Saturday, January 3, 2009

After the New Years...

I've been gone for two nearly two weeks traveling for the holidays. Here's the Reader's Digest version:

Long, painful drive - two and a half hours just to get through the Bronx - in Rhodey four days - snowy farm Christmas in CT - drinking too much over at Mrs. P's in Warwick - Roxie was the Pope of Christmas town - calling my ex-in-laws in California, babbling merry Christmas wishes and apologizing for having drunk so much of the aforementioned wine - drinking at the Roadhouse and realizing how depressing the bar scene in Providence can be - lots of presents from my girlfriend's parents and an invitation to the family reunion as a "friend of the family" (but only if I want to) - back to Philly (nicer drive) - desperately trying to minimize socializing but can't seem to do it - birthday at World Music cafe (Bluedan sings at open mic and I nearly piss myself laughing, the poor devil) - Gogol Bordelo plays on New Years eve - foolish dancing, several whiskeys - the girlfriend and I realize it's been ten years to the day since the first time we hooked up, even though we've only been dating a year - watched the Mummers get debauched on Two Street while estranged friends are helped to be civil, etc...

That was the holiday. Now I'm home and finally trying to relax. Unfortunately it's more difficult than I thought. That's because things here are not not exactly normal. For one thing, when I got home on Friday I noticed the front door had been kicked in. It's still lockable (if that's even a word), using the deadbolt, but the handle is all smashed. Apparently the holidays did not go well for Cookie or Juana (my upstairs neighbors). Cookie is the wide eyed woman who lives with her kids and is notable for the number of times she's tried to get the Buildings Department to ruin our landlord's day. Apparently she was involved in a cat-fight so intense my roommate actually thought cat's were fighting outside his window. No one is sure why or how it happened, but Cookie is sure to have had a not-so-happy New Year.

Juana is known for being something of a supe, and for staying up all night in violent drinking sessions with her son. They start out with music and usually end with him screaming incoherently at her. He seems to have had one of these Neanderthal moments New Years eve and became responsible for kicking the front door in. He smashed up his mother's apartment and was hauled off by the cops. Granted, I wasn't here, so this is all hearsay. I did see Juana today and she didn't look beaten up.

So that was my welcome home. Oh, and I have no heat. Or hot water. I didn't notice the heat that much because my room is always cold. However, it appears the oil burner is dead, so there's no hot water for the whole building until at least tomorrow. Happy New year to me.

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