I'm Startin' to Feel Like a Dungeon Dragon!

This is what my face looks like most nights in my new dwelling.

Like Nicki, I have a few alter egos myself. The one who is most like Nicki's Roman would have to be B. B doesn't happen to be a gay boy, but rather a hood chick. The chick that I would have been had I been raised by the streets like the majority of the other girls in my neighborhood. B is North Richmond all the way, that same Richmond that The Game's Tasha Mack is from. And B has no problem telling you what's on her mind, especially if she feels like she's been crossed. You've met her. She just doesn't give a fuck, and will tell you AND your mama to suck it.

This week, my upstairs neighbor had the opportunity to get acquainted with B. For the life of me, I can not understand why this man feels the need to walk his apartment allllllniiiiightlooooong. The shit drives me insane. It wouldn't be a big deal if there was more insulation, but there isn't in this building. When he decides that he wants to drop shit every five minutes, or hammer his nails back into the floor, or drag his feet across the floor - after midnight - for fuck's sake, it sounds as if my ceiling is going to come crashing down on top of me. Because yes, his favorite spot in his apartment happens to be right over my bedroom. While Emma is sound asleep I am tossing, turning and thinking evil thoughts.

There were a couple of nights in particular when enough got to be enough. He was doing something that sounded like sawing. It was a constant loud ass sound in a back and forth motion, right over my head. I jumped up, threw on some shoes and headed up the stairs. His explanation, "oh, I was inaudible my feet". At this point I was struggling with B to hold her back from cussing his ass all the way out. I instructed him to cut it out, and informed him that he was making a ruckus right over my bedroom. He acted surprised, as if it was totally out of his thought process that such a thing as keeping up a whole hell of a lot of noise could possibly disturb his downstairs neighbor. I had faith that this enlightenment would prompt him to sit his ass down after a certain hour. Not so much. A couple of nights later, we'd all meet again.

There is something particularly annoying about being in a comfortable position and having to raise up because of some bullshit. I don't know what he was doing, but this time it sounded like bowling. He was dropping shit one after another, so I decided to try to get his attention, again in hopes of prompting him to sit his ass down. I got my broom and went to work on the ceiling with it. I either scared him, or he was fucking with me because he make an intense BOOM, to which I answered with a sequence of booms. If he wanted to play the game, then we could play. He decided against playing the game and I didn't hear him drop or throw anything else.

My apartment seems to be situated in the twilight zone. I have this dude upstairs, and I have the laundry room right next to my bedroom. I'm actually sharing a wall with the laundry room. Laundry time is one of my favorite activities. Not necessarily the gathering and sorting, but the process of laundering and folding, I'm all for it. It brings relaxation for me. My proximity to our laundry space and the old pipes in this building are ruining that for me. When the washers are in use, the old pipes shake and rattle my walls. This is not ideal when you are trying to get to sleep after a long day or when you would prefer to stay asleep. Sounds like a god dammed train or an earthquake. Since we've been living in this space, I've been jolted awake by those pipes rattling my walls as late/early as 1:30am. I have made my share of trips outdoors to remind folks of the big ass sign posted on the laundry room door. The one about not doing any laundry after 10pm or before 8am. Either, these people can't read OR they're just retarded. I do believe they can read.

These factors are making it really hard for me to feel good about settling in. I do NOT want to move again. I am free to move after December, but moving is not fun, re-uprooting is not something that I want to do. However, it will probably be something that I will be forced to do. Or I might possibly have to cut someone.

Leo Tufurahi Hakuna Matata

"Today let us be happy, there are no problems"

From Swahili song Jambo Bwana

When you are one of those luckiest-unlucky people, there are always problems, but, well, you know...

If we're Facebook friends, then you may have noticed me mention a little something about being rear-ended on the freeway on my way "home" from picking up Emma from school yesterday. Literally the last thing that anyone needs to happen at the end of their day. Luckily, the only injury was to my bumper, but I walked away from the ordeal angry and disgusted. Sitting with the fact that, not only did the whole thing occur because a driver was not paying attention to the road while driving in commuter traffic, but he spent the entire time trying to talk me out of reporting it to his insurance agency. He was damn near begging me not to, telling me that my damages could be buffed out, we could handle things on our own, and this and that. The more he pleaded, the angrier I became. I'm on the side of the road, on a dark busy freeway, with a child in the backseat, and this dude is talking to me about insurance premiums! He could have killed us. He could have hurt my child. When it comes to her safety, all bets are off and the gloves come on. As with most immediate events that I have little control over, I wanted the whole thing to stop and just disappear. I kept looking at my baby, while digging through my purse to retrieve my pen, to get information that he was not trying to give me. So, first he hits me, then insults me by telling me how I should remedy the damages that he caused, and then insults me again by trying to talk his way out of giving me his information. Thank God for tough kids, quick thinking, and my ability to overthink situations. Had Emma shed one tear, this guy's ass would have gotten handed to him in a hand basket!

I really don't like to feel like I'm being taken advantage of in any situation. My thinking becomes a little devious then, because I wont be played willingly. I feel like this guy was really trying to play me, and play me hard. He was trying to dust off the debris and get the hell out of dodge without fully taking responsibility for what he could have done to a mother and her child. Bastard!

Thankfully, other plans were in the cards. So, we get to live AND drive another day.

Impromptu Puff

Notice anything funny in the pictures?

Picking Up the Pieces

My Saturday morning surprise

The fact that its Sunday morning, and I'm here at work peering out at my car, which still has a backseat covered in glass, means that I obviously shut down at some point yesterday. The fact that my backseat is still covered in glass, and I am due at my company Christmas party this evening before picking Emma up, obviously means that I'm internally overwhelmed by this experience.

Although nothing was stolen or even touched, I feel an extreme sense of violation. I tend to shut down when my personal space and/or personal things are violated. I want the situation to be remedied immediately or it all just becomes too much. Seems silly, but for me, that's just the way it is sometimes. It could have been a LOT worse than what it is. The car could have not been there when I came out yesterday or it could have been a window other than the smallest that was busted out, however, it doesn't exactly make this easier for me because it just adds one more thing to my already full list of to-dos. I'm working this weekend, and working tomorrow, which leaves my window covered with plastic until Tuesday! Not cool. This would be a perfect time for a clone. To be able to push a button and have her appear. Close my eyes, and when they opened everything would be like it was before the neighborhood Crazy decided it would relieve his stress by smashing a couple of car windows.

According to the officer on the scene, that's who was responsible. Break ins are not unusual in the area either. The neighborhood fiends like to break in cars from time to time. I was hoping that it wouldn't be just a matter of time before they picked mine out of the bunch. Which is another thing about this situation that pisses me off. If you're gonna come along and bust my shit up, at least have a fucking reason behind it. I can completely understand if you were looking for some shit to steal, but damn, just because you saw it there and you couldn't control yourself? THAT is some bitchassness, to like, the millionth power. Anyhoo...

So now I am literally left to pick up the pieces, which are covering my child's car seat. Berkeley, we can't get back to you fast enough!