Gold On The Inside

Decided to hop into bed tonight around six and do some reading for about an hour. It was cold in the house, and since we don't have a couch, my only option was my bed underneath my down comforter. I settled in with my current reading material, the like of which will not be discussed, and tried to warm up my cold feet and body. I was just going to be in bed for a little while. I was going to get up and cook dinner, and hopefully have it timed perfectly, for Helen when she got home from work. Sitting on my throne of all four pillows that belong to our bed stacked on top of each other, I got comfy on a cold and rainy day. I started to read, and then it happened. He, my upstairs neighbor, started to sing a song . It was real quiet, and then got progressively louder. The verse he kept singing was "Your Tearing up my heart" from N'SYNC's hit song. But he wasn't singing the whole song. He was just singing that verse over and over, trying to get it pitch perfect. If you were ever in choir, or heard a vocalist warm up or try and get in to pitch, you know just how annoyingly special it can be. This is what was happening. It was something special and bad. Horrible, horribly flat and lacking any kind of tone whatsoever. This guy is no singer, not even close. You could actually here him gasping for air in anticipation of the big notes, or when he wails the climax of the verse with no tone at the top of his lungs. This lasted for what seemed, and probably was, twenty minutes. You guys, you know me, you can only imagine the shit going through my head. These are the neighbors that just about three weeks ago almost got a visit from a sleepy, just-got-off-of-work-not-so-happy-been dealing-with-assholes-all-night-John. They were being loud until about 3:30-4 o'clock that night. And I am not unreasonable apartment neighbor. I get it, I threw parties, and had my loud moments. But I always invited the neighbors to the shindig, or if they sucked, gave them proper warning. But these guys don't blend seamlessly into the fabric of a multi-unit housing complex. I am already anxious to see how I am going to get along with these guys as neighbors. So needless to say, they aren't on my Good Neighbors list. I still don't think they know that my bedroom is directly beneath them. Back to Lance Bass, so here I am thinking of what to do. Screaming "SHUT THE FUCK UP!", immediately popped into my head, to unoriginal though. Then I thought about booing, loud and long. And then I thought about going upstairs, putting a dog collar and leash around his neck, shaving his chest, and making some money off his ass in West Hollywood. And then I thought about it. Hey, dumbshit!, I thought to myself, this isn't Chicago, you can't throw a sausage at him and tell him to shut the fuck up. You moved to a place where mostly everyone is trying to be paid for their talent or lack there of. Don't be mean to the little guy. And then I felt proud of myself for actually acting like an adult and truly being accepting of those different then me. *I smiled slightly, pulled the cover off the bed, put on my pants, my boots, my shirt, and grabbed my knife. I walked out of my apartment, up the stairs and banged furiously on my neighbors door with a dog collar and leash in the other hand. Razor, cream, and hot water at the ready in my apartment below. Time to peddle some man ass.







*Didn't really happen. The rest, however, did.