What I've Been Doing During My Summer Vacation, Or, Why I Named Squirrels and Argued with a Goose

Before the pandemic gripped the world, I was already counting the weeks to summer.  Since I have a full-time college teaching job and a part-time job for a website, I work seven days a week with no time off for months at a time during the school year. One of the perks of being a teacher is that you get summers off, although I still technically work at my website job and do scholarly research during the summer.

Chicago, which will always be home to me, is very far away from College Town. I usually take a train there and stay at a relative's apartment for a few days during the summer so that I can attend neighborhood festivals, go to museums, eat Chicago-style hot dogs, and yell, "If you try to touch me again, you're going to LOSE that hand, freak show!" at creeps on the El.

However, due to the pandemic, all the Chicago festivals have been cancelled, and the museums have been closed for months. Since it's a big city where the majority of people rely on public transportation, and the streets are typically crowded, I'd basically have to wear a face mask all day. And even though I'd never be one of those people who throw food and scream at workers in grocery stores because they don't want to wear masks, I dislike wearing the masks too. (I still wear a face mask when I'm out in public though because literally every business in College Town prevents people from entering unless their faces are covered.) Also, the relative whose Chicago apartment I stay in while I'm there is a medical professional who treats coronavirus patients on a regular basis, so I don't feel safe going there right now.

I planned to at least get some scholarly research done so that I could finish an article that I've been working on and then try to get it published in a scholarly journal. Academia operates on the "publish or perish" motto, meaning if you don't publish scholarly articles and books, you won't be able to advance in your career. But the library at the college where I teach is still closed for the foreseeable future.

I feel like I've been cheated out of fully enjoying my summer break, but I try not to let it get to me too much. Therefore, I've had to come up with some other ways to fill up my time in College Town. Other than my website job, here is what I've been doing:

1. My gym has been closed for months, so I've been taking long walks outside for exercise almost every day. I usually walk around and around a park near my apartment, keeping track of the number of steps I take on my pedometer, until I get to at least 10,000 steps. I like to listen to music, podcasts, and audiobooks (I'm currently listening to Great Expectations by Charles Dickens) on my iPod as I walk. If no one's around, I like to sing along to the music on my headphones. I've been listening to a lot of rap and hip hop lately, so if you see a thirtysomething college professor rapping  "Bad and Boujee" by Migos during an early morning walk in the park, that's probably me.


Whenever someone jogs, bikes, or walks by, I quickly step six feet away from them or put my face mask on. I'm not the only one who does this; most of the people in College Town have been careful about social distancing, and some of them will even cross the street to avoid walking on the same sidewalk as others.

But one guy in the park got mad and screamed insults at me when I stepped away from him as he approached in the opposite direction; he must have taken it as a personal rejection. I responded, "I'm social distancing, B--H!" And then I walked backwards for a while so that I could glare at him while holding up a certain finger because you can take the girl out of Chicago, but you can't take the Chicago out of the girl. He didn't bother me again after that.

2. I belong to three different Meetup groups, but they haven't organized any events this summer because of social distancing. Anyway, there are few places we would have been able to go; most of the restaurants and coffee shops in College Town still won't allow indoor dining, even though it's technically allowed now in my state.

Other than using Zoom and texts to communicate with friends, I haven't had any social interaction in months, which is why I've started talking to the animals I see during my walks. I even named the squirrels I saw climbing trees; I gave them names like Lucy, Jimmy, and Thor. There are also geese swimming in a small pond in the park, and I named them too. One of them hissed at me when I got too close, and I responded, "Oh yeah? Well, I don't like you either, Maleficent!" I also now fully understand why Tom Hanks had conversations with the volleyball that he named Wilson when he played that guy who was stranded on a deserted island in the movie Cast Away. 

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3. I make up stories about the people I see at the park. I often see the same small group of elderly women sitting together at the park, although they sit far away from each other and wear masks while they're talking. I think to myself that maybe they're old friends who've known each other since childhood, a book club, a group of semiretired bank robbers planning one last heist, or a coven of elderly witches who've been inspired by the movie Hocus Pocus to steal the youth of the children at the park.

4. I still can't write in my favorite coffee shops, but I can at least buy coffee and doughnuts to go and bring them home to enjoy as I write at my desk. I've been steadily plugging away at my manuscript, Obsessions of a Workaholic. I'm in the editing stage right now, and I also outlined the structure of my book on note cards that I hung up on the wall next to my desk.

5. My writing space is set up in front of my windows, which face the courtyard down below. My neighbors work out down there sometimes, but two of them like to blast death metal for hours as they work out. The music sounds like howler monkeys screeching at each other while playing the guitar. I opened my windows, put my speakers on the windowsill, and then started blasting "Oops! I Did It Again" by Britney Spears on repeat. The death metal lovers looked up and cringed, and I looked down at them defiantly as if to say, "I've got a lot more Britney where THAT came from!" And then I started doing the "Oops! I Did It Again" dance that Britney did in her video in front of my windows.


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For some unknown reason, they no longer work out down there, and I've been able to go back to working in peace (I only listen to Britney on my headphones now. But I WILL blast all of my Britney playlists - yes, I have more than one - if the death metal lovers come back).

6. Although the college library is closed, the public library in College Town is now providing curbside pickup, which has been a godsend because I spent too much time reading toxic b.s. on social media that made me want to throw away my phone and move into the cave that Tom Hanks' Cast Away character lived in so that I don't have to read all the reasons that people hate each other on the Internet. I've read many books since the library reopened for curbside pickup, and it feels good to read something that isn't for work for once.

So, other than reading library books, working at my website job, writing, and walking  in the park, it's been a pretty uneventful summer. What about you? What have you been up to this summer?

How to Be a Good Neighbor

1. Don't play electric guitar at 1:30 in the morning with your loser friends who are also playing electric guitar. This actually happened last night, to the point that I charged out of my apartment in my pajamas and asked them to keep it down. They responded by playing even LOUDER, which made me really wish that I could reenact that shower scene from Psycho.

2. Don't let your friends double-park their cars so that they're blocking your neighbors' cars. When I confronted my neighbors about doing this, they said, "We have guests. You have a driver's license; you figure it out." I responded by getting into my car and threatening to mow down their cars like I was at a monster truck rally, until they finally moved them.


3. Don't leave your trash on other people's patios. My neighbors keep doing this to me, so I picked up their trash and dropped it back on their patios, though I really wanted to use it to spell out the words "MOVE AWAY".


4. Lower your voice when you're outside with your friends. I've woken up at 2 A.M. multiple times, which is why I Googled "how to make people think their homes are haunted".


5. Don't park in your neighbors' spaces. I have told my loser neighbors not once, not twice, but TEN TIMES this past year to stay out of my space. If I let them park there, it's like I'm paying for their parking, which I'm not willing to do.


6. Don't leave your cigarette butts all over the parking lot. I want to use the cigarettes to spell out the words "YOUR HOME PLANET WANTS YOU BACK" in their parking spaces.


Do I sound a little high-strung right now? Maybe it's because I don't like being woken up at 1:30 in the morning by the sound of electric guitar and bad singing.


I think my neighbors' arrogant and inconsiderate behavior is partly due to the fact that the majority of them do not have jobs, so they don't understand that people who do work don't get to sleep until noon and stay up all night. Many of them are from different countries, and their governments and wealthy families provide free tuition and monthly stipends (of thousands of dollars). One of them has wrecked his car not once but twice and is now driving around a brand new $40,000 car (which he promptly dented in the third week). I've even seen maids going into their apartments, because God forbid they should learn to clean up for themselves.


Am I a little jealous? Maybe. I'm working two jobs just so I can pay my rent and debts and buy groceries, while they lounge around all day. They also have no respect for women, which would explain why they've been so nasty and disrespectful towards me. I finally went to my landlord today and told them that I would call the police (I found the local police number and put it on my phone) if those jerks played music that late again. For once, my landlord backed me up and said that I had every right to do so.


The only reason I don't just move is because I'm on a one-year lease; I'm within walking distance of campus; the rent is cheap; the apartment (aside from my loser neighbors) is nicer than any that I've ever lived in; I can't afford another move right now.


What about you? Have you ever had inconsiderate or rude neighbors? How did you deal with them?


By the way, sorry I've been MIA lately. My computer is broken, so I apologize if I can't get back to everyone right away. I have to use the computers at school until mine is fixed.

I Think Karma Is Broken

Recently, I was walking past a doctor's office when I found a debit card on the ground. For a moment, visions of paid bills and Prada bags danced through my head. But I didn't use the card, of course. I made sure that the bank listed on the card was alerted that the card had been found. After all, if I had tried to use the card, it could have gotten traced back to me. Then there would have been visions of me in a prison jumpsuit dancing through my head, only they wouldn't just be visions; they'd be reality.

Once I found a Kindle. This was before I had the money to buy my own e-reader. I could have kept it, and it wouldn't necessarily have gotten traced back to me. But the owner of the Kindle had put his name and e-mail address on the back, probably so that if he ever lost it, the e-reader could be returned to him. So I contacted him, and he was grateful to get it back. And I felt good that I had done the right thing.

The other day I was studying in a coffee shop, and I accidentally left my cell phone on the sink in the bathroom. When I realized my mistake and went back to get it less than half an hour later, my phone was gone. The baristas said no one turned it in.

I was at the coffee shop that day because I had a coupon for a free cup of coffee. Ironically, that free cup ended up costing me more than a hundred dollars, because I had to pay for a replacement phone (fortunately, I had insurance on my old phone, so I didn't have to pay full price), a memory card, and a new case. I spent more than an hour at the phone store, learning about how to remotely wipe the data from my old phone so the thief couldn't access it, lock my new phone, and back up the data on my new phone. I foolishly did not back up most of the data on my old one, so I lost all the pictures I'd taken, including the ones from my trip to New York.)

I also had to keep running down to the mailboxes of my building to check for the delivery of my new phone, because my loser neighbors have a bad habit of not only stealing my magazines (I actually had to cancel all my subscriptions) but also my packages. I once put up a note asking for the return of my mail, and the losers put up their own note mocking me for their theft and saying they would do it again if they found more of my mail (the postal workers keep putting the wrong mail in the mailboxes. I tried to file more than one complaint about it, and the post office retaliated by giving my number to one of those workers, who called me to scream at me and blame ME for getting the wrong mail, as if it was my fault she kept doing a bad job). Fortunately, I got to my new phone before those leeches did, so they couldn't steal it.

The theft of my cell phone really pissed me off. I always try to do the right thing (though admittedly I don't always succeed). I don't keep things that don't belong to me. The one exception is when I find coins on the ground, because who's going to run back and search for a quarter or a couple of pennies, right?

But unfortunately, some people aren't honest. Some people are selfish thieves and just immoral. This isn't the first time I've gotten robbed, because this is Chicago, after all. I've gotten mugged and pickpocketed on more than one occasion, which is why I never carry a lot of cash or major credit cards with me. Once I accidentally left my coin purse in a bathroom at one of the schools where I teach. I went back less than five minutes later, to find the purse still there but all the coins missing. And I don't think it's a coincidence that not long after some of my mail went missing, someone tried to open up a bunch of credit cards with my information; fortunately, my credit card company stopped them and alerted me to what was going on.

It's times like those that make me wonder why I even bother trying to be considerate and honest. I know it's the right thing to do, but it doesn't always pay off. Even when I try to help people, it occasionally ends up backfiring.

For example, once I saw an old woman struggling with a shopping bag as she went down the stairs of an El station. The bag split open, and all the things inside fell out. Other people walked by, some of them trampling over her things without a second glance. I said, "Here, let me help you with that," and I tried to pick up what she had dropped. She screamed at me to keep my hands off her stuff and accused me of trying to steal it. I quickly backed away and let the old witch take care of it herself.

In spite of creeps like that, I will continue to try to do the right thing. If I find something valuable again, I won't keep it; I'll make sure it gets returned. I have enough Catholic guilt in me to motivate me, after all. But it still discourages me and makes me mad that no matter how nice I try to be to people, I still end up getting screwed again and again. It bothers me that some of the worst people in the world end up rich, successful, and getting everything else that they want, like karma isn't real after all. It's not like I help people with the expectation of being repaid every time, but it would be nice if people would show me the same consideration and at the very least return my possessions. But maybe that's expecting too much.

What about you? Have you ever gotten robbed? Have you ever tried to help someone, only for your efforts to end up backfiring? How do you deal with people like that?

All I Want for Christmas

1. Is for my parents to stop insisting that only they know where I should work and live and to recognize the fact that I have the right to decide where I will work and live, because as a thirty-three-year-old adult, I no longer need their permission to do anything anymore. (But on the other hand, if I keep waiting for them to recognize that fact, not only will I wait forever, it'll be like I'm still waiting for their permission.)

2. Is for my neighbors to stop waking me up at 2 A.M. with "WHOOOO!! Who needs sleep when we can PAR-TAY? HAHAHAHA!", to which I shriek from my window, "When the zombie apocalypse happens, I'm going to send the zombies after YOU!"

3. Is to receive at least one offer letter by the end of this school year from a good college with students who will be willing to put their cell phones down long enough to learn how to read, appreciate, and write about fine literature.

4. Is for my parents to stop telling me that I'm an old maid and a spinster (and yes, they have called me both) because I'm in my thirties, unmarried, and childless, and for them to stop acting as if that's a crime and a tragedy.

5. Is to successfully defend my dissertation this spring and also be able to resist the temptation to yell at all the other grad students, "I am finally free of ALL of you! YAAAAYYYY!!!" and to also resist the temptation to set off firecrackers and dance across campus after saying that.

6. Is to FINALLY complete my Ph.D. this spring and find one teaching job with a salary that pays enough to cover all my expenses and leaves me with some money left over to put in a savings account, so that I never have to work two or three jobs again.

7. Is to be able to walk into any store or cafe without wanting to scream, "ENOUGH with the Christmas carols! Isn't it bad enough that we all have to deal with long lines, crowded stores, and customers who will elbow us in the face to get the last product being featured in the holiday sale?"

8. Is to meet a nice guy by next Christmas who actually makes an effort to show me that he cares about me, not another guy who just isn't that into me and takes several hours to text back "k".

9. Is to eat Christmas cookies without cursing myself on the treadmill afterwards.

10. Is for all the people who are alone, poor, or hungry on Christmas to find the help that they need from kind friends or generous strangers, not like the heartless monster I saw recently who yelled at a homeless man who was standing on a street corner and begging for spare change. She told him to "get a job" and that he should be ashamed of himself. I stepped between that bitch (pardon my language) and that homeless man, glared at that woman (who apparently is the spawn of Satan), and gave that guy some money while telling him to ignore jerks like that. (The heartless monster, by the way, said nothing more after I stepped in. Apparently she has the nerve to berate a homeless person but not someone whose economic status is not that much different from hers. As I stated on Twitter, I hope that people like her get a giant box of karma for Christmas.) I wished I could have done more to help him.

What about you? What's on your Christmas wish list?

Selective Truth Telling

I heard through the grapevine that some people from my high school graduating class may be planning a fifteen year reunion. When I heard about it, my initial reaction was, Jeez, I'm getting old. And then I ran to my bathroom mirror to see if I needed to get Botox yet. (I don't need to, but I kind of don't want to anyway; I'm afraid I'll look like the female version of Bruce Jenner.)

I have mixed feelings about going to the reunion. I don't really keep in touch with anyone from high school anymore. On the one hand, it might be nice to see everyone again, and I am curious to see how everyone is doing. I did Google a few of them years ago, and I found out that at least two classmates married each other, one of them became a farmer, and another person may or may not have gotten arrested (though that may just be someone who has the exact same name as my former classmate and happens to live in the same town).

I'm not on Facebook, which would probably be a more reliable source of information. I have little interest in joining Facebook, partly because I'm not photogenic; I would probably just post pictures of food, my favorite books or authors, and stuff like Buckingham Fountain, the lake, and independent bookstores. I'd also post pictures of my loud neighbors (with their faces blurred) when they're drunk and passed out in the hallway (I have found more than one of them using the hallway as a bed and/or as a place to throw up) and captions that say stuff like, "This is your brain on drugs." (Incidentally, the last time I saw my classmates was at a wedding several years ago, where several of them got very drunk AND loud.)

I don't know if I want to go back though. There were at least one or two other reunions before this upcoming one, and I didn't go to those either. I figure that at a reunion, everyone will be reminiscing and saying, "Do you remember when..." I also figure that everyone will remember all the embarrassing things that I did. Then they'll have a lot of laughs at my expense, just like they did all the time when we were teenagers.

If I did go back, I think I'd probably engage in what some people call "lying" but what I call "selective truth telling". Here are a few examples:

I live in a really great apartment in Chicago. There's a lot of space and I get along really well with my neighbors.
The truth: I live in a tiny studio in a building with neighbors who may or may not have sold their souls for beer.

I'm not married, but I am dating. I've dated several amazing guys that I'm still friends with.
The truth: I'm married to my work. I've dated a guy who flirted with the waitress right in front of me, a guy who turned out to be at least thirty or forty pounds heavier than he looked in his profile pictures, a guy who insulted me for working in retail, and a guy who told me that I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, the one who he still had nightmares about. And those are just SOME of the guys who are on my NEVER DATE AGAIN list. If I ever saw any of those guys on the street, I'd buy a Chicago hot dog (or better yet, a nice, big, greasy piece of Chicago-style pizza) that I could then throw at them.

It's so great to see you! We should totally keep in touch from now on. 
The truth: I'm still mad at you for making me cry/mocking me/excluding me/believing the lies your manipulative boyfriend told you about me back in high school, and you'd better run fast before I start throwing pizza and hot dogs.

My career is going really well. I make a lot of money, and I'm like those teachers in those inspirational teacher movies.
Truth: I have to work additional jobs just to make ends meet, like retail jobs where I get bossed around by twenty-two-year-old supervisors on power trips. I also have finally inspired my students to stop texting during class, partly because I turn into the neurotic, female version of Mr. Hyde when I catch them taking out their cell phones.

I've changed a lot since high school, and I live a different life now. But there's a part of me that's afraid that if I go back I'll become the person I was before. I'm afraid that they'll judge me for still being in school, even though it is graduate school. I'm also afraid that I might head butt one or more of the people who bullied me, especially if they start up again. I really wish I could be like this girl in what I think is the coolest film preview ever. Then no one would DARE mess with me at the reunion:


Maybe they've changed too, at least some of them. Maybe it wouldn't be like when we were teenagers. Or maybe not. 

I don't really want to go. Like I said, I don't keep in touch with anyone from high school anymore, so I'm not really motivated to go back. And anyway, it hasn't quite been fifteen years yet, so I still have time to make up my mind.

What about you? Did you go to your high school reunion? If there hasn't been a reunion for your class yet, do you think that you will go if there is one?

Turning into Our Parents

Every once in a while, I think I can hear my mother's voice when I talk. It makes me wonder what I'll be like when I'm her age. I recently read about a survey that said that we start turning into our parents when we turn thirty-two, which is how old I am now. It also makes me reflect on some of the advice that my parents gave me as I grew up.

If you keep scowling like that, your face is going to stay that way. 
I scowl like that a lot, especially when my neighbors decide to have a party on the sidewalk in front of our building and leave red cups all over the grass, or when I accidentally flip the channel to an episode of Storage Wars, or when someone tells me that I should stop drinking Coke (they should probably wait to say that until AFTER my caffeine high ends and after I stop bouncing off the walls).  And yet my face hasn't stayed "that way" permanently, and I can still make other facial expressions, like when I look at my students disapprovingly for coming in to class thirty minutes late, or when my face lights up at the sight of a Coca-Cola delivery truck.

Don't stay up too late. You're not a vampire.
When I was a kid, I thought it would be cool to stay up as late as I wanted. But now that I'm an adult, I find myself falling asleep before midnight. It's partly because I automatically wake up early almost every morning, since I'm still used to getting up for 8 AM shifts for my retail jobs or early classes that I have to teach. Now when I wake up at 3 AM because my neighbors are having another one of their "Who needs sleep when we can get drunk?" parties, I'm the one telling them to be quiet and go to bed. (Except I don't exactly use those words when I'm yelling from my window.)

You should spend less time reading novels and more time studying your textbooks.
When I was a kid, I used to hide under my covers or in my closet and read novels with a flashlight. I was an A student, so I figured that I earned the right to read fiction for fun. Reading gave me the chance to escape to different worlds and meet new people. When I read those books, I could forget about all the kids who made fun of me at school, the pressure to excel in all my classes, and the fact that I was overweight, wore thick glasses, and had hair that looked like I should have been in one of those "before" pictures for a shampoo ad. Reading made me happy in a way that few other things did, and I never gave it up. (And I never will.)

You can never be too careful.
Recently I had a "disagreement" with some of my neighbors. Apparently they think it's too much effort to reach into their pockets, take out their key to the front door of the building, and unlock it. So they leave it propped open. I tried to close it, and I told them that it was because I didn't want to let strangers in. They insisted on leaving it open, though, and I figured that if I went all Karate Kid on them, I'd probably get arrested. I know that real life isn't exactly like an episode of Criminal Minds or CSI, but I've encountered (and been harassed and robbed by) more than one scary creep since I moved to Chicago. I'd just feel a lot safer knowing that the door was kept locked and the scary people are kept out. The only time I let people I don't know into the building is if they're delivering mail or pizza (because anyone who delivers pizza is okay in my book).

Even though I can now understand why my parents gave me that advice, I don't think I'll ever be completely like them. The fact that I chose to live in Chicago, pursue teaching and writing, and that I still scowl on a regular basis is proof that I have grown up to be someone very different from them.

I don't think it's a bad thing to become similar to your parents, though I know a lot of people worry about that. What do you think? Do you ever feel like you're turning into your parents, or have you tried to distinguish yourself from them?

Getting Revenge by Writing

The thing about being completely neurotic is that you obsess over everything, including the things that don't bother most people. (That's why I love Seinfeld. It's not really "a show about nothing". It's a show about their obsessions.) That can cause you to hold grudges that last for a long time.

For example, I am still angry at the Walgreens cashier that I bought M&Ms from back in high school. She made a crack about how I shouldn't eat too much candy because it was fattening. I'd bought candy from her before, and I guess she thought she was being "helpful". This was back when I was overweight and self-conscious about my appearance.  I knew the candy was fattening. Overweight people know that they shouldn't eat junk food, and they know that they're overweight. But sometimes they just can't help themselves, and it's humiliating when other people make them feel bad about it. I still remember how embarrassed, hurt, and angry I felt, and to this day I wish I had stood up to her...or at least called the manager over to file a complaint against her. So even though it's been more than a decade since that happened, I still cannot bring myself to forgive her.

I do try to forgive people, even though it's hard. But in fiction writing, however, I can be as vengeful and unforgiving as I want to be. That makes me sound cruel, but think about it. A lot of fiction writers write down the things they would never say in real life, or they let their characters do what the writers could/would never do. It's safer that way, and it can provide a sense of release as well. Rather than seek revenge in real life against the people that hurt you, you can do it through writing, as long as you heavily disguise those people, of course, as Anne Lamott advised in her book Bird by Bird. (Otherwise, they might seek revenge against you, by filing a lawsuit.)

For example, the other night, I noticed that the neighbor in the apartment one floor up and facing mine raised his blinds at around midnight. I didn't think anything of it until I went to bed at around twelve-thirty. Even though my blinds were closed, the light from my neighbor's apartment shone into mine. He must have used flood lights or 100-megawatt bulbs, because the light completely lit up my room. In my half-asleep state, I at first thought that a UFO had landed outside my window, and I was going to yell out my window, "Take my neighbors, not me! Feel free to dissect and study them, as long as you don't bring them back."

But then I looked out my window and realized that it was the light in my neighbor's apartment that made it seem like it was still broad daylight rather than the middle of the night. I tried to go back to sleep, but the light made it impossible. How long did the jerk leave his light on? All night. What time did I finally manage to fall asleep? Four A.M. What time did I have to get up to go to work? Seven A.M. On a scale of one to ten, how angry (and exhausted) was I? 999,765,037...and counting.

In fiction, I can get back at him by writing a horror story titled "Night of the Living Workaholic", where I turn into a zombie (which, actually, is what happens when I don't get enough sleep) and come into his apartment, where Zombie Me then proceeds to a) eat his brain or b) scare him into being polite and considerate, to the point that not only will he keep his blinds closed from now on, he'll be too afraid to leave his home and will keep peeking through his blinds for fear that Zombie Me will strike again (and I will, BWAHAHAHAHA!).

In real life, I bought a sleeping mask to cover my eyes. If he is inconsiderate enough to leave his blinds up and his lights on all night again, I will ask my landlord to say something to him, though I doubt it will make much difference.

More than once people have pushed me aside in their hurry to get on the train during my daily commute. In real life, all I can say is, "Hey, I was here FIRST, so BACK UP!" If I'm feeling more timid, then I'll just give them what I call the Death Glare and hope that they will cower in fear. (I also kind of wish that Zombie Me could be my bodyguard, because she would definitely scare them...or eat their brains.)

But in fiction, I can get back at them by writing a story about how after they cut in front of a line of people waiting for the train, they find themselves trapped on a train full of Justin Bieber's fans on their way to a concert.

What about you? Do you ever base your characters or storylines on people or situations that bothered you? Do you ever write in fiction what you wish would happen in real life? If you don't, how do you work out your emotions when someone makes you mad or hurts you? 

A Vacation That's Just for Me

I recently made the decision to give up my upcoming spring break because of personal obligations. Without going into too much detail, the "obligations" aren't based on an emergency. But it was "expected" that I would help, and because of that, I will not get a spring vacation. And I can't help feeling just a little bit unhappy about it, especially because I am "expected" to sacrifice the little free time that I do have more often than not.

As a workaholic, I don't typically take vacations. Partly it's because despite the fact that I work multiple jobs, I can't afford to take a vacation because none of those jobs pay very well. Also it's because I like vacations as much as the Lohan family likes being out of the spotlight, or as much as certain celebrities like to wear outfits that don't just happen to "slip" whenever paparazzi are around (cough, cough).

When I do get a break from school, I don't spend the time relaxing. For me a "relaxing" day is getting a lot of things done, because how relaxed can I be when I go to sleep at night and think of all the things I didn't get done? I had this nightmare once where a tour guide was showing me around some weird place I'd never seen before and saying, "And in this life, no one EVER works! Isn't that great?" And I woke up thinking, Oh, NO! Did I just have a dream about what hell is like?

I'm all about multi-tasking. Even when I watch TV, I'm usually ironing my clothes, dusting my furniture, or writing a manifesto that's directed towards my neighbors and titled something like, "How to Be Less Annoying. Tip #1: If you're going to invite your dates over, at least put some music on first (but try not to blast it as you normally do, especially if it's the middle of the night). And also lower your shades. If you refuse to lower your shades, at least remember that it's really not necessary to dance around naked and sing bad love songs at the top of your lungs for the next two hours after your date leaves." (I'm not a peeping tom or one to eavesdrop, but some of my neighbors like to announce to the whole building how active their social lives are. That's why I have to keep my shades down.)

For example, during my last winter break, I spent part of the time visiting family. I spent the rest of the time doing research for my dissertation, cleaning out and reorganizing my apartment, working out at the gym, running errands, etc., etc. I did also take some time to do fun things, like fiction writing, going to the movies, and spending time with an old friend. But the point is that that time was mine, to do with as I liked. And it felt good.

If I did take a "real" vacation, though, I'd want it to be a writer's retreat. Fellow blogger Julie Dao, who writes the blog Silver Lining, recently wrote a post about solo writing retreats. I like the idea of being able to spend the whole day writing, because I've never been able to do that before. Rather than stay in Chicago and write, I'd like to go away somewhere (preferably somewhere that's far, far away from my neighbors) and just write all day, every day. Technically I'd still be working, but writing has always been a different kind of work as far as I'm concerned. For one thing, when I'm writing, I never end up pulling my hair out and saying, "Yes, you really do have to read the book in order to write a paper about it," or "The next time you ask me to write a recommendation letter for you, please give me more than two hours' notice before the deadline," or "Would you like to sign up for the store credit card that will make a lot of money for the store...er, that will save you a lot of money?" 

I think it'd be nice to go somewhere that's near the ocean or a lake, so that I could look out at the water when I write. I'd also like to go someplace that's quiet and peaceful, because then I'd actually be able to sleep through the whole night without waking up a bunch of times to scream, "KEEP IT DOWN, DEVIL'S SPAWN!" out my window.

It would also have to be a place with good coffee shops and restaurants nearby, because what kind of vacation is it if the food isn't good? And of course there would be someplace nice to take walks in, like a park or a beach, so that the long walks will make me feel less guilty about eating that good food.

And I'd want a room with a nice writing desk and space for the books I'll bring along. It would be wonderful if there were bookstores nearby so that I could buy more books; I've always felt happiest in bookstores.

But most of all, it would be nice to have a vacation where for once I'd get to write without thinking about all the other work that I have to do or without anyone else pressuring me to give up my free time (so that they can do what they want to do) and trying to make me feel guilty if I don't want to do it.

Someday, when I have more money (and more free time), I'm going to take that writing retreat. And I'm going to develop more of a backbone so that I can learn to say "no" when it's necessary, so that I won't always cave in to pressure and give up the limited free time that I have. I'm still willing to help others; I'm not completely selfish. But I think I've earned the right to take my own vacation, especially because I really do work hard. And I think I have the right to say no, at least once in a while.

What about you? Have you ever taken a writing retreat before? Other than a writing retreat, what else is your idea of a dream vacation?

Stuff My Neighbors Say

Neighbor #1: Don't worry, nobody's even listening to us right now.
Me: Nobody wants to listen to you right now, but that doesn't mean we can't HEAR you. And by the way? It's really not necessary to congratulate yourself every time.

Neighbor #2: And I will always love youuuu..... (This neighbor likes to sing at the top of her lungs, because she thinks she's as good as Whitney Houston was.)
Me: You know what you should take? Voice lessons. Then the teacher will tell you that you should learn how to be a mime instead.

Neighbor #3: Can you believe it's already 2:37 in the morning? I can't believe we're still awake right now!
Me: I can't believe I'm still awake either. Do you know what happens when I am sleep-deprived? Why don't you come over and I'll show you. 

Neighbor #4: Yeah! We're number one! We won the game! WOOOO!!
Me: You're number one on my list of people who I'm going to photograph and whose pictures I will post online under the heading, "When Bad Neighbors Happen to Good People."

Neighbor #5: Just leave it. Someone else will take care of it.
Me: The next time I break a jar of spaghetti sauce, I'm not going to leave the mess all over the hallway like you did. I'm going to take the sauce and smear it all over your door with a note that says, "You don't have a maid. Clean up after yourself."

Neighbor #6: I just LOVE this song! Turn it up!
Me: I like that song too. At least, I liked it the first three times you played it. Twenty-five times later, I don't really like it anymore. Thank you for that. 

Neighbor #7: I can't believe you made out with him! I wanted to make out with him!
Me: How about this? The next time you two go to a bar and encounter an anonymous guy who's remotely attractive, you get to call dibs!

The walls in my building are extremely thin. Any time one of my neighbors sneezes, answers the phone, or fights with their boyfriend or girlfriend, I can hear it. My apartment window looks out over the parking lot; it also faces several other apartments, which is why I have to keep my blinds closed all the time. But even if I can't see my neighbors, I can still hear them.

It's one thing when they have their loud parties or music marathons on the weekends. I try not to start throwing things when the guy living in the apartment above me invites all his friends over and they start cheering every time one of the players in the games that they're watching does something spectacular, like move. But when it's a weeknight and I have to wake up at 5:30 A.M. to get ready to teach my morning classes?  That's something else altogether. I don't blast my Nothing But Taylor Swift playlist at 5:30 in the morning, because I know that everyone's sleeping. So I'd appreciate it if people would show me the same consideration at 1:30 A.M. I'd also appreciate it if I didn't have to listen to their nonstop noise EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.

I'd expect this kind of behavior if my neighbors were college students. But most of them are in their twenties and thirties. At some point, I would have thought they'd have grown up. But apparently, they haven't. Maybe I'm jealous because they have a lot more free time than I do, and they obviously don't have to work as much (or at all) as I do.

Maybe it's true that you can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl. I was accustomed to peace and quiet when I was growing up, so it was a shock to come here to Chicago, where it's rarely peaceful or quiet. 

Maybe I'm suspicious because a lot of them never seem to sleep at night, which makes me wonder if they're all just a bunch of drunk vampires who like to party all the time.

Maybe I'm just tired because my neighbors are why I haven't been sleeping well lately, and I think they're also why my hair is turning white again.

Or maybe I'm just completely fed up by their selfish, inconsiderate behavior. I've had to live with jerks like them for years, and I hate it.

I am truly grateful for the fact that I have a roof over my head, and I am grateful that I earn money to pay my own rent. But I dream of the day that I'll be able to buy my own house someday, not an apartment or a condo, but a house where I don't have to share space with anyone I don't like. Until then, I'm seriously thinking of turning up my pop music playlists at 5:30 in the morning.


What about you? Do you have rude neighbors? How do you deal with people like them?

People Watching

More than one writing book has said that people watching is a good way to fight writer's block. They advise writers to take a walk around their neighborhood, sit in a cafe and write about the customers, or go to a shopping mall and watch the people go in and out of the stores.

There was a scene in my manuscript that I was stuck on. It just didn't sound right, and I didn't enjoy writing it. I thought about cutting it out altogether, but the scene was important to the story; it was supposed to reveal something important about the main character and her brother. I just couldn't figure out how to make it ring true, so I set aside my manuscript for almost two weeks.

Not writing for that long makes me frustrated and cranky, and it also makes me so bored that I'm almost tempted to watch reruns of The Hills (almost). So I decided to try people watching by taking a walk around my neighborhood.

I opened the door of my apartment, only to see one of my neighbors rush by in his underwear. He was on his way to throw a bag of garbage down the trash chute. I wouldn't have minded if he looked like Channing Tatum, but he looked more like John Goodman before he lost 100 pounds. (Don't get me wrong. I like John Goodman. He's a terrific actor, and he's actually pretty handsome. But I'd rather not see him run around in briefs, you know?) I quickly closed my door and had to rinse my eyes out with water in order to get the image out of my head.

When I finally felt safe enough to leave my apartment again, I took a walk down my street. I saw the same couple I see almost every morning. They were standing outside their building with their arms around each other, kissing. What I find interesting is that they always make a point of looking around between kisses, either because they want to make sure that no one's watching, or they want to make sure that everyone's watching.

I turned a corner and nearly bumped into a woman walking down the street wearing nothing but sneakers, long shorts and a bra. Not a sports bra or a bikini top, but an actual bra. It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Elaine gives a female acquaintance a bra as a gift, and the woman wears it like a top and walks around outside in it. I saw several guys turn to stare at this woman, but they looked more confused than anything else. They were all, Wait, am I dreaming, or am I still drunk right now? 

It also seemed to me like my neighborhood had been invaded by a bunch of babies. I saw several women and men, some of whom were pushing strollers; others were carrying babies in their arms. The babies looked so cute, with their tiny hands, chubby cheeks, and round heads. It reminded me of how I want to be a mother someday, and I felt tempted to kiss the babies' foreheads. But I would probably get arrested if I went around kissing babies' foreheads, so I didn't do it.

I also saw a little boy walking hand in hand with his mother. She was talking on her cell phone, but he was looking around at everything on the street. I saw him watching the people yelling at each other across the street, the drivers honking their horns, the happy dogs leading their owners, and a barista offering free drink samples at a cafe nearby. His eyes were very wide and he seemed genuinely fascinated by everything. Out of all the people I observed, I thought it would be good to be like him.

After I finished walking around, I went to a cafe and wrote several pages for my manuscript. I felt better than I had in a while. I also came to a few conclusions: 1) A lot of my neighbors are weird. 2) Some of them need to wax their backs. 3) I don't think I'm a prude for saying that people should put their clothes on before they leave their homes. 4) Even though a lot of my neighbors drive me up the wall, they often give me something to write about.

What about you? Does people watching work for you when you're fighting writer's block? Do you find yourself observing people when you walk around your neighborhood, and what kinds of things have you seen/learned?

What a Difference a Decade Makes

This past Sunday, April Fool's Day, was my birthday. I am now thirty-one years old.

Excuse me while I go check my reflection in the mirror to see if I look any older.

Damn. Now excuse me again so that I can do a Google search for "anti-aging cream".

Just kidding. Sort of.

Anyway, I was cleaning out my closet recently when I came across a stack of old journals; I've been writing in journals since the fourth grade, and I've kept every one. I can't bring myself to throw them away, because reading them reminds me of what it was like to be ten, sixteen, twenty-two, etc.. (One thing I learned from reading my youthful, obsessive rants that were scrawled in Magic Marker is that I had a Type A personality even when I was in grade school, so I guess some things never change.)

One journal in particular held my interest. It was the one that I kept when I was a twenty-one-year-old college student. Here are a couple lines that stood out to me:

I'm not sure that I ever want to have children. I can't see myself as a mother. 

Granted, I was only twenty-one at the time, and I wasn't even done with college yet. I wasn't ready to put someone else's needs before my own. I viewed motherhood as a burden, such as the time that I was on a flight and a baby screamed (not cried, but SCREAMED) the entire time. It was worse than the times I used to ride home from ball games with my classmates back when I was in high school. Many of them liked country music and played it nonstop in their cars or trucks. At first I couldn't stand the twang of country music, until I finally succumbed to it and thought, Hmm. Banjos and fiddles actually ARE cool. Bring on the bluegrass! (On the other hand, maybe that's how it feels when people get brainwashed. Maybe I should do a Google search on that too.)

But I couldn't picture ever getting used to the constant sound of a baby crying, especially when I watched the flustered parents try in vain to quiet down their child. All I could think was (and I admit that I was kind of selfish to think this), Wow. I'm glad I'm not in their shoes.

But ever since I turned thirty last year, I can almost hear my biological clock ticking louder and louder. I know that there are many women who have children in their late thirties or even forties. I also know that it becomes more and more difficult to get pregnant as you get older, and deep down I don't want to wake up one day and realize that it's too late for me to have a child. I'd also like to live long enough to see my own child or children raise their own kids, because I'd like to hold my first grandchild in my arms before I die.

Now when I see women my age or younger pushing strollers or leading small children by the hand, I don't feel glad that I'm not them. I just feel...wistful. Now I know that I want to have a family of my own. It's not just because my biological clock is ticking. It's because I know that mothers do have a lot of burdens to carry, but having a child is a blessing, too. (I know that I sound like I just threw up a bunch of Hallmark cards, but I really am being sincere.)

I've been thinking about this more and more over the past year, and I've finally decided that if I'm not married by the time I turn forty, I'm going to try adoption or in vitro (I may even try earlier than that, once I finally finish grad school and find a good job.). I know that neither will guarantee that I will end up as a mother, and I know that being a single mother would be difficult. But that wistfulness I've been feeling just won't go away, and I don't think it's going to go away anytime soon. I think that I was afraid that being a mom would make it more difficult for me to do the things I wanted to do, like travel, write, and teach.

I was also afraid that I wouldn't even be any good at parenting, and I'm still afraid. I'm afraid I might end up with a kid who grows up to be a cast member on one of those reality dating shows, and then she might end up being the shrew who all the other cast members just HATE and cry fake tears over, or I might end up with a kid who grows up to have such a huge ego that he embarrasses Taylor Swift at an awards show.

But from what I've observed about parenting, it's an ongoing process; it seems like people learn how to raise kids as the kids grow up, because I don't think that anyone starts out automatically knowing what to do or how to be a parent.

Ideally, of course, I'd like to be married before I start having children, because I know that it is good for children to grow up with two parents. Single parents have their own struggles, because it's tough to raise a child alone. But being a single parent wouldn't necessarily mean that I would be a bad parent, because there are many excellent single parents out there as well as other "nontraditional" families that make it work. I know that I still have time before I have to make that final decision, and who knows, maybe I will find the right guy and get married. In the meantime, I need to focus on finishing graduate school and establishing myself in my career so that I will be able to support my family.

Either way, I feel like I've grown up a lot in the past ten years, and my attitude towards what I thought I wanted (and didn't want) has changed.

What about you? What are things that you thought you wanted/didn't want when you were younger, and how did your feelings change as you grew older? For those of you who have kids, how did you feel about becoming a parent before your kids were born?

The Rudeness of Strangers

About a month ago I moved into a studio apartment in order to save money on rent. After living in a one-bedroom apartment for several years, living in a studio took some getting used to. My refrigerator is so small that I can't fit a frozen pizza into the freezer unless I wedge it in there diagonally. Apparently the rental company doesn't believe that it's necessary for the tenants to keep enough food in their apartment, or maybe the company thinks that we should eat fast food all the time. Also, sometimes I feel like I'm living in the middle of a really bad episode of The Real World, because my neighbors like to party and get drunk a lot.

When I was moving out of my old apartment, I hired a moving company to help me move. I'd gone to the alderman's office a couple days before to get signs telling drivers not to park by the side of the street, so that the movers would have enough room to park their truck. But apparently several drivers in Chicago seem to think that those "No Parking" signs actually mean "Yes! PLEASE park here!" or "It's perfectly okay to ignore the sign and irritate the hell out of other people!" or "Take up as much room as you like! It's not like anyone's trying to MOVE OUT or anything!"

I had a feeling that people would try to park in the designated area, since they did that the last time I moved to a new apartment. So before the movers showed up, I parked myself by the side of the street and scared off drivers who tried to park there.

I'm not lying when I say that I started jumping up and down and shrieking incoherently anytime anyone tried to park by the side of the street. I looked and sounded like Homer Simpson when someone steals his doughnuts, or perhaps a cavewoman who hadn't had her coffee yet. Only instead of waving a club around I kept waving a Dustbuster threateningly at the drivers, because I'd been cleaning my apartment. I don't know why I thought the Dustbuster would scare them. I think I might have been sending out a message that said something like, "Park here and I'll whap you over the head with my Dustbuster!" or "Park here and I'll vacuum the carpet in your car for you!"

The movers were in the process of moving my furniture to their truck when a woman who looked like she was a few years younger than me suddenly walked into my apartment. The door was open in order to let the movers come and go. I'd never met or seen her before, but she asked if my movers could take her mattress to her apartment, which was a few blocks away.

I was reluctant to say yes, to say the least. The moving company was not cheap, and they were going to charge me an additional twenty-five dollars if the movers went even just fifteen minutes beyond the designated time frame. But the girl kept insisting, so like a fool, I said yes.

The woman and her boyfriend were really rude, though. I said, "Next time you guys should hire your own moving company." The boyfriend acted like I was a jerk for being upset, because he said, "Well, there won't be a next time, because we'll never see you again."

They could tell I didn't want them to use the truck, though, so they said that they'd changed their minds about the mattress. But then I felt bad about being so territorial, so I said the movers would still move the mattress for them; the movers had said it would be okay anyway.

I went back inside for a few minutes, and when I came out their mattress was still in the truck. The woman and her boyfriend, however, were gone. I asked the movers where they went, and they didn't know. I didn't know their names or their phone numbers, so I had no way of reaching them.

Apparently, the losers had dumped their mattress on me and expected me to figure out how to dispose of it. Perhaps they saw me coming back out and whispered to each other, "She's coming! Make a run for it!" before running off gleefully to tell a certain guy dressed in red that they'd succeeded in making someone mad again.

And can I just say that this was the second time one of my neighbors dumped a mattress on me? The first time was when I opened my door to find a mattress blocking my door; one of my neighbors hadn't bothered to throw it out properly so they just left it there.

It was at that point that I wanted to start jumping up and down and shriek incoherently again. I asked my building's super about the couple, and she said they didn't even live in the building. They were picking up the mattress from a former tenant. She gave me the tenant's phone number.

I called the tenant and left a message, but she didn't call me back. I called her again, and she hung up on me! Then she turned off her phone so I couldn't reach her. Apparently she must have thought that not having a conscience was what all the cool kids did. At this point, I was so angry that I wanted to go on some kind of Dustbuster rampage. The movers were really nice, though. They found a way to dispose of the mattress after they helped me move into my new apartment. I gave each of them a good tip and bottled water for being so helpful.

Things didn't improve when I got to my new studio. Even though I'd spent the entire day before cleaning out my old apartment so that I could get my security deposit back, apparently the tenant who'd been living in the studio before me thought that "cleaning" meant "leave rotting food all over the kitchen floor". I called my building's super to tell him that the toilet wasn't flushing properly and the shower kept dripping. He was irritated that I'd called him on a Saturday afternoon. He said that since it wasn't an "emergency", I should just leave a note for him and he'd get to it sometime the following week.

It's days like those that make me lose a little bit of faith in people. It bothers me that people like that can get away with treating other people badly. Occasionally I'll see something that gives me hope, like a guy I saw the other day who helped someone in a wheelchair cross the street, or the good people on Animal Cops who rescue abused animals. But sometimes I just want to start shrieking like a cavewoman again.

How do you deal with rude people?

What Would You Do?

If you opened the door to your apartment and found one of your neighbors passed out in front of it, what would you do? Would you
a) Step over her and tell people that she's your human doormat.
b) Take her picture and post it on a website with the caption "This is why you should drink in moderation".
c) Help her get into her apartment.

What I did: c. But then what would you do if the girl refuses to stay in her apartment and keeps running back to yours? Would you
a) Not answer your door and decide to leave your apartment through the window from now on.
b) Tell her, "I don't even know you, darn it! Leave me alone!"
c) Help her get into her apartment a second, third, and then a fourth time.

What I did: c. But then what would you do if the girl starts crying about her boyfriend, and she says he won't call her back? Would you
a) Advise her to join a convent because at least then she'll stop drinking and passing out in front of her neighbors' apartments.
b) Throw a box of Kleenex at her and hope she won't go all "Hallmark moment" on you.
c) Call her boyfriend and ask him politely to come over.

What I did: c. But then what would you do if the girl's boyfriend refuses to come over? Would you
a) Tell the boyfriend you will sell everything in her apartment for M&Ms if he doesn't come over
b) Tell the boyfriend that you will leave his girlfriend (who has passed out again) in the middle of traffic
c) Tell the boyfriend that you really need him to come over, because darn it, you don't even know her

What I did: c. But then what would you do if, sometime later, you open your door to find a mattress blocking the exit? (It was left not by the drunk girl, but by some loser on your floor who is too lazy to go to the dumpster.) Would you
a) Start stabbing your way through the mattress with your cereal spoon to get out
b) Leave the mattress in front of your neighbors' door and threaten to attack them with your spoon if they do this again
c) Call the super for help.

What I did: c.

What would you do if people in your neighborhood decided to organize outdoor concerts for several bands, and you were subjected to LOUD music for several hours a day for several days while the concerts lasted?
a) Throw rotten vegetables at them and yell, "You SUCK!"
b) Approach the bands and offer to be their backup dancer, and then proceed to demonstrate the three dance moves you know.
c) Complain to the police, and, upon learning that they can't do anything because the Bands with No Talent have permits, start grinding your teeth so hard you end up cracking one of them.

What I did: c. My dentist fixed my cracked tooth but made me start wearing a bite guard, which, when I looked in the mirror, made me think that I should audition for the remake of Revenge of the Nerds.

What I did next: scour the apartment listings for a new place to live, preferably a building with no other people in it.

Side note: I recently was given the Blog with Substance Award by the awesome blogger Geophrie; check out his blog, The Far Too Important Blog! Thanks Geophrie! You rock!

These walls are too thin

When I first moved to Chicago from a small town, I thought about how amazing it would be to live in a big city where everyone didn't know everyone else's business. The idea of starting over in a new place and meeting new people I hadn't known since I was five thrilled me.

But I soon came to learn that just because you don't know everyone, you still come to learn a lot about their business just by living in close vicinity to them. In the building where I live now, I know that the guy who lives next door to me apparently microwaves everything he eats and drinks because I hear the "beep-beep-beep" of his microwave at least six times a day.

The two girls who live on the other side of me are chain smokers, and their smoke seeps into my apartment on a regular basis. They also get a lot of late-night visitors, because their buzzer sometimes wakes me up at 1 A.M. Apparently at least one of their boyfriends thinks it's okay to lean on the buzzer for several seconds at a time, and if they don't answer right away he'll start yelling at them from the street.

Although we're supposed to put the trash that doesn't fit in the trash chute in the dumpster downstairs, the guy who lives down the hall is strong enough to go running every day but can't be bothered to take a three minute walk to the dumpster, so he leaves his beer bottles and large trash bags in the tiny room with the trash chute.

The girl who lives above me once tried to unlock the door to my apartment, because she thought it was her apartment. (I thought someone was breaking in, so of course I had the bright idea to open the door to see what was going on.) She also watches TV or listens to the radio about seven hours a day, and I used to be able to hear every lyric that was sung (by both her and the musicians) and every piece of dialogue from her TV shows. I say used to because after my polite request to her that she turn the volume down didn't work, I finally complained to the super. Now I just hear the muffled sound of her TV and radio for three hours a day, except when her boyfriend comes over, in which case they turn on the volume really loud to mask what they're doing. And unfortunately, sometimes the volume of the TV isn't loud enough to mask what they're doing, if you catch my drift.

I'm sure that my neighbors know plenty about my annoying habits, too. I have the musical tastes of a 13-year old girl (though it's been many years since I was 13), because at least six of the songs on my Top 25 Most Played list on my iPod are from Britney Spears' albums. I usually listen to the music on my headphones so as not to disturb my neighbors, but the chain smokers next door can probably hear me singing along to the songs anyway. I think they might be scared of me, anyway, not just because of my love of Britney's music but because I got so frustrated with all the smoke coming from their apartment and from the people smoking in the doorway outside that I started yelling, "I HATE SMOKE! I CAN'T BREATHE I CAN'T BREATHE I CAN'T BREATHE!" And of course, I made sure to yell it through the wall so they could hear me.

I also know that at least three or four of the girls on my floor get drunk on a regular basis, because they stumble in after one A.M. several nights a week, fall on the floor, laugh about it really loudly in the hallway, and then open the doors to their apartments, where they proceed to fall down in there as well.

I also know all about one of my neighbors' marriage, because I was in the laundry room with her once. She proceeded to tell me all the details of her divorce within five minutes of meeting me, following me up the stairs as I dropped socks in my attempt to get away from her.

But you know what I don't know about my neighbors? Their names.

Street Noise

I live on a one-way street, made narrower by the fact that people park on both sides of it. So if a delivery truck, moving truck, or garbage truck needs to make a stop in front of one of the buildings, the drivers who get stuck behind it typically have to wait until the truck driver moves on. But of course, this being the city, people don't just sit patiently in their cars and wait for for the truck driver to finish his work. No. Despite the fact that my street has nothing but apartment buildings on it, the drivers who pass through apparently believe that no one lives in any of them because they lean on their horns for several minutes at a time.

Angry drivers: "BEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEP!!!!"

Meanwhile, I'm sitting at my desk trying to do important work, like completing my projects for the website I work for, doing research for my graduate studies, grading papers, writing out questions for the final exam my students will be taking, revising my manuscripts, or watching Youtube videos that people make of their puppies. It's hard to work when all you hear is

"BEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEP!!!! BEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEP!!!!"

And then

"Get out of the way! (insert ten expletives here) Let's go!" (More honking)

Finally, after about twenty minutes straight of honking, I can't take it anymore.

I throw open my window and yell, "SHUT UUUUUUUUUPPP!!!"

(Three-second silence.)

"BEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEP!!!! BEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEP!!!!"

I start to yell out my window again, but someone from another building has beaten me to it. "HEY! Keep it down!"

Angry driver: "YOU KEEP IT DOWN! WHY DON'T YOU COME DOWN HERE AND (insert ten expletives here) TELL ME TO KEEP IT DOWN!!!"

Angry driver and angrier neighbor then proceed to yell at each other for several minutes, amidst the sounds of more honking. This happens several times a day, every day.

Sighhhhh.

On a side note, the fact that I yell from my window on a regular basis is probably one of the reasons that the two women who live next door to me give me weird looks every time we pass each other in the hall.

One Day I too Shall Have a Washer and Dryer

I've spent more years than I care to count living in apartment buildings, and so I've always had to share a laundry room with dozens or hundreds of other people. I dream of the day when I'll be rich enough to have a washer and dryer that I don't have to share with anyone else, so that I can leave my clothes in the machines for as long as I want without worrying about clearing them out for other people who need to do laundry. When I can do laundry without needing a handful of quarters, I'll believe that I've truly made it. That's my American Dream :).
But right now my reality is that as someone moving sluggishly through the nine circles of the Inferno(otherwise known as graduate school), I can barely afford that handful of quarters I need to do laundry every week.
One summer in college I lived with three girls who only did laundry about once a month; they just kept buying new clothes when the ones they already owned got dirty. But except for the year that I worked for a clothing store and had a generous employee discount, I typically only buy new clothes when my old ones get holes in them or noticeable stains that are impossible to remove.
I'm glad I don't have to go to a laundromat, because then you're stuck there for two hours and it's more expensive to wash clothes there anyway. Not to mention the one time I did go there was a guy I think of as the Quarter Nazi who wouldn't even let me use the change machine; he insisted on doling out the quarters to me because he was convinced I would take out more quarters than I needed. Jerk.
Anyway, I always have to figure out when to do laundry so that I can get all my clothes done at the same time. I tried doing laundry on Saturday nights, because I figured everyone else would be going out and the machines were more likely to be available. But the laundry room is right by the front door, so I felt like everyone going to and from the bars were exchanging knowing glances at each other when they saw me doing laundry on a Saturday night.
But weekday evenings aren't good either because that's when everyone else is off work, watching TV, and doing laundry during commercial breaks. Then they often forget about their laundry and leave it in the machines for hours because they're so absorbed in the latest episode of Gossip Girl or whatever the hell they're doing that makes them forget about other people in the building who need to clean their clothes. Then I think about just removing their clothes from the washer when the cycle is done, and putting them in the dryer so that I can use the washing machine. But then I always worry that the inconsiderate loser who left clothes in the washer for three hours might come down right at the second I'm pulling their underwear out of the machine, and think I'm stealing their clothes or trying them on or something. It's even worse when my neighbors leave their clothes in the dryers for hours, because then I don't know where to put their clothes after the cycle is done. The laundry room is really small and there isn't a table or anything, and I don't want to put them on the washers because then whoever else needs to use them will have to figure out where to put the clothes. Does anyone else think about this? What would you do in a situation like this? Wait for an indefinite period of time for the people to come down and take their clothes out, then be all passive-aggressive and sigh and look at your watch a lot to let them know that you've been waiting a long time? Tell them to take their clothes out on time? Throw the clothes out on the lawn in front of the building? I don't know. One time I was so irritated from running up and down the stairs because it took me more than three hours to do three separate loads (because of the neighbor issues I described above) that I actually wrote an angry note and taped it to the dryer where someone had left his or her clothes for three hours.
And then I stopped and reread my note. I couldn't believe how angry I sounded, and thought about how the neighbor, someone I'd never even met, would feel when he or she read it. I was stressed out because doing all this laundry was taking time away from my school work, and I transferred a lot of my frustrations onto that note. I took the note back and threw it away. Partly because I didn't want to be a bitch. And also because I thought whoever received the note might somehow find out I wrote it and then throw my clothes out on the lawn.

My neighbors are making me sick

A lot of the work I do is done at home. I grade papers, write lesson plans, respond to students' e-mails, and complete my own research for my graduate studies. I also have a part-time job working for a website, and I am able to complete this work on my laptop. I have a desk at school, but I'm only on campus three or four days a week and I do my work every day.

The problem is my neighbors' smoking. They have a right to smoke in their own apartments. But I have a right to breathe freely in my apartment. I also should not have health problems because of my neighbors' habits. Every night the people who live next door come home and smoke for hours. How do I know? Because the smell of their smoke seeps into my apartment. I've tried opening my windows to air out the place, but my apartment happens to be on the second floor, directly above the front door. Several people in the building smoke in the doorway, so whenever my window is open the stink of their cigarette smoke comes into my apartment. It's ironic that they smoke outside so that their own apartments won't smell bad, but in the process they make my own apartment reek. I wish I could post a NO SMOKING sign on my door and on my window. I've also thought about pouring a bucket of freezing water over the smokers' heads, but I guess that would be too extreme.

I've tried using scented candles, air purifiers, Febreze, and potpourri to resolve the problem, but nothing really works. It's not like I can knock on my neighbors' door and ask them to stop smoking. I have considered, though, asking the people who smoke outside to at least step away from the doorway so that their smoke doesn't come directly into my apartment. Or would that be rude? I've also been tempted to slip a package of nicotine gum under my neighbors' door, though I guess that would be rude too. But it's often hard to complete my work when I keep coughing and sneezing from all the cigarette smoke. They say if you can't beat them, join 'em. But cigarettes are really expensive, and I'm too broke to smoke.