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2003-08-14 | 11:54 p.m.
corduroy licorice's mom signed for his amazon.com order before realizing they had shipped his items separately. only one box of two had arrived, so she told him that he had another thing coming.
my forklift-dodging neighbor with the trapezoid fat cat woke me up at 6 a.m. on wednesday with a sound resembling the type of aural assault that might be issued from an airhorn turned up to 11 and mounted on a running, attachable drill.
i must've resembled an animated cartoon character as i levitated above my bed in shock, every nerve twangling. since the terrifying cacophony repeated itself thrice at approximately ten minute intervals, i figured out that forklift fellow must've gotten a new alarm clock.
once bathed and clothed later that morning, i issued him a note on my personal stationery (college-ruled, perforated) post haste asking him to remedy the reviled reveille.
this morning the offensive noise made no return engagement, but the whole rigamorole puts one in mind of the perils and pitfalls of apartment life. like getting to hear male neighbors blow their noses with the gale force of a sneezing bull elephant.
then there's my downstairs neighbor's dumb boyfriend. she is a perfectly nice girl who brings me caramels from amish country for watching her cat. he speaks in duh-sounding gutteral tones and bellows things like, "hey babe, what's your most favorite 'x-files' episode ever?"
then there's the neighbor guy who's about the size and weight of jack sprat, but is able to hurtle himself down the stairs as if he was a former linebacker busting out of attica with a cadre of guards on his tail. ba-boom. ba-boom. ba-BOOM!
finally, there is "cable tv couple." i call them that because the only time they are not stationed in the dark in front of their living room or bedroom television screens is when he is grilling meat and she is smoking in their mini-backyard. between the radiation emitted from the tv to the carcinogens issued from charred animal flesh to surgeon general warnings on virginia slims, i don't know how long these two have left.
since owning a house seems a possibility eons away for me, i guess i'll just have to make due with this motley crew. as sinatra would say, "shoobedoobedoo. or move."
take a peek at these - (c) 2000-2003 nictate:
quibbling with quitherfeather
catcher in the wry