"We found poop in there!"

(May 17, 2006)

Getting new neighbors. Actually, I've already gotten two of them in the house across from me. Drew said when he went out to walk his dog he heard one's mother saying, "We found poop in there!"

Ah, Sunnyside. But that was days ago. I met them last night, and also the people that live on the third floor. No one has rented the second floor yet, and I'm hoping it stays that way. Maybe I'll put some poop in there to try to deter prospective renters so no one will live directly above me.

As most good friendships begin, I met my neighbors, Lauryn and Kimmy, outside at 3 a.m. while they were grilling t-bones and drinking beer. I wasn't sleeping anyway.

Then, the third floor guys from my building came home and, long story short, started running around in circles on the roof in their boxer shorts while some girl (a girlfriend?) half hung out of the window swinging a baseball bat before storming out in a drunken rage.

I've broadened my theory of alcohol as a paradoxical balancing agent, as apparently it doesn't just apply to me. Granted, it's hard to stand still while drunk, but somehow I can run across an icy Michigan parking lot in heels, and Donny and Justin can run around a wet, slanted roof without falling and getting concussions. It's one of life's greatest mysteries, really -- Stonehenge, Nostradamus, shroud of Turin, the correlation between alcohol and athleticism.