It's a quiet Sunday here in my apartment complex. No one's at the swimming pool (it's closed, like always). No one is down at the river yet. Nope, things don't get poppin' out here til about dark. And then, it's like...I don't even know how to describe it. Maybe detailing my neighbors (minus the stalker that you all already know about) will help.
I have a tendency to choose low-rent apartment complexes to live in. Yes, I can afford the more expensive ones, but I just don't see the point of throwing away my money (and entertainment) to live in an overly-priced, exceptionally small apartment that looks exactly like the 25 year old-ish one that I rent for approximately two-thirds less. You wouldn't know by seeing the inside of my apartment that it was probably built in 1980-something. It's a gated community. It's close to the major interstates and downtown. It is also a mecca for the working-class American (and wanna-be American). And I love it.
My favorite neighbor is Ola. He is from Africa, is always dressed to the nines, and sells luxury cars-through Auto-Trader. He is quiet, keeps to himself, and was kind enough to help my boyfriend and I move our furniture in when we first signed our lease at this apartment (and no, he didn't rob us).
My next door neighbor is okay, she has two boyfriends...it's always a show-down when one arrives before the semi live-in boyfriend leaves. My dog (who also understands Spanish) and I often watch heated arguments in the parking lot during his nightly walk. It's like Destinos, but better. The scents wafting from her apartment always smell good...better than any Mexican restaurant that you've ever been to, and her music is...well, I don't really enjoy her music. While I love, love, love me some El General and Enrique Iglesias (en Espanol), I'm not a fan of the Mexican-restaurant(ish) music that blares next door until midnight. But, at least she's respectful and the music is turned off early and doesn't come back on until late in the am.
Now...everyone probably already knows about my least-favorite neighbors because I complain about them often. I have a very strong dislike for Lan-Lan and Honey, as well as their members-only Vietnam Vet era Pimp. I wish I was making this up, but this is the complete and total truth. From 11:30pm until 6:30am when Honey leaves for whatever her "real" job is, there is incessant and incredibly loud noise from the bedroom above mine. There is no furniture in the living room, only a faint bluish-tinted light. A bright light, however, glares from the bedroom above mine. It is always glowing-a sign to customers, that Lan-Lan and Honey are open for business. Oh yes, I'm 99.9% sure that an illegal "massage parlor" is being operated upstairs. And I'm 100% certain that it comes with "happy ending". This has been going on since we moved in, and I can honestly say that I have not gotten one complete, full-night of sleep since October of last year. I absolutely DESPISE Lan-Lan and Honey...and their Pimp too. He drives one of those roller-skate looking cars for god sakes. How do you pimp a couple of middle-aged Asian women in one of those? I'm just wondering.
Now, the other side of the building, I like. There's my taxi-cab driver friends. They know how to party at a 10 and keep it at a 2. There's an old car-wash station at the end of our building where they've set up lawn chairs, a trash bag, and a beer station. They are truly good guys...any man who names their puppy Bella and will sit and call out to my severely anti-social dog by name each time I walk him and wave to me (note-not stalk me) is a good man in my book. And then, there's the Mariachi band that practices next door. They aren't very good, but it's always funny to hear them (except for the nights when I want to go to bed early).
The only other downside to this complex besides my stalker and Lan-Lan and Honey, is the fact that for some reason I've been mistaken for a prostitute on multiple occasions while walking my dog. Seriously, an unshowered woman with her hair unbrushed and tangled, in yoga pants and a t-shirt walking her dog is a prostitute? Just last night, a red car came to a complete stop and the man inside said, "Hola...". I just glared at him until he drove off. Come on dude, I'm walking my dog, not standing on or near any corner. Perhaps that's a job I should consider if worst comes to worst...it seems I'm already one step ahead of the game as far as looks go. Lol, that really scares me.
I, of course, won't disclose where I live...but, there are millions of apartment complexes like this one spread out all over the country. I just have that special knack for finding them.
Moving in Less than a Month,
Freeway Fairington
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