So, it’s midnight. That means it’s officially Wednesday – aka, the day my neighborhood loses its damn mind.
I hear a car running outside. When I look out of my window, I see two police cruisers in the street and an unmarked cop car on the side of the building.
I went to Wal-Mart1 after work, so I left my backpack in the car to bring my Wal-Mart bags upstairs. I left my backpack, with my school laptop in it, was in the front passenger seat of the car.
After tossing the bags in the apartment and chucking the milk in the fridge, I got the dog for the evening walk. I left my backpack in my car because the car was going to be within eyesight during the walk.2
Harley and I were about a block away when two teenage girls passed us. The girls reeked of pot and shot me the stank eye.
I only notice the chaos because I have Wills & Trusts at 8:30am the next day, which means that I should probably go to bed early – but I can’t – because on Wednesday nights the entire neighborhood gathers for a chorus of crazy.
Last night’s crazy started with two guys trying to jump a car at the end of the street. The car doing the jumping had a car alarm which went off every time the guy revved his engine.
This went on for 25 minutes.
I left work late, so the only street parking was a few blocks away.
When I got out of my car I noticed someone peering from the dirty white car across the street – it was Terry, the toothless man who sleeps in his car.
I nodded politely but Terry just kept giving me this blank-yet-rabid-stare. I could sense his eyes following me as I walked down the block…ugh.
After getting home and walking the dog, I realize that I left my laptop in my car. I decide that it is more prudent to fetch the computer than to explain to the cops why I left a laptop in a car parked next to a crazed semi-homeless man.
Harley is afraid of fireworks and gunfire-like popping noises.
So, he’s spent the past week cowering in the bathroom because it’s the only room in the apartment without windows.
I’m making birthday plans with Jack & Company over the phone:
Jack: “Should I just come over at 10 before we go out? I want to see the dog!”
Me: “Erm. I have to clean my apartment first.”
Jack: “You are NOT cleaning your apartment on your birthday!”
Me: “Oh, yes I am!”
When I walked to my car this evening I noticed two Somali teens on one side of the street and T, the neighborhood drag queen, on the other side of the street.
One of the Somali teens says something loudly and starts snickering.
T takes offense.
T: “What was that?!”
The boys stop laughing as T marches across the street and stops right in front of my parked car.
T: “What? Hm? What was that?”
Boy #1: “Oh, uh, nothing. He was saying something to me about our, uh, friend.”
T: “Oh no he wasn’t. Do you think I stupid? What was it? SAY IT TO MY FACE!”
Boy #2: “Nothing, nothing.”
I get in my car, but I can’t drive off because T is still standing right in front of it, telling the Somali boys exactly where to go and how to get there…
T: “I know who the fuck you were talking about. You want to say something funny? Huh? You want to disrespect me? Well let me tell you that you don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with little boy.”
The Somalis are freaked out. I start my car and T looks at me and then steps on the sidewalk to curse the boys out more thoroughly. I was surprised they didn’t run…
And as much as I love to see busted drag queens beating down foreign teenagers... I drive off.
A few hours later when I pull onto my street, I see T in front of my building screaming1 at downstairs neighbor’s window.
T: “PAULITO! PAULITO! Open this god damn door right now! PAULITO! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE PAULITO!”
T and Paulito have been blaring music all night… I … don’t know what to think. But as long as she’s not screaming at me I’m okay. But I hope she’s not a regular presence in the building…we have enough crazy in this here-yonder as it is.
1 Someone needs to tell “her” that screaming isn’t lady-like…she speaks like RuPaul by the way…And no, she’s not nearly as tall or fabulous.
This is my view 20 minutes before my Professional Responsibility class starts:
I am on the off-ramp of 35W1 when this random blond lady passes my car on the grass of the off-ramp.
Last night I got home from work and found my neighbor, Yesenia, in front of the apartment building.
Yesenia lost her key a while ago, and hasn’t gotten it replaced yet – so she’s always in front of the building waiting to be let in.
On this night Yesenia looked a bit flustered and motioned me over as I approached the building. I assume she was drunk so I smile politely and walk past her and up the stairs to the front door of the building.
Yesenia stumbles behind me and says, gasping:
Yesenia: “You know me right? You know1 that I live here right?”
Me: “Yes.”
Yesenia: “Okay. I just need to be let in…”
I walk in and she follows me into the building. She looks really discombobulated so I ask her if she’s okay.
Yesenia (gasping): “Yeah, I got the as – sim-muhh.”
And here I am feeling like the biggest jerk in the world for assuming that a woman having an asthma attack was drunk.
I walk up the stairs but Yesenia couldn’t make it past the second landing.
Me: “Do you want me to go to your apartment and get some help from your boyfriend?”
Yesenia (gasping): “NO! No, I’m fine right here…I’m (gasp) fine.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Yesenia: “Very.”
I go into my apartment and decide that I should go and get her help anyway. So I walk down the hallway and realize that I don’t actually know WHICH apartment Yesenia lives in.
Yesenia comes up the stairs as I’m standing in front of her apartment and shoots me the worst gasping-glare ever.
Yeah, Oops.
So later that night, around 3am, I hear whistling outside of my bedroom window. I then hear a female voice that sort of sounds like Yesenia…
Woman: “WAKE UP NIGGA! I KNOW YOU AINT ASLEEP NIGGA!”
Who was this? Yesenia’s revenge? Or was that downstairs neighbor’s unsightly female friend who keeps throwing rocks at his window?
I sit up in bed to look out of my window when I hear something SLAM into the wall near my window. I spend the next hour or so keeping the dog’s face away from the window2 and praying that no one was shooting.
Update: So the angry banshee outside of my window last night was probably not Yesenia because she just buzzed my apartment and I let her and three children in. I also carried the baby stroller up the stairs…hm.
1 Particularly odd question since we’ve run into each other at the laundry room before.
2 I had to do this because whomever kept whistling…
So the night started with me tweeting my personal phone number and my reluctance to meet Steve’s crew to 1660 people. 1
Why hello, this is called overshare.
I got over my shyness and made a guest appearance at the 19 Bar.2 Steve and I engaged in the usual amount cattiness and ignored the squirrelly guy smiling wildly from across the bar. What a shame! I forgot to bring my walnuts to feed the wildlife…
For the past month, large stacks of boxes and plastic wrap have dominated my apartment. I always had something better to do than unpack and clean (Finals, petitioning, not petitioning, working…etc.) so I never felt fully moved in.1
And it was annoying.
So this weekend I decided to do something about it:
And yes, I’m sick of Target, Home Depot and Ikea. Neither I or my wallet want to hear from those stores for a while.
My two favorite things are the fuzzy grass-like2 carpet:
And these guys, who I got from Wal-Mart:
The bug-eyed stuffed birds bring amuse me. I always mimic their deer-in-the-headlights look when I see them.
My dog however, has not been amused by my decorating and cleaning activities. He’s totally convinced that the vacuum’s sole purpose is to scare him…
…and he’s probably right.3
1 There was always something I didn’t have yet like oven mits, lamps, power cords, rugs, etc.
2 It doesn’t look dirty in real-life. I swear. It just photographs funny.
3 He always runs out of the room or hides in his crate when I start the vac… my downstairs neighbors probably think I’m OCD or something…
My mission of the day was to find something to slap on my bare apartment walls.
I went to Ikea and Target…what did I get?
That’s right. I bought stickers. Totally grown-up. I know.
Stickers on the walls, law books on the floor: it’s an academic nursery. Fancy!
I couldn’t bring myself buy prints at Ikea or Target since I know how to paint. I’ll throw something together this weekend. The stickers are the only mass-produced thing I’ll buy.1
I also spent an ungodly amount of time moving around furniture only to realize that my original layout was the best one. At least I know for sure now!
1 This is more of a “being cheap” thing rather than a snobby-indie kid thing…contrary to popular belief, I am not indie. I am Kylie Minogue actually…
Jill made a surprise visit to the apartment today.
Jill: “OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”
Me: “What?”
Jill: “ Why does it smell like that? Ugh, what is that?”
Me: “I just finished mopping with febreeze water… you’re not overwhelmed by freshness?”
Jill: “I’m overwhelmed, but not by freshness. I feel like someone tossed me into Martha Stewart’s dryer or something… ugh. This is truly horrible.”
I’m not a neat freak per-se, but clutter does hurt my ability to concentrate.
I finished moving the rest of my things out of the fraternity house this afternoon. The only problem is that my apartment is now on the Lindsay Lohan level. There are boxes everywhere, and it’s just, well, sad.1
In fact, my apartment was so bad that I fled to work…but after 8 hours I realized that I have to go back sometime…
So tomorrow I’m taking on all of the clutter. Clean house style. I may even tape a flower to my head and pretend that I have gap teeth to show that I’m serious.
I will be unpacked and organized by noon and it will be glorious because it signify2 being legitimately “moved into my first apartment.”
Full report to come. We’ll see how this goes…
1 Actually, it’s worse than sad because I had to dump some boxes of unpacked shitkram onto the floor in order to use the boxes today.
2 Kinda feels like I’m shoving myself into adulthood… cleaning the apartment isn’t this significant all the time! (assuming “without deciding” that it is significant now…)
Most dogs have a habit of kicking their hind legs to cover up their business.1 But my dog has a habit of kicking his business.
So I’m standing on the corner of my street, texting.
Harley finishes his business, and I am not paying attention so I don’t catch him before he starts to kick his back legs and launches his business into the air.
Poo flies everywhere. I hear screaming from around the corner:
Mel: “WHAT WHAT WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT SHIT? WHO IS THROWING SHIT?!”
Mel turns the corner and glares at me. Molly is sporting her standard uniform of daisy dukes, flip flops, dirty white tank top, and the overstuffed Cub grocery bag…and she is livid.
Mel: “Why, it’s that BIG ASS DOG again! And he throws shit now!
Mel (talking to the dog): “You think throwing shit is funny? THROWING YO SHIT AT PEOPLE DOG! YOU CANNOT DO THAT! You’re exactly what’s wrong with this country. YOU ARE A TERRORIST! TERRORIST!”
Harley walks towards Molly and she storms off screaming “terrorist.”
I exchange wtf-looks with the Somali men at the bus stop and keep it moving…
About ten minutes later I’m near Loring Park, texting again, and not paying attention to the crazy she-mullet approaching.
This lady had a fountain of spiky 80’s hair with an extra long rat tail. I really suspect she fluffed out a dead cat and decided to wear it as a headpiece, but maybe she just wants to bring back 80’s Tina Turner.
Tina: “Is that dog named Caesar?!”
Me: “Uh… no. He is not named Caesar.”
Tina: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Quite.”
Tina (bending down to pet): “Oh, well, I see a couple walking a dog like this all the time, and their dog is named Caesar!”
The full line of questioning and cooing followed – how old is he? Oh what a sweet dog! Is he mixed with anything? What a cute baby! Yes you are! How is his temperament? Oooh gimme kisses!
I almost felt like telling her about the poo flinging incident but didn’t want to prolong the Vh1 flashback.
We get away from Tina and turn the corner. We near the 19 Bar when a short stocky guy walks out from the bar’s parking lot. He reminds me of Buzz Lightyear, minus the cool costume.
Buzz: “Cute dog.”
Me: “Thank you.”
I start to wonder if Buzz is cute or not when Buzz’s cologne hits me. Actually, the cologne doesn’t just hit me, but it punches me in the gut, drags me around the corner, and then waterboards me. That’s how bad it was.
Buzz: “Are you okay?”
Me (gagging and wincing): “Oh, I’m fine. Have a nice day.”
Buzz looks at me like, “freak.” And prances into the bar. Buzz’s toxic cloud2 followed.
I hope tomorrow’s walk around Calhoun is less eventful.
1 Yes, this post starts with dog poop. Welcome to 1L summer!
2 And I swear my clothes smell of whatever cologne he showered in. He’s wearing it for the entire bar…my goodness.
I knew there was something afoot the second I stepped into my apartment.
The futon was flipped over and Harley was giving me the “oh shit” look.
I told him to stop wagging his tail like that and started inspecting the damage.
Aside from the futon, nothing was unusual in the living or dining room…kitchen was fine…and so was the bathroom…
…so of course the bullshit was in my bedroom. Harley’s leash was on my bed, and so was half of my lay figure (wooden drawing mannequin). The other half was in shards on the side of the bed.
I was not amused.
Harley jumped on the bed and it looked like he was covering something… or was that a shadow? No…it was a GIANT PEE PUDDLE! And there was another spot by my pillow…
My eyes grew red, my hair turned into snakes and I chased the dog around the apartment, yell. Hell hath no fury like a 1L during finals!
After raging around the apartment I took the pee soaked sheets down to the laundry room. I then realized that I had no quarters.
I threw the sheets by the washers and left the building. Two cyclists were standing in the sidewalk right outside of the apartment building. One was yarking everywhere while his friend kept telling him “Cmon man! Try and hold it, we are almost there!”
I side-stepped the puke-fest and went off to give my car a quarter-cavity search. My car was a few blocks away since everyone had already come home for the night…
The washers and dryers are $1.25 per load, and I had 2 loads of sheets so I needed 10 quarters.
So of course my car had 9 quarters.1
I walked to the corner store clutching my 9 quarters. Mel was begging at the bus stop near the corner store:
Mel: “Can you spare some change?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
Mel: “But you have change right there in your hand!”
Me: “It’s for laundry. My dog pissed all over my sheets. I’m actually getting more change so I can dry them.”
Mel: “Ew…that’s disgusting…you DO need the quarters more than me!”
So apparently I even gross out the neighborhood panhandlers…classy!
The cashier at the corner store could only part with four quarters. He looked at me as if I was laundering money or something. Starbucks and CVS wouldn’t provide change…so I decided to take to the drive-thrus!
We started at McDonald’s. My neighborhood McDonald’s is decrepit. Their sign has been burnt out since I’ve moved in. They probably don’t bother fixing it since they close super early anyway (around 10 or 11.)
So I ordered a cheese burger just to find out that they had no quarters in the entire store. I got the burger and dumped the dimes into my console.
Next was White Castle. White Castle gave me two quarters. The lady gave me that “bitch try me” look so I didn’t ask her for more. 2
Taco Bell was the gold mine. I waited in line and watched the lady with the ordering-headset get her hair braided. I sweet talked the wild-eyed cashier into giving me $2.50 in quarters. So I was set for the night!
We got back to the apartment building, (carefully avoiding the puddles of vomit outside) and it was already time to switch the sheets over. It’s going to nice having a sanitary bed again. Mel would be proud. 3
1 As a rule, when you’re looking for quarters you’re going to have a small fortune in dimes and nickels…
2 Despite being a BAD dog tonight, Harley got the double-slider from White Castle…
3 So I was all, “YOU ARE BANNED FROM THE BEDROOM!” but that’s a challenge since it’s technically his “safety spot.” For example, wild Mexican neighbors are shooting off fireworks for Cinco De Mayo and a terrified Harley is scratching at my bedroom door. Hmmf.
On Friday Paige and I went to the Outlaw end-of-year bowling event. This is her striking:
Friday night Jamie and I had a movie night and watched Reservation Road and The Flock. I was shocked to see Avril Lavigne’s cameo in the latter.
Avril, of course, gets killed.
On Saturday Stella and I went to Mall of America and saw all sorts of awkward:
Yesterday I decided to take the camera to BestBuy because it’s still under warranty. So I hop on the light rail and ride it for 30 minutes to the Mall of America.
I get to BestBuy, explain to two different managers what the problem is, and wait patiently while they try to figure out their computer system…
Associate #1: “George, why isn’t this working?”
George (Associate #2): “I dunno. Manager?”
Manager: “Uh, let’s call Ron, manager #2…”
Ron (Manager #2): “Uh…that’s weird.”
Associate #1: “What are my hours for tomorrow? Can I get a mall pass?”
Ron: No. Walk around.
Manager #1: I walked around yesterday, it wasn’t that bad…
I’m standing there with my beauty pageant smile, thinking “wtf mate?”
The team fixes their computer glitch and calls the Geek Squad worker to look at the camera.
Geek Guy: “Hm. Looks broke, yo.”
Ron then tells me to go get a new camera. Yippie!
I bought the Flipcam for $179.99. It’s now $129.99.
The swank new HD version is $179.99….so I ask the manager if I can get the new version (because I knew that for laptop warranty replacements they look at the price, not product…) Ron says, “Sure!”
Hooollleration!
So this is where I fuck it up: Ron the Manager is giving me the receipt and the new camera, and I ask him if my old cord will work on the new camera.
Ron: “Oh, the cord won’t work will it? I guess you have to get the old version of the camera.”
Me: “Can I just get the new camera without the cord?”
Ron: “No. When we send it back to the manufacturer without the cord they charge us.”
Me: “How much is the charge? It’s a $50 price difference. The cord can’t be $50. I can pay for the charge. Can you look it up?”
Ron: “No.”
Me: “Well, do you sell the cords?”
Ron: “No. Go fuck yourself, thanks.**”
Crapola. Ron yanks the receipt and camera back. I cry a little inside.
So I take the 30-minute train ride home with my broke-ass camera. I then toss my room (like the KGB) and of course the cord isn’t there. That means the cord is in Miami…somewhere.
I then hop on a bus to Rosedale, to go to another BestBuy. The plan: try a sob story about Ron the Pissy, and if that didn’t work, just get the older version of my camera and take the $50 loss….but…
The trip to Rosedale was a little scary…. there was (among other things) the angry, speeding bus driver, and the med student in the front row screaming “WHEN YOU’RE DEAD YOU’RE DEAD!” into his phone…
…issues.
I eventually get Rosedale and find the store. The squat customer service lady gives me the ‘fuck you’ look and says (essentially):
“I don’t know what Mall of America’s Big Box was smoking. This is a service warranty, not a replacement warranty. Fuck you. We have to send it for repair. Wait two weeks. Go wait in the Geek Squad line. NEXT!”
The Geek Squad guy shipped the camera out and said he’ll probably call me. If not, oh well. Heh.
Okay, so, the next problem was getting home. Rosedale is a far-ish suburb…and it’s already dark.
I roam around a bit and eventually find a bus parked at a transit center. I ask the bus driver if his bus goes “to the university, downtown, or to the train”, the bus driver is non responsive, but this small, spritely woman on the bus says, “Yes! This bus goes to the 48th street stop for the train! That’s where I’m going!”
So I get on.
Mistake!!
Turns out that she read the schedule wrong. I realized this when the bus rode past Macalester College… in St. Paul.
The bus driver eventually stops the bus and asks us where the hell we think we’re going…
“To the 48th street stop!” the woman says.
Bus driver: “I don’t stop there. That’s bus 64H, this is 64B! Get off. Take the 54 to the airport. You offend me with your stupidity.”
Oops.
So we eventually get on the 54 bus, which takes us to the airport…
…what makes this annoying is that the airport is two stops from the Mall of America. I would have saved two hours by just taking the hour round trip back to the freakin’ mall…. although that would mean returning to Ron the Pissy… (but at least then I’d have a camera?)
The train eventually arrives. I take the train to the Stacks, hoping I don’t get shanked…
… I then walk to Carlson and leave with Jamie to go to Punch! Pizza.
Of course I bitch about the metro-transit/best-buy adventure in the car….
I had never been to Punch! Before. It’s co-founded by Caribou Coffee guy…think Chipotle: The Pizza Store, but not quite California Pizza Kitchen…
Jamie thought I was crazy, but the decorations in Punch! are scary… for example, the grizzly heads hanging from string above the drinks…there were also these dudes:
They are almost on the level of the schizophrenic lady who decorates our local McDonalds…
** Ron didn’t actually say that last part…his bitchy attitude did.
Last night I took a break Civil Procedure and checked on some blogs.
I pull up the Moon Goon blog and see that the Moon Goons were OPENING FOR FEDDE LE GRAND! And for only $10! Gasp!
I had a little over four hours to finish CivPro, ConLaw, Torts, walk home (I was downtown), and do laundry… oh, the motivation power of good house music…
Jamie and I arrived at Spin early and watched the nerds.
It was like watching the revenge of Erkle: there about six guys were skipping around the club wearing highwater khakis, suspenders, and thick glasses.
The dance floor was dead except for the Erkles and a pair of awkward Forever-21 rejects…an hour later the dance floor is packed. The nerds are break dancing and a rotation of gogo dancers starts. It was a hilarious night. Boomkats abound. Pictures!
