I played drums for a little bit today. I miss having a house and being able to play as loud as I want whenever the mood strikes me. The landlord in our apartments let me set up my kit in an extra room in the basement, so that's nice. Still, I'm too nervous when it comes to playing them, because I feel bad about the volume. Not that the other neighbors are quiet and considerate. The neighbor directly below us is, I think, an avid gamer, with a crazy sound set-up. Every day, for hours on end, there's the loudest, most resonant bass noise coming from his place. It's a lot like living in the movie Eraserhead. Jennie thinks that it may be what causes all the car alarms to go off all day. That, and the millions of little kids that run up and down the sidewalk kicking cars until well after midnight. Another awesome neighbor is 'The Pukey Guy'. We share a wall in our bedroom with the neighbors bathroom.On several occasions, we've been woken up by the sounds of ferocious vomiting. Not, like, "Gag. Sputter. Splash, splash." No, this guy is really fucking heaving, "RRRRAAAAGHHHOOOOUUUSH, KUH! HHHWaaaaarrrrGHHH! Oh, God! My Life! HHHAAAAArrrrrrrk! WHOOOORRRPPP!!!" It goes on forever. We have a few theories about him: a.) He's a raging, Bukowski-esque, alcholic. Vomiting is just part of his daily routine, like most people brush their teeth; b.)He's a junkie. Junkies puke a lot; c.) He's dying of some horrible disease. In which case, I hope you're not laughing at his expense. Heartless fucks. Or, d.) He's severely lactose intolerant, but he fucking loves Oreo milkshakes. Who doesn't like Oreo milkshakes? Other than that, there's kind of a revolving door of people I haven't met, in the building. There is a few single moms, who moved here from the Bastard Child Home across the street. They actually aren't that bothersome. The noise from the three playgrounds on our block drowns them out. Jennie and I are the senior residents in the building, actually. We were the second people to move in after the building had been remodeled. Most everyone else broke their lease, and got the fuck out. At one point, this girl moved in across the hall from us. That night, I guess there was a drug bust, (That's what the landlord told us. Whatever it was, I guess they had a grip of cholos handcuffed in front of the building.) and she moved her stuff out the next day. The people that lived in the unit before her, who were the first tenants in the building, moved because they didn't feel safe in the neighborhood. Did I mention the Shitwall? The apt.'s border an alley, that you can cut through to get to 7-11, or the donut shop, and there's this wall with nasty, hobo diarrhea sprayed every seventeen inches along it's entire length. Take that, Banksy! And that's the story of how we live, here in beautiful, sunny Los Angeles. If a unit opens up, I'll let you guys know.
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