Downsides of NY Apartment Living: Cockroaches, Mice, Loud Neighbors

I haven't had much to write about lately. The depressing weather has made me lazy and reluctant to deviate from my weekday routine of work-workout-movie/tv show and weekend routine of eat-nap-eat-drink-eat. So you'll just have to read about things in my life that aren't so new.

Cockroaches

I'm immune to the sight of them crawling along my wall. I don't even bother to kill them because they're on steroids and will manage to run away after I smash them with a napkin.

Mickey Mouse

I hear noises coming from inside the walls once in awhile and just pretend that it's the heater that's causing the scratching noises. Then one day I found a hole in my bag of chocolate chips and mouse droppings on the floor and could no longer be in make-believe land. The superintendent covered up the openings in the walls and I have yet to see new droppings.

Cookie the Dog and Her Screeching Owners

My apartment backs up to two other apartment buildings so I can hear everything that goes on in my neighbors' homes. A Spanish-speaking woman is always yelling at her two children, presumably teenagers, and their dog, Cookie. They'll wake me up at 6am and sometimes 7am with her screaming, the son singing and the dog barking. I have no clue what they look like, but I imagine the mom to look like a Latina version of Frau Farbissina from Austin Powers and her son like an unattractive Glee character. Whenever I walk past their apartment building, I always look for a woman and try to see if I can recognize her voice when she talks to the store keepers. I haven't been able to identify her yet.

Bachata Music

I have another loud neighbor who always wakes me up at 4am with what I assume are phone calls since I only hear him talking in Spanish. His obnoxious laughs are dry and coarse, like he's having difficulty expelling air from his chest. I imagine him as an overweight old man with a balding head who slaps his thigh when he's laughing. He must be hard of hearing because he blasts his music so loudly that I can successfully Shazam it--he has an affinity for Frank Reyes and bachata music, which makes me seek out a Dominican man whenever I pass by his apartment building. I always think about what I'd say if I ever see him and the screaming mom in person.

Next post: the men who work at the stores on my street. There's the guy who has short-term memory, the socially awkward creepy guy who always tries to talk to me but can't seem to get a full sentence out, the guy who always states the obvious, and another creepy guy who tries to talk to me as I'm always walking away.