Ah the joys of apartment living. It's 12:45 a.m. and instead of sleeping like I should (afterall, I only have to work 14 hours straight tomorrow), I'm sitting here updated my website. Okay, I admit that it is time that I finally update it, but I would much prefer to be awake by choice. As it stands, I'm at the computer right now thanks to the prince of neighbors: Jesus. No, this isn't a Christmas post but a rant about our neighbor from hell.
You see, Nicole and I live in the apartment directly above Jesus, his mother (I wonder if her name is Mary?), and their wonderfully annoying pipsqueek dog. I've never actually had a direct run-in with Jesus' mother, although for some reason the mere sight of her sends a chill up my spine and I feel like smashing her face into the wall. She is the worst driver I have ever seen, and can never seem to park her ugly maroon Chrystler minivan the same way twice.
Of course, the majority of my hatred belongs to Jesus himself. If they were to choose a mascot for stupidity, this lumbering fool would take the cake. Just picturing his face makes my blood boil. I'll have to try and get a photograph of the f*cker one of these days so you all can see what I'm talking about.
Jesus--contrary to his name--has absolutely no regard for anybody other than himself. In the lobby of our apartment building is a sign that clearly states that smoking in this public area is strictly prohibited by law. Of course, Jesus and his friends don't feel that this law applies to them. I don't think Jesus has a job because he's always hanging around the apartment doing nothing constructive. He hangs around with the local teenage lowlives, loitering on the staircase with his six or seven equally dumb-looking friends, smoking up a storm, filling the building with cigarette smoke and staring at anyone who dares to enter the building as if the people who live in the building are disturbing them. You know the stare I'm talking about...that same look that everyone gives to someone who comes in late to class and interrupts a lecture. Yup, that's the one Nicole and I get every time we decide to set foot outside our apartment.
Even as I type this my apartment reeks of stale cigarette smoke (which--I might add--I am allergic to). It has gotten bad enough at times where I have literally been driven out of my own home to escape the choking aroma.
Of course, it's not always cigarette smoke that we have to put up with. Nobody like Jesus would be complete without a little bit of the wacky weedus...the magic dragon...the mary jane. And the most beautiful thing about it is that he's absolutely shameless with it. He and his friends will smoke their marijuana out in the open as if it were a regular cigarette and think nothing of it.
Then there's the noise. The music, the banging, the door slamming, the yelling and screaming, and the vacuuming at all hours of the day and (mostly) night. Hence why I'm ranting and raving right now instead of getting much-needed sleep.
I guess I'll start with the music. The repetitive, droning, mindless bassy music that shakes the entire building at all hours of the day and night. You know the kind of music I'm talking about...the type of music where every single song sounds exactly the same and has exactly the same repetitive beat. The kind of music that is as simple and mindless as Jesus himself.
Then there's the yelling and screaming at his mother and whatever poor dumb sap that he may have invited over. It seems they don't know how to talk in that apartment--only scream.
Oh, and let's not forget to mention the stupid family mutt. Big bad Jesus and his mother own one of those dogs that you could mistake for a rodent or a cat or something. It's about a foot long and half as tall and has a yippiee "bark." Of course when Jesus plays his music the dog gets spooked to hell (afterall, little dogs can't take much) and so on top of the drone of his wacky tunes, we have to put up with the beast (the dog, not Jesus) as well. Of course, what would the evening be without Jesus screaming at the dog to shut up while failing to realize that the only thing that will quell the dog is the removal of music (or euthanasia).
Then there's the noise and banging, as if they're remodeling all the time. The noise that's keeping me up right this very moment. I have no idea what the hell he's doing (and I know it's him and not his mother since she works the graveyard shift--more on that in a moment). Every night at about this time (if I'm not fortunate to fall asleep in advance) I have to put up with the hard opening and closing of what sounds to me like a sliding closet door. Then there's some kind of loud knocking and then what sounds and feels like heavy stomping or jumping (most likely the former as Jesus does leave quite a large footprint). I have no idea what it is that he does at this hour, but I guess it's too urgent to wait until the daylight hours.
I'll never forget the one time when Jesus decided to pay us a visit. It was about 1:00 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon and Nicole was at work. I decided I would clean up the apartment before she got home. Now, when one cleans a house or apartment there tends to be a lot of walking around as various items are picked up and moved to their appropriate locations. Well, I guess Jesus (king of loud noises) didn't take too kindly to my afternoon cleaning and decided to come upstairs and admonish me.
The doorbell rings.
I look through the peephole and see our boy standing there looking dapper as always. I open the door.
"Yo man, uhh can you not walk around so loudly...my mom works 12-hour shifts and is trying to sleep right now."
"Umm, sure."
"Thanks man."
And he lumbers away.
Boo hoo, his mother works 12-hour shifts and is trying to sleep. First off, I routinely work 12 and 14-hour shifts. Second, I understand that even if I need to sleep at 1:00 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon that no one else is expected to be silent during that hour. That's one of the drawbacks of working graveyard shift...you're asleep when everyone else is awake. When you live in an apartment that's even worse. Granted, if it had been anyone other than Jesus it wouldn't have been so annoying. But the irony here was amazing. The s.o.b. can make noise at all hours of the day and night but I'm not allowed to walk around my apartment on a Saturday afternoon because his mommy is sleeping. Perhaps I should buy her a set of earplugs next Christmas?
I think what makes me hate him even more is the way he carries himself. He really does have a "dumb" look about him if I've ever seen one before. Actually, I think the best way to describe it is "lazy." Everything about him feels lazy. He dresses lazily, he carries himself lazily, and he speaks lazily. You know what I'm talking about...that kind of mumbling, stoned, glazed over type of speaking that makes you just want to kill yourself when the person opens their mouth. That's Jesus.
Trust me, the guy is dumb as a rock. I remember when Nicole's first encounter after just having moved into the apartment while I was still living in Los Angeles. Jesus must have thought he had a shot with her and decided to introduce himself and offer to show her around the bustling metropolis that is Chili. He asked her where she was from, to which she replied, "Long Island." His exact response was: "Oh shit!.......where is that?" Not to mention that a couple weeks later (after offering to show Nicole around town), he comes up to her and says, "Hey...uhh, do you know what there is to do around here?"
With all that, I must admit that Jesus is friendly enough...he's always sure to say hello in his oh-so-eloquent-way when Nicole or I pass him by.
To apartment living.
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