Thank you Mr. Perdue

She ate chicken! Caliope ate chicken. And I don't think she threw it up, unless Kielbasa ate it after she did which is a complete possibility. But it still stayed down for a few hours, which is nice.

Kielbasa misses the park. He's been especially barky when I take him outside. And it's weird the building seems a lot cleaner - although my garbage shoot is still overflowing into my hall - and the kids have been missing from the hallway? No toys everywhere, no sign of them anywhere? I think it might be because school is back in session. Yay school!

Then there was Dennis

I love this man. Not in the same way I love Jarett...but in the same way I love Jebus.

Dr. Baldy, as Jarett and I talk of him, is amazing. He happened to be our Emergency vet at AMC last Thursday. He's the only vet I feel has not been yanking my chain. Even though AMC is more expensive then other places, I'll pay it to not be made to feel guilty, or feel pressured into an expensive procedure. Just when I'm at the end of my rope Dr. Baldy came through and told me a load of things that could be wrong with Caliope - or Calypso as the front desk lady calls her - he set me up with an Internal Specialist, refilled her prescription and said he'd talk to Specialist before our appt to make sure she's up to date. He also gave me his cell phone and email, in case I have any questions.

He did suggest I contact my family and ask for money, I thought this was funny - he said "that's what I would have to do with my little guy if I was in your boat."

He's amazing.

An idea.

As I walked back from the gym at lunch, an idea struck me. What if I could write a petition on Caliope's behalf to Leona Helmsley's dog Trouble.
How much money could a Maltese need? Certainly not $12 million, right? Not ALL of it. I'm sure he could spare a couple thousand for Caliope's surgeries. Some of her closest friends are Malteses - like Cat's dog Gypsy and his cousin (sort of) Junior.
That's got to count for something. If Bill and Melinda Gates can have a foundation why not Trouble? The Save the Dogs from Brooklyn Fund. Trisha, you like letters...start writing.

Robert

I met the cutest old man yesterday. While coming in from doing more laundry - amazing how dog vomit collects, I saw this old man from the 2nd floor talking to the other blond white girl in my building. He was asking her what floor she lives on, and what apartment she's in. She looked frightened. I liked this old man because he had a wheelchair, but it's like he doesn't like to sit in it so he just uses it like a walker. He has gumption.
I go upstairs, and maybe 45 minutes later this old man is knocking on my door. He had a package for me. But he was so cute standing outside my door. He looks homeless, white salt and pepper hair and long beard. He had on one of those paperboy hats, and I saw him straightening himself before I opened the door, like he was waiting to take me to prom.
A few minutes later, I'm waiting outside his door. He's telling me I can come in whenever I want, and that he hasn't locked his door in 26 years. His apartment is falling apart. It didn't have a proper ceiling. He called it a dump, but it just proved me right that the management company spends all it's money updating the apartments me and the other white girl moved into - yet let the resident's apartments go to hell. Robert, it seems, sits outside while the mailman sorts the mail. And if anything needs signing, he does it for the people in the building. It gives him a chance to socialize. He called me "white girl with little dogs" - I like it.

Caliope still isn't better. We're going to try to take her to the vet as soon as someone calls me back. Jarett did find this on her disease though, which was really educational.
http://www.beaglesunlimited.com/beaglehealth_coccidiosis.htm

Blame.

I got a call yesterday from a girl I knew in college. She's a law student and she said I should sue my management company. She had been through a similar situation in Harlem with a building that was falling apart. I appreciated her help, but I didn't intend to call back. Because really, none of this is the management company's fault. Maybe I could say the Super should do more, but he already works pretty hard cleaning the place up. Most of the problems with my building, and the area in general is the people who live there - no one is going to fix that.

There's a man who lives in my building who's lived there for 46 years. He once talked to Jarett and I about growing up there and how beautiful the building used to be, and how much worse it was a few years ago. We asked him why people feel the need to pee in the elevator or throw their half eaten food everywhere? He said it was because half the people in the building just didn't care. That sums it up.

The girl who called, then posted on this blog implying I had some nerve and I should be able to fix this because of my Communications degree from NYU? While Neil Postman would love to hang out at my place, I don't really think that's it. You can't make people care. This isn't about race, or even economics. It might start there - but that's not what this is. Half of the people living on my floor - the Ecuadorian Babysitter living next door or the Trinidadian lady living by the stairs - are the nicest people ever. The women who scream through the hallway, throwing food everywhere, and don't watch their children- show nonstop apathy. Am I supposed to make them care about where they live? No, I'm not. I can, however, complain about their apathy on this blog if I so choose.

None of that is going to make my dog any better though, is it?

Hope.

Caliope is eating. She's eating through a medicine dropper, and it's not much. But so far she's kept her medicine down and she's still with me. That's enough hope for me.

Today in the elevator I saw a pregnant 14 year old. They were talking about high school, she was the tiniest pregnant person I'd ever seen. I felt like it must be illegal.

My dog is dying.

Last night, when Caliope vomited for the 8th time - this time heaving so violently she threw herself to the ground - it finally occurred to me that she's dying. Now, every time she vomits she can't hold herself up. She won't eat or drink. I'm feeding her with a dropper - gatorade, baby food and ensure. She vomits it all almost immediately, but I just feed her again as soon as she's done. She's on medicine, but she mostly vomits it up. I'm just hoping some of it sinks in, and if I keep feeding her she'll stay strong enough to fight this off. But, it doesn't look good. At this point, it will be a miracle if she doesn't break a rib throwing up.


I don't know why I'm writing this, it really doesn't have to do with my apartment. My nice neighbor asked where she was, and I told her she's sick. She said she'll pray for her. And I met a man I'd never seen before in the elevator who was attached to a bunch of bags - one of blood in it, the other I'm guessing for going to the bathroom. He had a cane, and I know it's not the same but I commiserated with him.

I guess, for those of you who read this - just keep my little dog in your hearts. I guess, that's all we can do.

Brave one.

I'm really scared I'm going to lose my mind. As many of you might know, my dog is really dangerously sick. I know this is not the direct fault of my neighbors, but in some way I can't help but blame them. She has, we think, garbage gut - meaning she ate some garbage off the ground. And whatever's wrong with her was definitely caused by a parasite. They think Kielbasa might have it too.

Of course, now my building's been worse then ever. Huge groups hanging outside, chicken bones everywhere. There's also workmen in the building who are literally on crack. They harass me in the elevator. I need to call my management company to tell them what's going on, but it almost seems futile. They never even called me back last time.

I feel at the end of my rope - sadness and exhaustion from the dog being sick have made me particularly angry. I feel like I'm going to be like Jodi Foster in the Brave One and start shoving chicken bones off the floor down their damned throats. And I want to scream in the faces of the damned workmen - the one who's drinking whiskey out of a cup in my elevator at 11 am, or the one who doesn't have laces on his shoes and his eyes are so bloodshot they look like they're bleeding - and tell them to get the fuck out of my building.

In the meantime, if everyone could keep my very sick, very thin little dog in their minds - I would appreciate it.

Jarett's story

On Tuesday morning a cab picked me up to take me away from my lovely Brooklyn home for a night at a book show in Orlando. This circus freak of a driver, who was bald on only one side of his head and looked like Milton from Office Space, told me that I live in a "changing neighborhood" and that it's really "coming around" - I narrowed my eyes and shot hate at him from the backseat. "It's not changing fast enough, Sir."

I was particularly angry because Caliope is still sick. Can't keep food down or go outside sick. And I had to leave Jarett alone with her overnight. Cleaning up a sea of doggy diarrhea is a lot to ask of your Mom, it's absurd to ask it of your boyfriend who's allergic to dogs. Nonetheless, Jarett spent 24 hours cleaning up Caliope's opinion of Brooklyn.

He found time though to tell me some anecdotes of his time at the Crackhouse. I'm sure he'll be correcting me since he hates how I tell stories, but this is what I picked up, he arrived last night to walk the dogs and before he could even sufficiently park his car he had a little gang of hoodlums leaning on it. He then got out of the car and tried to talk some sense into these soon-to-be-rapists. I believe he asked them something like, "Why would you do this?" They mumbled something in their mumble language - like the click language, but in mumbles. Apparently, the main rapist-to-be has a full grill, which Jarett especially enjoyed since he's a dentist.

He got 100 feet from his car, realized his mistake, and moved his care. Not only did he dare cross their turf, but he actually questioned their motives. If he had left his car there he would have come back to nothing but some metal and his dental marketing cds on the ground.

Later last night while walking the dogs, he met some people in the elevator who were smoking. This is an adorable habit considering the elevator is the size of a small closet, and there are signs everywhere not to smoke. In fact, Jarett said some of the ash fell on my poor sick dog.
I hope this person with the ash, the monsters on the street, and all the aholes who leave shit on the ground for my dog to eat and get sick are struck with incurable pubic lice.

Caliope's allergic to Brooklyn.

This weekend Jenny watched the pups. She said nothing too nuts happened, and she saw some promising neighbors. I'm starting to feel strangely hopeful about the neighborhood in general!

Caliope is sick, which is making me sad. She's losing weight, and her tummy's all sorts of upset. I can only think it's because of everything she eats off the ground before I can stop her. This happened the last time I lived in Brooklyn. The vet told me then to give her a diet of pepto and boiled meat, and I'm hoping that works again. Otherwise, I'm going to post pictures of my poor emaciated dachshund on a sign around my building, something like this -

YOU ARE KILLING MY DOG WITH YOUR LITTER - YOU FILTHY ANIMALS.

Then I will force all the monsters who insist on eating their meals standing outside my door, to consume all the food they leave around for my dogs. "Eat the rest of the chicken wing, you disgusting monster. EAT IT"

No hot water again. Luke warm AT BEST. I hope some Winter this doesn't become a habit.

The Great Hipster Hope

I had the best day in the crackhouse today! It got off to a rocky start. I went to walk the pups and I got stuck outside the elevator (seems to be a problem on the fifth floor) and who should come outside but Banshee and her 11 brothers and sisters. The younger brother is my favorite. He's this little skinny kid with a huge head. He loves Kielbasa, and he has no fear with petting the dogs. He has this bad habit of screaming conversations in their little dachshund faces, but I don't think they mind much. The middle kids kept amusing themselves by calling them wiener dogs, with an emphasis on WIENER. They kept asking me if that's what they were called. As if this was a huge joke on me. I thought about asking them if they'd ever seen a penis, cause I had and it doesn't look like my dogs. But I thought better of it.

The funniest part of this exchange was Banshee, who was occupying herself with her usual sequence of ungodly screams - making Kielbasa bark - making the Emaciated lady who was waiting with me keep reassuring him "we're a family here." Until the stress gets to be too much for Kielbasa and he poops right there in the hallway. The kids explode, and I try to stop him but does it really matter? One of the kids said, "why's he dooding in the hallway?" I replied, "well our hallway smells like outside, so he doesn't know any better." This makes Emaciated lady laugh a lot. A bald gay man join us in waiting for the elevator. I see him as a sign of hope.

Then all of us crowd into the elevator for the most cramped, awkward ride ever.

Later in the evening though, the best thing ever happened. I SAW A HIPSTER. He has a dog that's six just like Caliope. A little girl dog who resembled a tiny pit bull. I nearly kissed his unlaced converses. Where there is Hipsters there is gentrification!!! And more importantly, he was super friendly and he said he just moved in two weeks ago. I think we might have a puppy play date in the park.

Someone called Kielbasa pregnant again.

I saw the unintelligible lady again in the hallway. I made out some words this time. I think she's speaking Creole? I got "bone-sucker" - Kielbasa- and "it's not time for eating, it's time for sleeping."All in all, things are looking way more hopeful then yesterday. Jenny's watching the puppies this weekend, so if she doesn't get shivved I'll have to have her report on the blog on Monday!

I hate it here.

I usually try to be funny on this bad boy, and talk about how hilarious all my neighbors are, but really it's time to fess up. I truly hate it here. I've never hated living in a locale more then I hate it here. Walking out my front door - just defeats me every single day. Whether it's the man who tries to grab me walking to my door cause I looked cold ("let me warm you up shorty"). Or the lady who yells at me because I don't hold the door for her even though I have 2 dogs and there are so many people congregated outside my door - I can't even get outside. I feel angry coming home. I see my neighbors - the guy who lives on the fourth floor- who has to take the elevator up one flight, just so he has somewhere to throw the cookie he's eating when he decides he doesn't want anymore (Kielbasa really appreciated it).

I lived in the most ghetto apartment in Williamsburg. I didn't have a door, and I lived in an attic with another dude. Granted he was a hot dude, but I assure you he wanted nothing to do with me. We had no AC and the place was a shack, but I liked it more then here. I lived with all the yuppies in the Hoboken, where it was a million miles from the city. No one came to visit, and I never left NJ, but it was better then here.

Why did I leave Queens?

MTA

I walk out of the subway last night and I overheard these teenage gangsters. I thought they might be discussing armed robbery, or maybe apple bottoms - but no, they were talking about God. And even more astounding, a class at SCHOOL that talked about GOD!

This little bit of intellectualism from my neighbors put a bounce in my step...

which didn't last for long, because as I crossed the street to go to my apartment an MTA employee in front of me turns around and says, "having a good night, miss?" I nod, barely, which must have been enough to encourage him. "I followed you out of the booth, you're very pretty." This, creeps me out hardcore, so I say nothing and hurry to my door. He then tells me he'll wait for me. I make Jarett talk to me while I walk the dogs. It's my fault for coming home when it's dark.

"We can not get out..."

Who remembers what that's from?

That's right! Lord of the Rings! Well, I finally know how Gandalf feels. The little children barricaded the fire door in my hallway last night. I try to get to the elevator, and there are no less then four bikes leaning up against the door. This doesn't count the three other wheeled children's vehicles haphazardly placed along the hallway. How many children do my neighbors have? More importantly, why do they keep buying them wheeled vehicles when they never plan on taking them outside??
This morning was the first time someone spoke to me in English and I had no idea at all what they were talking about. It was gibberish. I was coming in from walking the dogs in the rain. And this woman with a calypso-esque accent says something to me - and I honestly had not one clue what she was talking about. I just replied, "yup, they sure do love to go outside."

Confusion.

Some Statistics.

Yesterday, my good friend Ruben told me about this website where you can look up your neighborhood's statistics. Here are some fun facts-

Deaths due to drug addiction- 890 (11% of the city's total)

Robbery: 435 in 06

Murder: 21 - not too shabby.

Felonious assault: 355

Believe it or not it doesn't rank that badly in comparison to the overall city. It's the neighborhood of rainbows and unicorns.

This morning my apartment was particularly steamy because it's hot and about to rain. And since no one collects trash on the weekends, 48 hours worth of refuse is literally cooking in my hallway. We still don't have an elevator so I couldn't get down the stairs because these women on my floor were lifting there 1000 year old grandfather down six flights of stairs. Ruben told me you could call 311 to complain about stuff like this. I need to get them on speed dial. Maybe I can just send them my blog.

Enjoy your coffee.

Stupid move, but I waited outside for Jarett to pick me up this weekend. Within the five minutes I loitered outside - one man whispered to me in Spanish, a little boy in a bicycle swerved to hit me (he then commented to himself, "woah I almost hit that white lady."), a middle-aged man muttered something to me about the way I climbed the stairs, I saw my super's ass crack, and some man yelled at me about my coffee.

The coffee thing went like this. "Enjoy your coffee." Nice thought, but I didn't think it needed a reply. "I said, ENJOY YOUR COFFEE SWEETIE!" I said, "thank you!" because I was afraid.



No bicycle all weekend. No elevator. I keep telling myself the cardio of climbing six flights of stairs is good for Kielbasa and I.

No bicycle for me.

The dang elevator is broken. Maybe the water bugs formed a revolution and ate the cord.

That lady.

While walking to the elevator with the dogs, a little boy from one of the apartments down the hall was talking to his little friend and he says. "That lady...she called the police on us because we rung her doorbell. Then Mr. (I didn't catch this part) came up and yelled at us." Now, what this young scamp is talking about is when they were amusing themselves by taunting my dogs by ringing my doorbell and running away. I did call the Super, which must have been Mr. So and So, but the police were there all on their own. I can only imagine it's your everyday domestic violence call at the Crackhouse.


Then, on my way downstairs I noticed there were some men (I don't think they actually LIVE here) playing dice, like with money. Ruben called it "craps" but I think that's a smidge too classy. I do think I saw something like it in Boyz in the Hood.

The dealer diceman yelled at me when I wouldn't let him open the door for me on the way back in. "What shorty, you don wan me to open the daw for you." I already had my keys in the door. I guess you never know when you're going to rile the natives.

My aunt wants to come visit.

I spoke to my aunt last night. She was asking about the apartment. I told her a little. Then, she said she wants to come and visit me and go to dinner. This is how it went:
Aunt: "In a few weeks, we'd like to come in and see your new apartment and take you and Jarett to dinner."

Me:....

Aunt: "Does that work for you guys?"

Me: "You can't come here."

Aunt: ....

Me: "How about we meet you in the city, and I'll bring pictures of my apartment."

They can't come here. Like, ever. If they saw my lobby they would run screaming back to Far Hills, NJ.
(Ironically this picture is from near my old apt in Long Island City, Queens)
So then my aunt asked me why I don't move. I was reluctant to say I can't afford it, because I'm afraid she'll think I'm begging for money. Which I am, but more to pay off my astounding credit card debt, then to move. I ended it with reassuring her I'd be fine and that these kind of experiences build character. She said, "they build something." I think she's disappointed.

The malnourished lady rode in the elevator with me again. I love riding in the elevator with my neighbors. We don't want to acknowledge each other, so we just stare at the dogs. "Them dogs sure do love go outside, boy."

On the way back upstairs a couple from the 5th floor was asking me about the dogs. The girl asked if they were a boy and a girl. I confirmed. Then, she said "let me guess, the fat one is the girl." I don't know if I should be offended by this, but I said no, he's the boy. They laugh. So much laughter at Kielbasa's expense. He's going to need therapy. Then, she said, "oh I get it the girl's all sleek and sexy." And she does this mock runway walk, that I think was supposed to be Caliope if she were, in fact, a runway model and not a dog. I say Kielbasa is "big-boned." They laughed. I'm glad someone got my joke. Although he is big boned. He is!

This can't be good for my anger issues

Yesterday was actually a good day. This nice little Spanish lady commented on my chihuahuas. (Close enough) And how they are "smart like people" - I opened up my mouth to argue, but given some of my neighbors, I decide she's right. Then, a nice man said they were cute and started telling me about his dog. I thought he was being sketchy, but nope, just nice.

We go to the park. And a puppy German Shepard can "sit" - making my dogs look bad.

On our way back to the apartment, we stop momentarily at my stoop while I fish around for the right key. There's a girl leaning next to the door. That's an understatement since there's usually 10-15 people hanging outside my door. Sometimes in lawn chairs. But this girl had a plastic bag of groceries, I think? Since it was on the ground Kielbasa and Caliope timidly sniff the edges of the bag.

Then, this hose beast swings her huge, ugly purse at my two 10lb (average) dogs!!! "No you did'en" she yells. I open my mouth to tell her what a fucking idiot she is to get mad at two small dogs for sniffing something ON THEIR LEVEL. But I don't. Because why bother? Am I going to make sense to this monster? No. Never. At best, she'll stare blankly and say nothing. At worst, she's going to open her mouth to spit some protest in her dialect which is clearly NOT English.

How can I win?

Baby steps.

Today I made progress with the screaming children down the hall. One in particular is a little banshee able to produce a squeal not unlike a pig going to slaughter - and she's able to maintain this at a volume and duration that's ungodly.

So of course I go to take the pups out on their night walk, and she pops her head out the door and starts her siren song. Her elder sister who seems a lot more reasonable, comes over and pets the dogs. Thank Sweet Jebus Kielbasa didn't start barking. But then Banshee comes out, and starts actually saying words. When she's not screeching her sonic waves, she's actually a pleasant little girl. She wanted to know why the dogs went out so late - I said because they need to go before bed. This is a hint that since she can't be more then 10, and it's now 10:30 she might want to try some bed herself. I don't think she got it. Then, she wanted to know where the dogs sleep. I said in their bed. I think she wants to see my apartment. I think all the kids on my floor want to see my apartment. This is why they all hang out around my door. It's kind of sad when you think about it, because my apartment is refurbished and theirs' is not. They just want some place to go that's better then what they've got. Don't we all.

In the elevator on the way up, this really malnourished woman was commenting on how much Kielbasa eats. (She thought, like many people, that he was pregnant and Caliope's Mom). I tried to play it off that he's "big-boned," but she didn't buy it. "No..I'll tell you boy, that dog can EAT." I felt embarrassed for Kielbasa. It's possible his waist is bigger then hers. Maybe I do need to cut down on the meaty bones.

Rule number 1: Never look um in the eye.

I feel like I haven't spent enough time talking about the menz of The Crackhouse.

Did you know what crosswalks are for? Not for crossing silly, no - for Uturns! So when the light turns red, you can make a Uturn. Who cares if people are in the middle of the crosswalk?! Silly pedestrians. This is what I learned tonight while I was walking the pups. The mistake I made though was to glare at the man in the Range Rover as he made his turn, nearly clipping a hound. Clearly he misinterpreted my glare for a come hither stare. So he followed me in his jeep. Nearly running over the 5 foot high pile of garbage, as he yelled at me. Seriously, he was yelling at me. "Come ON Shorty, you're going to MAKE me sit here..." and so on.