The ladies next door: double trouble

My intention was to publish this entry when it occurred, which was exactly that day after I wrote about a random domestic dispute that paled in comparison to the neighbors I used to have. Obviously, I have a problem with sequential story telling, because here we are, nearly 3 months later and I’m about to pick up where I left off…

~ ~ ~ T  I  M E ~ ~ ~ T R A V E L I N G ~ ~ ~

At two o’clock this morning, as I was shutting down my laptop, content with the blog I had just completed about the stupid incident involving my next door neighbor, when it happened. A woman’s shadow appeared through my blinds. I had just published, so there was no way she had read my blog where I accuse her grandmother of doing the nasty with her now ex-boyfriend.

The shadow paced back and forth in front of my window.

I started to get nervous. Was this girl going to take a bat to my window? Should I enact my emergency evacuation drill, where I push The Librarian off the bed, grab the dog and roll onto to the bedroom floor?

Suddenly, a voice boomed out of the shadow. A voice that wasn’t my neighbor’s. It was another woman who began another obscenity-laden (like the ex-boyfriend’s from the day before)  phone conversation that was unbearably loud.

“Where the fuck are you? I’m here in front of your house. Are you fucking kidding me? I have to work tomorrow! How can you do this to me?”

The phone conversation went on for a few more minutes before she hung up and turned her attention and full lung capacity to the friend that accompanied her on this venture. Two shadows now stood outside my bedroom window, laughing, slurring and talking about the things that only drunk people can understand.

Half of me wanted to get up, open my window and scream, “Shut the fuck up!” Similar to the way Oscar the Grouch would if Sesame Street would not censor him so strictly. The other half wanted to hear more.

I sat up in bed, festering in anger, imagining how mad I would’ve been if this hoochie dissertation disturbed my slumber. When, all of a sudden, a pair of blood-shot eyes stare up at me. They were those The Librarian, who had in fact been waken by the cackle.

The first words out of her drool stained mouth were, “Is that coming from outside?”

I responded in the affirmative and quickly jumped out of bed. I opened a drawer to find appropriate clothing, but before I could get a t-shirt over my head, she was up and headed for the door. I went to stop her, as she was wearing a very thin tank top without a bra and happy bunny pajama pants, which we all know is no respectable attire when you have to go out there and ask someone to shut their pie hole. But, she stopped me in my tracks with:

“Stay! You don’t know how to talk to people.”

I sat stunned on the edge of the bed. Speechless. I don’t know how to talk to people? My entire career is based on talking to people.

She unlocked the door and busted out of the apartment. I watched the third shadow join the other two from the safety of my bedroom. In shadow form, The Librarian looked like a member of Whitesnake – all hair, all the time.

Then a voice emerged from the shadows. The voice of the drunk, loud mouth. She sounded demur and refined.

“Oh my God, did I wake you?”

“Yeap,” responded Sammy Hagar.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, we’ll keep it down.”

“Please,” said Slash.

And with that, the third shadow turned around and walked back into the apartment.

“What happened? You didn’t say more than two words?” I demanded, still struggling with only half a t-shirt over my head.

“I walked out there and put my finger over my mouth.”