I thought it's been quiet the past few days. I found out why: The TJ Underground Railroad moved out over the weekend.
I live in an outwardly nice, normal sort of neighborhood. Reasonably clean buildings, no chain link fences or pit bulls straining at the leash.
But live here a while and you get to see the John Waters side of life.
The Skank and The Tank: They live in the building across the way. The frame suits the name- one is an extremely skinny, one-shot-from-the-Keith-Richards-Hall-Of-Fame androgynoid and the other is an immensely obese, slightly bald woman in a terminally stained caftan. They have screaming fights in the parking lot on a regular basis. Lots of arm waving, nose to nose ranting, stomping and wailing.
I have no idea what they fight about. I can't speak Tagalog.
Kappa Kappa Hoochie: Downstairs and over used to house a couple with an increasing (on a rabbit-like basis) brood. They finally moved out and in moved the sorority girls. I think only two of the women actually are on the lease, but apparently word got around campus that there was a terminal case of keggeritis and everyone showed up... and stayed.
They are the most popular Britney/Christina/Lil Kim fashion clones, dressing for suckcess. One weekday evening, I counted over 25 young men in various stages of shitfacedness stumble in. Only 12 stumbled out.
Perhaps it's like a Horny Guy version of the roach motel: frat boys check in but they don't check out.
Dainbramage: This is my downstairs neighbor, the one with more stereo than sense. After trying several methods of dealing with her noise (talking to her, reasoning with her, standing on a table and dropping a five pound mallet on the floor above her), I got tired of rehanging my pictures shaken off the walls by the megabass of her musical passion and narc'd her out to management. Her response to them was that she didn't think it was that loud and didn't have to turn it down. Their response was that's not how it works, and you are one complaint away from eviction.
It worked. Lovely quiet.
Ah, the power of rent paid promptly.
Last but not least, the TJ Underground Railroad: TJ, as in Tiajuana, as it just down the jump-the-fence road. Originally, there were three guys living across the hall. Then there were five. Then eight, four with wives and at least three kids each. I found out when I took them some misdelivered mail that none of them spoke any English and opened the door only after everyone in the apartment had peeked at me through the blinds and approved me as non-federale.
The cast rotated constantly. Fat lady with two screaming toddlers moved out, skinny boy with three shaven-headed friends moved in. Stir, rinse, repeat.
Last weekend, under cover of night, everyone and everything in the apartment disappeared.
I guess their drivers' licenses finally arrived.