Present Imperfect

What She Said | August 12, 2004

I've decided to stop apologizing (to whom?) when I let the blog slip for a week or more. Starting right now. Here we go. Get ready.

I will warn more sensitive readers to proceed through this entry with caution, because it contains, like, swearing and shit.

Eric and I have lived in our duplex apartment building for two and a half years now. We've lived in the two-bedroom half for one. In the house next door lives a friend of a friend, who I sort of know. I sometimes attend her parties (when invited, which is rare). I drag someone with me and we stand around her cute little house with her battalion of Eames chairs and dining room skylight and built-in bookshelves and small back patio and we watch the LA elite slip through the front door. There is a lot of stiletto posing, short skirt flipping and long hair tossing. I do not belong. But there is also free food and booze, right next door, and I lack both shame and self-control.

I do not think my neighbor has even heard of shame or self-control. Why do I think this? Because when she hangs out or talks on the telephone or invites people over to dine on her newly renovated back patio, I can hear every single word she says.

I never complain, even (and often) when it's 1 a.m. and she's talking so loudly that neighborhood dogs begin barking. Not even when it's 1 a.m. and she's talking so loudly that I have had to retire to the couch because I have a job interview the next day and I can't sleep through the din (um, for example). I never complain because I don't want to be the uncool complaining neighbor, and also because the stuff she says is so hilarious, I don't want to lose my listening privileges.

I have hesitated to write about this in the unlikely event that she might stumble across this blog, but I can't hold it in any longer. Not after Tuesday night. Plus, anything that follows was spoken loudly enough that everyone in the three- or four-house radius surrounding her patio heard it, too. I'm merely documenting it for posterity.

Episode 1: The Surprise
Neighbor: "So, I was like, in the bedroom, and he comes in and I'm like 'what's that?' and he's like 'that's my cock ring' and I'm like 'ooooookay.' Yeah, so I didn't go out with him again."

Episode 2: The Failed Conversion
Neighbor: "So, why would it feel different if a woman gave you a blow job?"
[slightly softer, unintelligible exchange between British Male Friend and Neighbor]
British Male Friend: "No! I mean, aren't you seeing someone?!"

Episode 3: The Wicked Charge
Neighbor: "Oh my god! He seriously fucked the nanny? He FUCKED the NANNY? Seriously. He fucked the Nanny?"
British Male Friend: (jokingly) "I said he shagged the nanny."
Neighbor: (not jokingly) "He SHAGGED the NANNY? Seriously?"

From now on, following any night of noise-induced insomnia, I will tell everyone who enquires about my exhausted state and the dark circles under my eyes that I was "shagging the nanny."