This is Steve Gutenberg. Star of the Police Academy series, he has been black balled from acting. Please don't black ball me from blogging.
So, I have been gone for a while. Well, actually, I haven't gone anywhere. In fact, over the past month I have spent more time in my apartment than I have in years. Unfortunately, much of this time was spent spiraling in and out of a mental breakdown and questioning my existence and the meaning of life. There was also an entire day spent fighting with a series of Indian men who work for Dell. I think if Dell hired Native Americans instead of Indian people to do phone-based tech support the world would be a better place. That is neither here nor there.
Anyway, I won't get in to the details surrounding the many days of self exploration I spent here as it is not worth it to relive. Just know that there were times when I was considering killing the blog- murdering it in a painful, graphic way, perhaps as a metaphor for my own existence. After going weeks with seemingly no one noticing that I had stopped writing someone finally addressed the elephant in the room and asked why.
"Because I don't feel like it any more and I don't want to half-ass it," I said.
"Well, I'm bored at work now and no one knows you are half-assing it anyway. You should at last say 'goodbye.'"
Point taken. So, I thought about it for a few more days and decided to go back to it. I can't even really say why I stopped. I think I just lost motivation. Figured there was no longer a blogging audience and realized Goggle never sent me my ad money, all $37 of it. So screw 'em. There were a few distinct instances that made me question why I was doing this and made me want to stop. At one point I was sure that the blog was just another tool for the government to peer in to my life and steal my money, identity and livelihood. But that was just because Monica's car was towed from in front of our house and it freaked me out. It still freaks me out. I never much trusted the police, and now I don't trust tow truck drivers, either.
At some point during all this mess I realized that I am not motivated by anything remotely relevant anyway so I should probably not let things influence what is apparently enjoyable to others. So I will continue to write the blog for you, the reader. Because I love you. Well, some of you. Some of you I could take or leave. Maybe I don't know some of you, either, so I have no feelings toward you. Wait. Gratitude. I feel gratitude, thank you... I know, there is an awful lot that goes on in such a largely unproductive brain.
One benefit to all of this that I think I have inadvertently written a TV pilot in my head. It is based on some sort of fictional parody of myself that leads a simple yet twisted and unrealistic life. I didn't know I was writing a TV pilot at the time, I thought I was just carving some sort of delusional path for myself. Does that make sense? It probably shouldn't. Don't worry about it, I am not going to pursue it anyway.
So, after all of that, here we are. March 8. The first day of the rest of your blog-reading life. I hope that at least a few of you who used to enjoy the blog are still around. Here are a few updates to recap before we get started.
Av turned two a few weeks ago. A pretty straightforward, uneventful party in which the highlight for most was her writhing in pain as she tried to poop but was too constipated and had a small cut on the inside of her ass that apparently prevented her from pushing the poop out. This problem has since been solved. We now have something called the 'poop high five' as a result. The presents were great, the company was nice and the food was enjoyable. She now thinks that everyone wearing a triangular, pointed hat is celebrating a birthday. She is usually right.
We did have to go to Chuck E. Cheese though. There I learned four important things. 1. That place is much, much cleaner than it was when I was a kid. 2. Chuck E. Cheese's full name is Charles Entertainment Cheese. Really. 3. Birthday parties are cruel, mean, heartless and unsavory for any child who is not there to have or attend a party. They pretty much just rub it in your face, bring out the mouse and don't let you near them. 4. Chuck E. Cheese is miserable for adults. I mean miserable.
Av has flung herself head first in to the terrible two's. She is routinely deceptive, disobedient and fresh. Somehow this is still a bit charming and adorable, although I find myself cleaning up a lot more messes and I find her inching closer and closer to catastrophic injury with every step. She speaks in full sentences now which is hilarious, and she can now identify 'crotch' as a part of the body.
We still do many of the same things that we have always done. Target, Kitty Store, Monkey Joe's, Walmart, art class and the like. She still makes scenes in public places when she doesn't get her way, but she understands the concept of getting in trouble now, which is helpful.
As for me, the restaurant I work for has been closed for six weeks to complete a renovation that was supposed to take a month. They refused us unemployment on the basis that we would be given shifts at another location, which has happened for exactly three of those six weeks. That is all I am going to say about it because my blood pressure too is already to high today and I don't want to get fired over a blog post. If you want my personal thoughts on the rest, meet me at a bar, buy me a beer (because I can't afford my own) and just ask. I'll go in to explicit detail.
I am also still freelancing, which pays at most $40 per article, but for some reason it still exists in my world. I think it is because I like the guy I work for. Or maybe it is because I sat in my house for two weeks with nothing to do. That is a portion of my turmoil.
I will not speak of this turmoil and anxiety any more as we all have our problems and this is not a forum to address those. I should be back to work by next week, so I am optimistic. Although, I said that last week, too, so who the hell knows.
At this point we will be going forward with the blog with little to no mention of these very dark, inactive two months. Enjoy.
Living directly above an insane person
Today we are not going to discuss Av's antics because she hasn't done anything that stands out to me in the past few days. I am sure we will have plenty of experiences as the warm weather returns. She has done little but watch TV and wipe snot on everyone for the past few days anyway.
Instead, I feel I need to share the saga of the downstairs neighbor. I am sure you all remember Crazy and her adult skateboarding boyfriend who smoke weed and listen to Radiohead all day long. Their lives are exactly the same. No one works. They make a ton of noise, they smoke a ton of weed and they are shifty. Unfortunately for me, I have had way, way to much contact with them over the past four weeks.
About three weeks ago I get a knock on the door around 8 a.m. Standing there in tears is Crazy, breathing deeply and very upset.
"Steven is in the hospital," she said. "And I don't have any childcare."
Mind you, this was a Tuesday. A school day. Her daughters are 12 and 8. She also doesn't have a job. Anyway, she didn't ask me to take care of them, she just told me that they were downstairs and asked if I was going to be home and if I could be available if there was an emergency. Ummm. Ok? I explained to her that I was taking the baby to her art class and I would be gone for an hour or so. Apparently this was ok. Let's hope there is no emergency between 9-10 a.m. Wouldn't want to hold two bedside vigils.
Later I would find out that the adult skateboarding boyfriend was in the hospital to get thyroid removed. A scary thing indeed. Apparently, so scary that she needed to hold a bedside vigil and keep her daughters out of school. Anyway, may makeshift supervision lasted for two days, and I didn't encounter either of them until well in to the second. I pondered for a little bit going to check on them, but I wasn't going to overstep my boundaries.
About noon on the second day I got a knock. It was the little one, and she informed me that she needed to 'take shy for a walk.' I was confused as to what that meant. Then I remembered that they had a dog. Which is apparently named 'shy.' Which is a really, really fucking stupid name... So, I had to stand at the top of the stairs as the girls let the dog walk down the sidewalk for about three minutes, then they said 'thanks' and went inside. This made me wonder. 'How long had it been since they walked the dog? They never asked for my help yesterday.' Poor thing probably just poops on the floor and eats it again because they don't feed him. Ok, that is a bit dramatic, but you see my point.
A few minutes later there was another knock. The little one.
'Can we come up and hang out for a bit, we're bored.'
Now, I wanted nothing to do with this. At all. I learned a long time ago that a 27-year-old man should have nothing to do with middle school girls in his apartment. Ever. But I felt bad that they have been abandoned by their crazy mother so I said OK. Hey, I have a baby. The girl went downstairs and disappeared. Ten minutes later I'm confused. Where are they? Are they coming up or not? Then I get a second knock.
'My mom said no,' said the girl, crying.
'Oh, Ok. Are you guys hungry? Do you want some lunch? Did you eat.'
She just nodded her teary head and left.
Adult Skateboarder came home the next day, giant, uncovered slash in his throat, looking like death warmed over. he talked to me for a half hour in the back hallway, clearly all lit up on painkillers, and still smelling like a hospital. Crazy never came up to thank me.
Fast forward about two weeks. Adult Skateboarder has recovered, everything is back to normal. I get another knock. It is 8:30 a.m. I am getting the baby dressed. We have to leave in a few minutes. It is her birthday.
Crazy is standing at the door.
'I just crunched your bumper.'
Ok, you hit my car. Cool. It was parked in front of the house on the street along with about 10 others. How bad could it be? Probably just scraped my bumper.
"Ok, how bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. Can you just come look?"
So I take the baby outside, screaming at me 'no lady, no lady, no outside, back inside, peanut butter toast!'
It is freezing out. I look at the car. Crazy's bumper is cracked up, my license plate is bent in half and my Commonwealth Motors license plate cover is broken. Ok, no big deal. I don't drive a Mercedes and that dealership sucks anyway.
"Its fine," I said. "No worries."
"Ok, well if you need any insurance info just knock."
Cool. A little while later we go to leave and I looked at it a little bit more closely. Behind the bent license plate was a hole. A massive, gaping hole. There was a crack from one side of the bumper to the other and my trunk didn't open. Jesus. How f-ing hard did she hit me?
So, I knock on the door. Might I remind you that she is unemployed. Her car is out front. The TV is on, the dog is barking. Nothing. Ok, cool. Maybe she is in the shower. I left, came back and did the same thing. This time I can hear her moving around. Nothing. This went on for two days.
You know it is me. You know why I am knocking. You know I know where you live, what you drive your license plate number and your name. Give. Me. A. Break. I am not the census taker.
Finally, I called the insurance company. I didn't want to wait any more because insurance companies are evil. I told them the situation and they told me I should report it to the police. 'Please,' I said. 'Please do not make me call the police on my neighbor. She admitted to it. She is just crazy and she smokes a lot of pot.' Imagine what would happen if I called the police? Jesus, what a mess.
In a shocking turn of events the insurance company did just that. Filed the claim and sent me a check. Cool. That was two weeks ago. My ride is getting fixed now and the process is almost done. I still have not seen any of them. Not Crazy. Not Adult Skateboarder. Not the girls. None of them. If They hear me coming down the stairs the rush in to the house. If we pull up at the same time they wait until I am inside. I may never have to speak to them again...
So, that is my story. That is what I've been dealing with from them. Add that to the work issues, the computer issues, the terrible twos and the cold, wet, terrible weather that plagued us all winter and I am a shell of a man. I'm digging out of the rut though. Today the sun is out. It is 35 degrees, but the sun is out. Baby steps.
Instead, I feel I need to share the saga of the downstairs neighbor. I am sure you all remember Crazy and her adult skateboarding boyfriend who smoke weed and listen to Radiohead all day long. Their lives are exactly the same. No one works. They make a ton of noise, they smoke a ton of weed and they are shifty. Unfortunately for me, I have had way, way to much contact with them over the past four weeks.
About three weeks ago I get a knock on the door around 8 a.m. Standing there in tears is Crazy, breathing deeply and very upset.
"Steven is in the hospital," she said. "And I don't have any childcare."
Mind you, this was a Tuesday. A school day. Her daughters are 12 and 8. She also doesn't have a job. Anyway, she didn't ask me to take care of them, she just told me that they were downstairs and asked if I was going to be home and if I could be available if there was an emergency. Ummm. Ok? I explained to her that I was taking the baby to her art class and I would be gone for an hour or so. Apparently this was ok. Let's hope there is no emergency between 9-10 a.m. Wouldn't want to hold two bedside vigils.
Later I would find out that the adult skateboarding boyfriend was in the hospital to get thyroid removed. A scary thing indeed. Apparently, so scary that she needed to hold a bedside vigil and keep her daughters out of school. Anyway, may makeshift supervision lasted for two days, and I didn't encounter either of them until well in to the second. I pondered for a little bit going to check on them, but I wasn't going to overstep my boundaries.
About noon on the second day I got a knock. It was the little one, and she informed me that she needed to 'take shy for a walk.' I was confused as to what that meant. Then I remembered that they had a dog. Which is apparently named 'shy.' Which is a really, really fucking stupid name... So, I had to stand at the top of the stairs as the girls let the dog walk down the sidewalk for about three minutes, then they said 'thanks' and went inside. This made me wonder. 'How long had it been since they walked the dog? They never asked for my help yesterday.' Poor thing probably just poops on the floor and eats it again because they don't feed him. Ok, that is a bit dramatic, but you see my point.
A few minutes later there was another knock. The little one.
'Can we come up and hang out for a bit, we're bored.'
Now, I wanted nothing to do with this. At all. I learned a long time ago that a 27-year-old man should have nothing to do with middle school girls in his apartment. Ever. But I felt bad that they have been abandoned by their crazy mother so I said OK. Hey, I have a baby. The girl went downstairs and disappeared. Ten minutes later I'm confused. Where are they? Are they coming up or not? Then I get a second knock.
'My mom said no,' said the girl, crying.
'Oh, Ok. Are you guys hungry? Do you want some lunch? Did you eat.'
She just nodded her teary head and left.
Adult Skateboarder came home the next day, giant, uncovered slash in his throat, looking like death warmed over. he talked to me for a half hour in the back hallway, clearly all lit up on painkillers, and still smelling like a hospital. Crazy never came up to thank me.
Fast forward about two weeks. Adult Skateboarder has recovered, everything is back to normal. I get another knock. It is 8:30 a.m. I am getting the baby dressed. We have to leave in a few minutes. It is her birthday.
Crazy is standing at the door.
'I just crunched your bumper.'
Ok, you hit my car. Cool. It was parked in front of the house on the street along with about 10 others. How bad could it be? Probably just scraped my bumper.
"Ok, how bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. Can you just come look?"
So I take the baby outside, screaming at me 'no lady, no lady, no outside, back inside, peanut butter toast!'
It is freezing out. I look at the car. Crazy's bumper is cracked up, my license plate is bent in half and my Commonwealth Motors license plate cover is broken. Ok, no big deal. I don't drive a Mercedes and that dealership sucks anyway.
"Its fine," I said. "No worries."
"Ok, well if you need any insurance info just knock."
Cool. A little while later we go to leave and I looked at it a little bit more closely. Behind the bent license plate was a hole. A massive, gaping hole. There was a crack from one side of the bumper to the other and my trunk didn't open. Jesus. How f-ing hard did she hit me?
So, I knock on the door. Might I remind you that she is unemployed. Her car is out front. The TV is on, the dog is barking. Nothing. Ok, cool. Maybe she is in the shower. I left, came back and did the same thing. This time I can hear her moving around. Nothing. This went on for two days.
You know it is me. You know why I am knocking. You know I know where you live, what you drive your license plate number and your name. Give. Me. A. Break. I am not the census taker.
Finally, I called the insurance company. I didn't want to wait any more because insurance companies are evil. I told them the situation and they told me I should report it to the police. 'Please,' I said. 'Please do not make me call the police on my neighbor. She admitted to it. She is just crazy and she smokes a lot of pot.' Imagine what would happen if I called the police? Jesus, what a mess.
In a shocking turn of events the insurance company did just that. Filed the claim and sent me a check. Cool. That was two weeks ago. My ride is getting fixed now and the process is almost done. I still have not seen any of them. Not Crazy. Not Adult Skateboarder. Not the girls. None of them. If They hear me coming down the stairs the rush in to the house. If we pull up at the same time they wait until I am inside. I may never have to speak to them again...
So, that is my story. That is what I've been dealing with from them. Add that to the work issues, the computer issues, the terrible twos and the cold, wet, terrible weather that plagued us all winter and I am a shell of a man. I'm digging out of the rut though. Today the sun is out. It is 35 degrees, but the sun is out. Baby steps.
...
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