You Get Me, You Kill Me

This morning, I woke up at around 6:00 AM.

I didn’t do it for any specific reason, although with the amount of work I have to do I probably should have.

And it wasn’t a lovely, natural wake-up.

So, last semester, I had these neighbors who I referred to as the Muslim Sisters. For a while, I actually thought that they were the same person, since they were around the same height and weight and wore full-body burqas all the time. I began to get suspicious when I saw one out back in a pink floral burqa taking pictures of some birds on the lake and then walked upstairs to see who I thought was the same girl, in an all-black burqa. I deduced that my neighbor was either an incredibly talented quick-change artist, or more than one person. I was actually kind of hoping it would be the former. That would be a fun story. Anyway, apropos, I found out that actually three people lived in that apartment: the two girls were actually sisters-in-law, and they lived there with a guy who was married to one and the brother of the other, who I saw exactly once, in the elevator.

When I came back from winter break, I noticed that their names were whited out on their mailbox, so I asked what was up, and apparently they decided to go back to Saudi Arabia, where they were from. I guess the winter really did a number on them, although it was probably for a different reason entirely. I asked if I would expect any new neighbors, and they said no, they were going to redo the apartment. Completely.

I had no idea what that was going to mean.

So basically, for the past few months, six days a week, there are a few hours of banging, hammering, drilling, sonic booms, music, and chatter from the apartment next door. I just thought it was a little redecorating or something, but I looked in one day and the entire thing was gutted. Apparently the fixtures were really, really old and in need of repair. Much like my oven, which doesn’t get that hot, and my burners, which sometimes have a burning smell and sometimes don’t work at all.

The worst part? It all happens opposite the wall where I sleep. So when I wake up to drilling sounds, I always have this image in my head from Friends.

I can just imagine Matt (the guy who’s doing most of the drilling, not LeBlanc) coming over and being like, “did I get ya man?” But he won’t hear a response, because I’ll be impaled.

And if not, I’ll get to practice my Matthew Perry impression.

I better get on that.

In other news, thank you to Don Charisma for re-blogging me and introducing me to a whole lot of new blog friends, because watching my views go down from averaging 200 a day to averaging 20 a day was kind of depressing. Oh, and greetings to Bangladesh and Brunei, who showed up between last night and this morning.

9 thoughts on “You Get Me, You Kill Me

  1. I used to have this theme so it is kind of like coming home when I visit you. Sometime I should tell you about when I lived in Philadelphia and while I was watching TV one night, two bullets came through the wall between my apt. and the one next to me. A great deal of loud Italian and screaming started up and then the gun shots again. Come to find out, it was two old people and she thought he was messing around her. Lord love ’em if they still care about that sort of thing at 100.

  2. I hope for your sake that the wall against which you sleep is not the one in which your neighbour’s plumbing is installed. Happened here. Had to change rooms. As for the earlier trio: I would imagine they were both his wives …

  3. Had to laugh at this post, I can see myself screaming my head off for my next door neighbour to stop with his “remodeling” of his apartment not so many years ago. The bastard would wake me up on a Saturday morning at 7 a.m. Come on it´s Saturday, let me sleep in once in a while. Quite some not so kindly words we would exchange.

    Yep, Mr. Charismas can sweep you away with his Charisma, a great guy.

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