Leaving Behind the Infection

Several updates that may or may not excite you. More than likely it's the latter.

Let me tell you a story about moving. We've done it...again. It's a little simpler than other living venue changes, but the big part is yet to come. We've left behind the 8th floor of the Madison Apartments; here in Hollywood. Like the Jeffersons, we too have moved up...2 floors to be exact. Exactly 2 floors above. A few wonderful things about this change. We have a dishwasher. We have hardwood floors (or some sort of non-carpet, manufactured something-or-other type situation). We have approximately double the space we had in our studio; and we have a one-bedroom layout now. SEPARATE ROOMS. What a novel idea! We now have a view of downtown LA (if we could ever get a decent sunny day!). And be not worried Facebook friends, we have also kept our spectacular Oscar behind-the-scenes location...just two floors higher. Thus, my frequent, almost-irritating updates of things you really don't care about, will not be interrupted this coming award season.

Of particular note, we have left behind the "infected" woman sharing our walls on the 8th floor.

For those who don't follow Facebook, or avoid my status updates altogether, you should know that last week we were awoken not once, but TWICE, by our new neighbor. Once @ midnight (or thereabouts) and once @ 2am (within 3 days of each other)...Called the cops twice (they showed up the first time). The woman was yelling, crying and pounding...at the aforementioned UNGODLY hours of the night. The second time, since we now knew she wasn't being butchered or turned into some sort of horrible "human centipede", by some wretched, crazed German scientist, we took it upon ourselves to put on clothes which would allow us to appear decent in polite society @ 2am, and knocked on her door; only to have her "issues" continue...our pounding inquiries unanswered. We called the cops this second time around, basically to lodge a noise complaint. A few moments after our knocking, she left her unit. We approached her, asking (in a nice huffy tone), "What is going on next door?" Of course, as with all psychotic freakish neighbors, SHE was the victim, and was apparently "having a fight" and "didn't need this". We advised her that we didn't appreciate being woken up @ 2 am, and she retaliated with, "I don't appreciate you calling the cops on me." She then promptly stormed down the hallway and out the staircase door. (We held the elevator in order to find out what was going on--she then tried to exit via the stairs--through another apartment door--full deck, folks). Anyway, we called the cops to let them know she had left, and there was no need to check in on her.

Sooo, the next day, the other half sees her in the lobby with her father. The "infected" woman and the other half exchange haughty glances. She says to her father; in Spanish..."That's him." The father gets in the other half's face, accusing him of "threatening his daughter."

NOTE: Gimme a break.

Back to the story. In a RARE moment of civility and poise, the other half doesn't reply w/ anger; but rather a calm soothing tone. I'm told that by the end of the conversation, and post-other-half-psycho-babble (he does have a Masters Degree in Psychology--let it be known--be aware) that the father was thanking the other half for his help. The "infected" girl (this is where I kinda/sorta feel a bit guilty) is actually only 19, and has a history of mental issues, and has tried to commit suicide a number of times.

Let me take a break here. Who decided it would be a super-good idea for a suicidal teenager to live alone in a high-rise building on the 8th floor with a balcony? Um, yeah...

Anyway, they apologized for the noise and the disturbances, etc. The other half coached her about the boyfriend she is currently with; apparently the one making her have her tantrums @ 2am.

Thin walls, people.

The pounding which was the first part of the tantrum to wake us (TWICE) from a dead sleep, was her stamping her feet; like a 2 year old. Neat.

So, two days later, we were moved up two floors, and not a moment to soon; for my money. I wouldn't want to be next door to her apartment on the evening she gets some really bad news from her apparently manipulative boyfriend. I'll call the cops on my dime, but I don't want them surrounding my building on the ground floor for cleanup; if you catch my drift.

BTW, one of the cops from the night they actually showed up...was SUPER HOT.

Finally, where does the "infected" terminology come from? Here's that info.

We were awoken by our neighbor to her pounding, crying and yelling. So we called the cops.

Not a week before, the other half and I watched Quarantine and REC (REC is the original--Quarantine is the US remake--not much difference between the two). Two pseudo-zombie/infected person movies which I had been dying to see. They were both super good and I highly recommend them. Anyway, the opening of the film is a camera crew following some firefighters, who get called to an apartment building. A neighbor has called about a disturbance. A neighbor has woken them in the middle of the night. They heard POUNDING, CRYING AND YELLING. Need I say more?

Zombies are ALWAYS in the forefront of my mind and imagination. But you have to admit, that was some weird timing; w/ those films so fresh in my memory? Am I right?

So anyway, we have a larger, more updated place, and we are two floors away from the "infected" woman.

We will be receiving the rest of our belongings (you'll recall that all of our kept stuff from Chicago is still sitting in storage in Phoenix--remember that Phoenix fiasco?) in the next couple of weeks, and then we will have all of our belongings with us. No doubt there will be another purge of "stuff" since we've managed to live the past two years w/out all of it. So, let's rid ourselves of some more weight.

We are SUPER-THRILLED to be in a new, larger space; and expect to be here for a while.

After 2+ years in LA, we're finally settling in; and dammit--IT FEELS GOOD.

Night y'all.