Across the lane, she smokes and stares.

Across the alley, though in Roland Park, they call them lanes, there is a girl/woman who smokes out of her open window all night, often on the phone.  There’s nothing weird about that except that she’s 20 feet from my window all the time.

I think it’s funny.

I’ve thought of mooning her, taking her picture and then mailing it to her, asking her for Grey Poupon, etc.  But that’s more out-going than I really am.

For now, I just laugh about the feeling of being spied on by someone who probably doesn’t even know that any of the three of us exists.

Things for today.


Things that are funny today:

My neighbor who was blaring Matchbox 20′s song out the window this morning, over and over and over again.  This is funny because I thought of, “I want to push you down — down the stairs!” and giggled.  Maybe it was a break-up song.  I don’t know.  But if that song reminds you of a person with whom you’ve been in a relationship, well, maybe you’re better off broken up.  There.

When people who think entirely too much of themselves have egg on face.  This is especially funny when the egg is on their face because they didn’t listen to you when you answered their question that they asked while you were on the phone (!) and obviously busy. (What’s less funny is when they seem to want to blame you for this bad information, like you did it on purpose.)

How my daughter laughed her little ass off last night when I was changing her and doing funny voices.

All the cussing I did this morning trying to get my office window propped open, and especially when our archivist turned out to be right behind me right then.

Things that are NOT funny today:

Getting “advice” from someone more clueless than you are.  It’s no fun when someone who never puts forth much effort jumps on you for a perceived and very temporary lack of effort.  Especially not when said person has their head further up their ass than you do yourself and has much less wisdom — which is to say very far and none at all.  Sheeeet, don’t we all know like five people like this?

The upcoming heatwave.

People who are bad listeners.  Bad listening isn’t a bad habit.  It’s a manifestation of a character flaw, i.e., being selfish and/or self-absorbed.  I mean, come one.  Learn to be self-absorbed and a good listener like those of us in the know.  (Geez!)  If you read this blog, you know that I hate bad listeners and refuse to get over it.

People who walk into rooms already running their mouths, assuming that nothing’s going on and that everyone wants to hear about their aches, their breakfast and their cat/dog/car.

Things which are happening today:

Me sitting at work, when I’d rather enjoy the spell of gorgeous weather taking my daughter for a walk or sitting outside with my pals enjoying coffee and running from spiders or having a beer with my parents on their deck or just watching a movie with my wife.

My boss is back, but I only have six weeks left on my contract and will be jobless by mid-August.

My least favorite month has started.

I will make a list and post it on the internet.

Oh, now we have to call Mom?

I am gettin sick (literally) because my neighbor has taken to either acrobatic sex or cleaning the bedroom during the wee hours of the morning, when everyone’s in bed but even Buddhists and dog walkers aren’t awake yet.  Now, the rules are, tell the management.  I tried a sweet little note first, but that didn’t work.  I know; I should be a grown-up and talk to them.  But, for one, the office discourages it, and I don’t wanna find myself apartment shopping.  For another thing, me in my underwear, beard matted, eyes red and my tired fury at its peak — would not lead to a pleasant or fruitful exchange.

I think how angry this and other things make me should be a signal that I need to change something.  I’m flirting with resuming a mediation practice (hence the playful jab at early-rising Buddhists).  But meditation is hard work, and I am a lazy man.  So it’s slow-going.

Buzz and run.

So, my old neighbor lives two floors below me now.  No one lives in between currently.  So when I heard thumping a few weeks ago, I thought someone moved in.  No.  He’s just such a loud asshole that I could feel it two floors up.  He was at it again tonight, with it blowing out the open windows, too. I mean, ten minutes of something awesome like The Clash or Tool or Seal or Neko Case shaking the building I could stand.  But this kid listens to some kind of new asshole “rock”.  You know that loser band in School of Rock that is soft and sissy but still tries to rock?  Yeah, like that.  Seriously.  Roxette is Metallica next to this shit (and they’re awesome anyway).  “Oh, blah blah, me, my heart, oh, girl, oh, oooooooooooy, blaaahblaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!’

I should write him a note about his DUI and freak him out.  “Oh, nooooooo.  Who is this?  How did they know?  I’ll never drink again!”

I have taken to buzzing his intercom from the lobby when he’s being an asshole.  Why?  It’s funny.  He’s dumb as a bag of my smelliest turds (OMG).  I like to imagine him running to the box, asking, “Hello?” “Did you buzz me?” “Ooga?” He looks like he could kick my ass, so I have to be clever and not get caught laughing my way up the stairs.

We decided tonight that if we get caught, the conversation will go thusly:
“Uh, ooga, did you just buzz my apartment?”
“What?”
“Someone just buzzed my apartment.”
“Um, Okay.”
“Was it you?”
“Have you seen Good Will Hunting?”
“Huh, what, huh, ooga, wah?”
“It’s a movie.”
“No, I like TV a lot, huh huh.”
“Oh, so you never saw it?”
“What? Oh, I think I seen it once, (ooga) at my friend’s house. We were drunk, huh huh. Ooga.”
“Okay. Do you remember that scene where Jackie is telling that story about his uncle and the state policeman? How the officer came to his house wanting to get in his garage?”
“What? Huh huh. Ooga.”
“Well, to quote Jackie: MUTHAFUCKA, I AIN’T NEVAH SEEN YEW IN MY LIFE!”
“What?”
(Snickers from Johnny and Frankie.)
“What?”
(Dribbles as Johnny pisses himself in the elevator.)
“Ooga.”

Maybe I’m cruel.  But this piece of loud shit helped us stay sick for a month three years ago by keeping us up all night and drove us insane.  And because we didn’t want be the cause of his getting evicted in the winter like the management wanted to do, he was the cause of us having to move in 2007 to another apartment.  I could do way worse things than buzz his apartment when he’s blaring his terrible music.  I mean, I could do it in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.  I could pee on his door.  I could steal a wheel off of his car and leave it jacked up in his parking spot.  I could put a porkchop under his doormat at night to drive his dog crazy like I joked about.

Buzzing his apartment and joking with my wife about 90s films and what a caveman this guy is are the least service I can offer to my other neighbors.