy has his pants on and is no longer within sight. but i can see old hobo set down a milk crate just around the corner from the fence to finish his 40. yuppy dad realizes that he's there and tries to yell around the corner at him. 2 neighbors from a different building are unloading their car next to this and don't really seem to know what to do. yuppy dad is getting even more worked up. unable to wait any longer for the popo, he goes marching down the alleys and up and down the streets, trying to find a squad car. they finally come, and he goes running down the alley to meet them. he marches next to the car, guiding them, pointing at the hobo all the while. then we points at the pee puddle. the cops shout "take your bottle and your crate and get out of here!" most of the cops around here are usually cooler about this kind of thing. old hobo staggers away, and i hear him muttering "sorry, sorry." old hobo tosses his crate and bottle (a new furniture store?) into a dumpster and leans against it, trying to get his bearings. another cop car comes down the alley from the other direction, and they try to pass each other. hands emerge from the windows and slap down side mirrors. they try to go fast so that they don't look like incompetent idiots, but they fail. the 2nd car finally passes the 1st and pulls up next to the hobo and his dumpster. after lecturing him for a minute, the cop slowly follows him down the alley in his car, and they both disappear around the corner.
the hobo who told me to call him "tio", likes to sit on the stairs by the train, and alternates between shouting at me to smile and shouting at me to give him change (when he's sober enough to speak, which is seldom) is hanging with Birthday Man. BM pours him a dixie cup from his 40. tio sets it down, pisses right next to it, splattering everywhere, then picks it up and downs it in one go.
Birthday Man is extra drunk tonight. 2 women are around. he's yelling at one of them, something like "why won't you let me see my kid?!" at least one of the women is drunk as well. this one tries to calm him down while the other one he yells at walks away. he goes back inside.
i expected lots of people to be running around partying in the alley tonight, but there's like no one. then i see this guy. he's standing in the middle of the alley that runs right by my building with his shirt off and something around his arm. i jokingly think to myself, "what is he doing, tying off?" i'm not serious, but i soon realize that he is. i watch, unable to think of what to do, as he shoots up right there in the middle of the alley. he doesn't even bother to sit down first. once he's done getting everything he can into the vein, he somehow manages to put the syringe into this little pouch he's carrying. he just stands there for a minute, then takes what i now perceive to be a bike tire inner tube off of his arm and ties it around his waist in place of a belt. he's swaying pretty bad at this point. now it's time for him to try to put his shirt back on. he stumbles a few steps to his left as he gets his left arm in, but then seems totally incapable of getting it over his head. he knows when to quit, at least, and starts southeast down the alley with the shirt trailing behind him. after a few steps, however, he loses his momentum and somehow goes flying backwards, colliding with a dumpster. he rests for a minute. he collects himself and tries again, but soon finds himself against a brick wall on the other side of the alley, no closer to his destination. watching from my 3rd floor window, fully removed from the scenario, i am having trouble knowing what to think of all this. it's both horribly depressing, and yet, at the same time, such classic slapstick that it's hard not to laugh. so i just stand frozen. finally, a young man on a bike rides up and talks to him. it seems he's been looking for him. he puts an arm around him and rumples his hair as an uncle would to a little nephew, but their ages are reversed. he helps him walk a little, then starts biking slowly as the man starts moving on his own. he leads the man away, constantly looping back to check on him, and they disappear from my view.
i lean out the window to get a better look at Birthday Man's new dance moves and see a man with a shopping cart below me, picking cans out of the dumpster. i grab a couple bags of cans i've been collecting, yell "hey!", and let them drop the 3 stories to the ground. he yells something, then hurries over, muttering to himself. i will later find out that he is totally insane and shouts to himself in spanglish at all times. i'm worried that he thinks i'm rude, but i yell "wait!" and run to get more cans. i drop 3 more bags, then 3 more, then 3 more... in the end, there are 18 bags of cans piled up under my window. he mumbles something that sounds like a thank you, and i shout "no, thank you! it was fun!" because it was.
Birthday Man is rocking out by his garage with a bottle of malt liquor again. a hobo dude comes up and they chat. Hobo man gives him something. BM (heheh) hands something to him with a sneaky handshake. they're looking around all stealthy-like this whole time. hmmm... maybe this is how Birthday Man pays the bills.
i hear a man shouting. i look out the window and see him standing between a car and the garage right outside. he's slapping the hood of the car and yelling "DAMN! da-yum! damn!"over and over. "DAAAAMN!!" he's jerking around a lot, and i start to worry that he's jerking off. he does have one hand in his pocket... ew. eventually, he finishes doing whatever he was doing and heads southeast down the alley.
Birthday Man is drinking a 40 and dancing in his garage. why is the bottle in a bag? he's in his own home!! more disturbing, however, is the fact that no music is playing. he's dancing in the alley by himself to nothing. and then i see him get in his SUV. time for some drunk driving! i consider calling the cops in the interest of public safety, but i didn't get the make or model or license plate number or nothin'. luckily, he returns about 15 minutes later. he gives a warning honk at the end of the alley, waits, inches forward, stops, honks again, waits about a minute, then finally starts moving the last 50 feet to the garage. now the fun part: backing in. 1st try: oh, so close! 2nd: i think the left rear tire hit the side. 3rd: nope. 4th: ok, the left side of the car definitely scraped the wall that time. 5th: stops halfway in for a 2 minute rest. 6th: almost takes off the side mirror. 7th: inches in at last. he comes out for a little celebratory dance, sees that there is no one around to appreciate it (he thinks), and goes inside for the night.
Lydia's here! we go out to her car, and an intoxicated gentleman approaches us from the alley. i'm going to have to approximate what he said, because his enunciation was less than perfect (i almost wrote "annunciation", but that's something else entirely). he says we can sell stuff from his place; he owns the building right over there. firstly, this is a weird thing to say to a stranger. second, i'm going to guess it isn't true. he doesn't exactly have his shit together. he says it's his birthday. i'm guessing this is his excuse for being stinking drunk. Lydia and I wish him a happy one. he tells us he cleans up real good, and takes off his sox hat and messes with his hair to prove it. he's seeming weirder and weirder as time goes on. he mumbles something about his pants, and Lydia and i make a move to put the car between us and him. he starts "talking" a bit louder and follows us. he tries to pull me aside and says something like" i know that building where you live. we all- they all say you the bootiful girl there." that's not creepy... Lydia almost accidentally throws an old smoothie on him, but instead gets me in the foot. i think it's pretty funny because she feels bad. we start walking quickly back to my building and hear him shout "hey! hey, turn around!!" i almost do, but then Lydia says "i bet he's got his penis out." i bet she was right. back in my apartment, i see him stumbling through the alley and into his garage.
a man stumbles into the parking lot 3 buildings north of mine and urinates against the fence. sadly, the tiny, widely-spaced metal bars provide little coverage. very very very little coverage.
it's 1am, and this chick has been trying to pull her car into her garage for over half an hour. her boyfriend and dog come out to help, but it's still not getting over the ice. frustrated, i yell "you gotta rock it!!" out my window. they look around, confused. i eventually give up, put on my new boots, and head out. when i ask, they say they don't need help, but i know they're just being polite, so i push anyway. the dog is confused and tries to bite my ass, but succeeds only in nipping it. a couple minutes later, we have gotten the car in the garage. the boyfriend asks where i go to school. "columbia... that's an art school, right?" "i guess," i reply. "so, do you want some pot?" "no thanks," i answer. "i'm going to stick to beer tonight."
it's my birthday!! as a special birthday present, Alise helped me get my bed into the new apartment. no small feat. first the boxspring, then the mattress, all the way up the stairs to the 3rd floor. we collapsed onto it, panting and sweating. if anyone walked in right then they would have thought we had just been doin' it.so, first night at the new place. in the middle of the night, i suddenly hear BANG! BANG!! right outside my window. my immediate reaction is, "oh crap; did i just move into a place with more shootings??
" i look out the window into the alley, hiding behind the windowsill. i half expect to see some bloody bodies. just then, a bottle rocket flies by, about 2 feet from my face. BANG.
