I could come up with a story every single day about the random shenanigans that go on in and around my building. Oh my goodness. And just wait till I finally start blogging about Shane. Endless material there, my friends.
(I only wish this was our building. But it’s not. You get bonus points if you can guess where it is)
We have new neighbors upstairs right now. I feel like we’ve had new neighbors in that apartment about 6 times in the 20 months we’ve lived here. But these ones take the cake. Some days I REALLY wonder what on earth is going on up there. I’ve come up with some good stories. They got pogo sticks for Christmas. They are not actually human neighbors, but members of the pachyderm family, and are trying their luck at the Insanity workouts. Maybe they are building a rocket up there? Not only does the loud jumping disrupt our lives (is it necessary to leap and bound across the living room? Most normal people just walk), but the sounds of building materials late at night, and the incredibly loud conversations. Last night I was dreaming about someone singing, and woke up finally to realize it wasn’t singing, but a very sing-songy type of screaming match. At 1am. Really? Haven’t they heard the rule, that all conversations of meaning should happen before midnight?
I wonder what my neighbors think of me. I try to be considerate. But then again, I have been known to practice my belting at the end of “Someone Like You” from Jekyll and Hyde… or my Italian opera while making breakfast in the morning. And, yes, Michael Bublé is perfectly legitimate workout music, thankyouverymuch. There was that time when I convinced Jamie that our Indian neighbor had moved, and had probably left that welcome mat. So we appropriated it. And then he came home from vacation (really? 3 months for vacation??), and promptly ran into Jamie in the hall, and asked why we had stolen his mat. Ha. At least it wasn’t me he saw.
Up in Avon I also had no shortage of oddities. I was the only single white girl living in my whole apartment building. Next door there was a family of at least 6, add a grandmother or two, living in a 700 square foot apartment. At about 2am, mom would get so mad that she’d start screaming at people in Spanish, so loudly and and such a rapid pace that I would wake up startled, thinking someone was shaking a rubber chicken head in my ear. That place was such a fire hazad… built badly, WAY too many people crammed into those apartments. Oh, and I loved waking up in the morning and having my pillow frozen to the wall because the insulation was so terrible.
But one of the fun things about that complex was knowing my neighbors. They may have been crowded, but they seemed to stay a bit longer there than here. Here I feel like I’m getting new neighbors every other week. There, at least I recognized faces, and the random diapered children running rampant in our hallway. And the tamale lady who would stop by every few weeks, with her 7 year old to translate for her…
I don’t know… I’m sure that someday I’ll miss the crazy drunken parties downstairs, where they sing karaoke to Garth Brooks at 2am, or the smell of incense that chokes us in the hall from our Indian neighbors. I’m going to move downtown pretty soon, and things are bound to get far more interesting. Until then, it’s the fat kids playing “no more monkeys jumping on the bed” at 1am upstairs. Wahoo.