Would it be at all better if there weren’t perpetual sirens, schizophrenic and/or alcohol fueled screaming and/or caterwauling, accompanied by helicopter after low thumping bladed police helicopter circling my apartment?
Yes, most likely.
Is there anything I can do about it?
Yes, in a loose manner of speaking:
Have fun with anxiety disorder, as in:
Hide.
Hide on my settee.
Sit there for twenty minutes, thinking who are these assholes? before realizing that answer is already known: The Fellow Countrymen (i.e.: whole families, mixing with the usual late-nite crackheads on my precious little block).
Try to eat avocados, not quite ripe.
Mostly fail at the eating.
Leave my windows wide open so I’m at least mildly aware of what’s going on, somewhere out there.
Such as?
A Guido in fuzzy cowboy “hat,” bigger than all my limbs stacked after a massacre, seats himself on the backseat of a white, banana boat convertible parked by the glassed front doors of my building while I read my mail in the lobby. Supposedly, he’s dating the fat cyclist a few doors down from me. I saw him, later, in the grocery store. I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of being made aware of his presence for the second time at all, but I heard someone behind me say, “YEAH! WE CAN MIX JAGGER WITH THAT!” and instinctively turned around to glare my best jagger-is-best-left-alone purist glare, however, upon seeing who it was (NB cowboy hat redux dumbmouthed yokel wannebe wildwest asshole), I fled into the Baking Needs aisle. I hate baking, so don't generally like to see a need being associated with it. But am, as we may not be aware, rather fond of this country. And people who actually know how to bull ride and barrel race. Now, I ask: is this anger or a simple point of logic. I want to go to the bank. I want to get a hot dog. I want To Rest because my landlord is coming early in the morning tomorrow to gather my rent and I don’t want to open the door with smeared eyeliner, all glands reeking of vodka and wearing a skin-coloured kimono again. I want to read in bed. All these actions will henceforth be accompanied by the constant tinge of "wooooooooing" that only comes out of the mouths of people who just don't know how to be drunk because they were never breastfed as children and now vocalizing mimetic aggression is the only way they know how to attract well heeled bitches to their mimetically aggressive, and otherwise wilting, cocks.
Haha.... "wooooooooing" it's almost as bad as the drunk people who start to go "fuck yeah!" after every sentence.
Bad drunks should take a class.... "How to be drunk properly 101"
Memo to students: Wooing is not allowed, you will automatically get a failing grade.
Posted by: Steph at July 2, 2006 9:28 PMthe woooooing has to stop. we've actually spent the past couple of days researching the "symbolically representational etymological origins" of "woooooing" and have come to the following linguistic and historically based conclusion:
wooooing (sound as appended to verb):
(attempting )to court a woman as brute would halt an obsequious animal.
We (uhhhhh, graeme and i) have our sources.
wooooing (sound as appended to verb):
(attempting )to court a woman as brute would halt an obsequious animal.
I seriously snorted up my water as I read that. Amazing, bwahahaha
Posted by: Steph at July 3, 2006 4:30 PM