On my way out of my apartment building, I passed a room blaring some bumpin' pop radio song accompanied by what I would guess maybe 4 girls talking at once. We could assume there were a couple silent ones in there too. Which brings many burning questions to mind.
Maybe I need to provide a little background info about my apartment first. I reside in a tiny, overpriced studio in the middle of Boston. The building has about 25 identical units. It has what could pass for a kitchen including a small fridge and stove (the stove about the size of the plastic toy one Becky and I received one Christmas many years ago). The "living area", I guess you'd call it, has my bed, a table, dresser, and keyboard all lining the available walls. I have a bathroom, too, but it doesn't really add to my point unless some of the girls are indeed hanging out in the bathroom...being that it is only 7:00pm, I doubt that is yet the case. Aaaaand...that's about it. It's extremely small.
This isn't the first time a party is thrown in my building. There is one apartment a floor up that has regular parties at least once a week. Here are the questions I have for the studio apartment partiers:
1. How do you all fit in there? Are you all sitting down? On what? Standing? If so, where? In the middle of the room surrounded by someone else's dirty clothes and bed sheets? The parties I attended at school were in houses, big apartments..not some dinky studio. We had room to stretch out and do keg stands (Sadly, I did not partake in the traditional keg stand not necessarily for fear of getting drunk; but more for the fear of kicking someone in the face, choking, being dropped, or the possibility that gravity would take my shirt in a direction unintended. Yet, it was a risk many an Iowan took.)
2. By the time I hear the third explosion of breaking glass, was it on purpose? Wait, is that macho? Do ladies fall for the loud, drunk guy who shattered their beer bottle with one energetic toss? Maybe he is showing off his perfect baseball pitch he had in high school. Or perhaps a football throw would be better form...I never was one for sports. Anyway, call me weird, but I was always more attracted to the guy who set out a box for recycling the beer bottles at parties.
3. What exactly was that loud thing you just yelled?
Anyway, I don't really want the answers to these questions. I just want you to party elsewhere.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The Many Sleeping LeAnns
There are a few times in my life where I have dreams so vivid, I can't discern them from reality or my mind.
Did I really sign the little book label on my iPad case? Upon glancing up, I see that I didn't. Ex Libris:___________. In all honesty, signing that label would give me a great pleasure just as writing my name all over my sheet music and books did ten years ago, but I never remember feeling satisfied with my handwriting in the end. Today, it scares me to violate anything with a signature I'm unhappy with. But it has to be pen. That's a rule, right? Permanent pen. But every time I open the cover and see that little label sticker, my name is absent and it feels incomplete. What feels incomplete? I don't even know...something does.
They're odd, though. Dreams.
I am many people in my dreams. Sometimes I'm a sad, blubbering idiot. Unable to speak except at only an inaudible whisper; losing my teeth and causing quite an ugly spectacle of myself. Many times in these dreams I can't climb a hill or run without using my arms to help. Even in my dream I know that's ridiculous and try to run on only my two legs, only to fail and have to drop back down for the aid of my arms.
Sometimes I'm heroic and happy. Able to fly; soar up into the clouds after one great leap! Although, many times (still dreaming, of course) when I think about the flying too much, I forget how to do it effortlessly and it takes many leaps to get it right. Sometimes I try to teach my sister to fly. I've saved others from drowning and can effortlessly outrun any demons. It has been awhile since I've been such a person when sleeping.
Lately, I've just had real-life dreams though. Signing my iPad case in my sleep with my favorite pen. Oddly, I don't even remember if I liked the signature...
Did I really sign the little book label on my iPad case? Upon glancing up, I see that I didn't. Ex Libris:___________. In all honesty, signing that label would give me a great pleasure just as writing my name all over my sheet music and books did ten years ago, but I never remember feeling satisfied with my handwriting in the end. Today, it scares me to violate anything with a signature I'm unhappy with. But it has to be pen. That's a rule, right? Permanent pen. But every time I open the cover and see that little label sticker, my name is absent and it feels incomplete. What feels incomplete? I don't even know...something does.
They're odd, though. Dreams.
I am many people in my dreams. Sometimes I'm a sad, blubbering idiot. Unable to speak except at only an inaudible whisper; losing my teeth and causing quite an ugly spectacle of myself. Many times in these dreams I can't climb a hill or run without using my arms to help. Even in my dream I know that's ridiculous and try to run on only my two legs, only to fail and have to drop back down for the aid of my arms.
Sometimes I'm heroic and happy. Able to fly; soar up into the clouds after one great leap! Although, many times (still dreaming, of course) when I think about the flying too much, I forget how to do it effortlessly and it takes many leaps to get it right. Sometimes I try to teach my sister to fly. I've saved others from drowning and can effortlessly outrun any demons. It has been awhile since I've been such a person when sleeping.
Lately, I've just had real-life dreams though. Signing my iPad case in my sleep with my favorite pen. Oddly, I don't even remember if I liked the signature...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Hypothesis on a Real-Life Issue.
This morning I got some breakfast at Whole Foods by Berkley. I was sitting by the window with kind of a gross egg and cheese sandwich that was not at all what I expected and a coffee. People watching. A man walked by with his small dog. The dog peed on the back wheel of my bike and then trotted on. My tiny disdain for small dogs just slightly increased. Now when I ride my bike around the city I wonder if dogs smell me as I go by. A moving fire hydrant.
When I got home, I decided to run a test. I grabbed my pudgy snugglepants kitty and stuck her head by my back wheel and moved her around the wheel in a circular motion; her nose close to the rim at all times. She didn't act out of the ordinary; just sat in my hands going around and around. I wonder what she thought of the drill, if she thought anything of it at all. Her lack of interest in any part of the wheel brought me to two conclusions: either dogs urinate on my bike often and it's nothing out of the ordinary, or perhaps it was a false alarm and the dog lifted his leg but decided not to go through with the deed. I'll assume the latter.
When I got home, I decided to run a test. I grabbed my pudgy snugglepants kitty and stuck her head by my back wheel and moved her around the wheel in a circular motion; her nose close to the rim at all times. She didn't act out of the ordinary; just sat in my hands going around and around. I wonder what she thought of the drill, if she thought anything of it at all. Her lack of interest in any part of the wheel brought me to two conclusions: either dogs urinate on my bike often and it's nothing out of the ordinary, or perhaps it was a false alarm and the dog lifted his leg but decided not to go through with the deed. I'll assume the latter.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
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