Everybody Needs Good Neighbours...
Held a little gathering last night chez moi to celebrate the end of a very special community musical project I was involved in. Bringing all the flock (sorry, in-joke getting stale) was no mean feat, and a few lost/sick sheep didn't make it, but all said, it was a happy reunion. And a noisy, pizza-filled one at that. I hadn't realised just how much we were polluting the sound levels until the poor Russian single mom next door rang the bell at 12.15 entreating us to shut up. Felt very guilty- (yes, I have noticed, it seems to be a recurring theme)- as she always looks so exhausted, poor love, and now I am worried that it is in no small part due to my leaving the TV on in the early hours on a "School" night.
So there we were, her reprimanding severely, and me apologising profusely, her knackered and me a little tipsy, in not-our-mother-tongues. Oddly enough, for someone complaining re not managing to fall asleep, she was fully dressed. This was additionally perplexing in view of her clothing habits as I have witnessed over the last few months: be it in the stairwell, street, or supermarket, "scantilly clad" has almost never sufficed in describing her attire, even in the deep midwinter. One Saturday she even answered her door wearing a smile and not much else- who knows, maybe that was how she kept warm back in the Former Soviet Union? Mine is not to reason why.
Generally, I try to be considerate to building-mates when throwing parties, something I do semi-regularly in order to facilitate actually seeing my friends' faces at least once a year. I underwent intensive training in Apartment-Block consideration at my previous living situation, when I had the misfortune of sharing an apartment above a deranged woman who claimed she was a former Police Chief, and would pound on the door in the wee hours threatening immediate arrest for a plethora of creative reasons, the most popular of which was that someone had inadvertently walked across the kitchen floor with shoes on. She once stopped one of my (religious, nb) roommates in the stairwell with the following classic: "How many of you live up there? Three? Just Girls? Are you married? Then how do you explain the eight different men that have visited your apartment since Sunday, some of them repeatedly- and two after dark!" Another time, she dragged the octogenerian chairwoman of the Housing Committee up to our apartment in order to witness a torrid confession from me: apparently, I had been entertaining a gentleman in the garden below her balcony the night before, causing her insomnia. Fortunately, the fact that I was in AUSTRALIA at the time of her accusations forced her to drop those particular charges. Ahh, the good old days. Wonder who she terrorizes now.
Anyway. Fearful of deja-knocks, I grovelled appropriately last night, in fact, probably, more than was necessary- the guilt re my alleged role in her sleep deprivation will hopefully subside sooner rather than later. Not that I even like this woman much: she isn't very friendly, her dog has severe personality issues, her kid cries too much, and even notwithstanding such salient contributing factors, I hate her anyway, because she replaced the very cute, unfortunately departed boy-next-door whose proximity took borrowing cups of sugar to a whole new level. Obviously, he was a mere blip in the Universe's plan to have me holed up next to freakazoids for the duration of my renting life: Maybe this is a sign that the time has come to consider purchasing a nice remote property up a mountain, where I can hold noisy parties and annoy noone save some sleeping bunny rabbits. If I calculate according to my current salary, we'll be ready for the housewarming in for early 2035. Pencil it in!
So there we were, her reprimanding severely, and me apologising profusely, her knackered and me a little tipsy, in not-our-mother-tongues. Oddly enough, for someone complaining re not managing to fall asleep, she was fully dressed. This was additionally perplexing in view of her clothing habits as I have witnessed over the last few months: be it in the stairwell, street, or supermarket, "scantilly clad" has almost never sufficed in describing her attire, even in the deep midwinter. One Saturday she even answered her door wearing a smile and not much else- who knows, maybe that was how she kept warm back in the Former Soviet Union? Mine is not to reason why.
Generally, I try to be considerate to building-mates when throwing parties, something I do semi-regularly in order to facilitate actually seeing my friends' faces at least once a year. I underwent intensive training in Apartment-Block consideration at my previous living situation, when I had the misfortune of sharing an apartment above a deranged woman who claimed she was a former Police Chief, and would pound on the door in the wee hours threatening immediate arrest for a plethora of creative reasons, the most popular of which was that someone had inadvertently walked across the kitchen floor with shoes on. She once stopped one of my (religious, nb) roommates in the stairwell with the following classic: "How many of you live up there? Three? Just Girls? Are you married? Then how do you explain the eight different men that have visited your apartment since Sunday, some of them repeatedly- and two after dark!" Another time, she dragged the octogenerian chairwoman of the Housing Committee up to our apartment in order to witness a torrid confession from me: apparently, I had been entertaining a gentleman in the garden below her balcony the night before, causing her insomnia. Fortunately, the fact that I was in AUSTRALIA at the time of her accusations forced her to drop those particular charges. Ahh, the good old days. Wonder who she terrorizes now.
Anyway. Fearful of deja-knocks, I grovelled appropriately last night, in fact, probably, more than was necessary- the guilt re my alleged role in her sleep deprivation will hopefully subside sooner rather than later. Not that I even like this woman much: she isn't very friendly, her dog has severe personality issues, her kid cries too much, and even notwithstanding such salient contributing factors, I hate her anyway, because she replaced the very cute, unfortunately departed boy-next-door whose proximity took borrowing cups of sugar to a whole new level. Obviously, he was a mere blip in the Universe's plan to have me holed up next to freakazoids for the duration of my renting life: Maybe this is a sign that the time has come to consider purchasing a nice remote property up a mountain, where I can hold noisy parties and annoy noone save some sleeping bunny rabbits. If I calculate according to my current salary, we'll be ready for the housewarming in for early 2035. Pencil it in!
posted by tafka PP @ 4:09 AM
2 Comments:
At 6:59 PM,
Gilly said…
I'm busy in 2035 - could you put it off a year?
At 2:49 PM,
Gila said…
Was your flock getting a bit too boistrous then? Should have penned them in! (insert evil chuckle here)
It is a shame you did not take more advantage of the crazed snoop. Next time that happens (assuming that the crazy neighbor thing is a continuing trend), consider looking her straight in the eye and saying "why, yes, we are running a dati brothel. But it is all non-for-profit; we want to help dati men reduce their stress as much as possible so that they can focus fully in their study of the holy Torah. Would you be willing to help us in this quest? All it would take is a simple donation of some of your time in providing services? Or money, so we can buy the pot for the super-relaxing hash brownies. Those poor dears, you cannot imagine what they go through!" And here is the best part, since it is non-profit (not a business) and clearly holy and wholesome, THERE IS NOTHING SHE CAN DO!
Really, I am surprised at your lack of creativity. Would have expected more from you.
Love, one of the crazed flock
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