Happy Halloweener Dog

Found bloody rag in the hallway.

Good intentions

Last night, I got home vaguely late. I take the pups outside. And I'm waiting for the elevator, when lo and behold Banshee starts TALKING to me. No yells. Just a cute little girl, asking me about the dogs. I thought I was in the Twilight Zone.

She asked what their names are, and what kind of dogs they are. She even came really close to petting Kielbasa - who to his credit didn't bark at all, and was being very sweet to her. She said she's going to get a little white dog for Christmas.

Then, her monster older sibling, or at least one of the unruly teenagers who live in the building slams open the elevator door, making Kielbasa bark, which makes him look at me, and at the dog and start screaming in both our horrified faces, "What the FUCK? What the FUCK?"

For every step forward, we take one mile back.

Threatened by adolescent

This was a doozy of a weekend. Saturday morning, the elevator was shocking everyone who had the nerve to hit floor buttons. I believe it's because it was raining, but I can't be sure.

Then, a girl in the elevator was totally fucking with me, and trying to hold a conversation with me in Haitian. I also figured out my neighbor who I like is Trinidadian - not Dominican. Whoops. She came downstairs Saturday morning, and she was screaming because someone had put their garbage in the elevator. I can see her frustration. Apparently, she used to clean the building not too long ago, but stopped because it was like trying to sweep sand off a beach.

The ultimate battle royale of the weekend though, was being accosted by a 15-year-old GIRL! Banshee and her older sister - we'll call her Ugly-Fat-Monster-Who-Will-Die-Alone or (UFMWWDA). They are arguing on the 4th floor about whether or not to get in the elevator, and I'm standing there staring with the dogs. Finally, I say "can you guys just decide" and this starts UFMWWDA off on a rant, about how they are going in and going up. I said, "Well, I'm going down." She then throws banshee into the elevator and starts blabbering about how if my dogs or I come near her, she's going to kick us. I'm gripping Kielbasa's leash so hard to prevent myself from slapping her ugly, little mouth that my hands turning white. I say, "if you kick my dog, I'm going to call the police." She says, eloquently, "I ain't scared of the poh-lease. And I ain't scared of white people." The latter, became like a chant. So there I am, her screaming about us Whities, and Banshee screaming and Kielbasa barking at the mayhem.
I had to call my aunt and ask if I should genuinely call the police, which was an awesomely awkward call. We decided UFMWWDA has enough awfulness heading her way in life, and to add to it would be unnecessary.

Soooooo close.

Last night, I came home with all my groceries. And this young kid, who apparently lives on my floor though I've never seen him, actually helped me carry my bags into the elevator. I was in shock. So much so, that I didn't tell him I'm super strong and don't need help carrying groceries. I was in awe so much that I almost ran upstairs and wrote about how wrong I've been all along, because the nice boy was willing to carry my groceries for me.

And then....

10:30pm: I go outside to walk the dogs, and there are 15 people sitting in the hallway circling the elevator like a campfire eating BBQ Chicken. What in the holy hell is wrong with these people? Why would you ever WANT to EAT YOUR DINNER IN THE HALLWAY!?!?!?!?!?!?! And also, which came first the stereotype or these monsters living the stereotype? If you are one of my good friends, you got a picture this morning of the plates of filth LEFT IN THE HALLWAY outside my door.
I was talking to someone about this Wednesday, that this is how racism is propagated. Not to get too preachy, but my neighbors hated me the minute I moved in. Because I looked like someone that was probably an ahole to them at some other point. So, they treat me like garbage. This makes me wish they would all die an agonizing death. Someday I will move away, and I will have to UNlearn this hatred for people who look like them. But, what about the people like me who move (and there are others, I see their terrified faces in the lobby) and don't stop hating the people who look and behave like our neighbors?

This morning the front door was locked from the outside. So a handful of my neighbors and I were actually trapped on the inside. We had to bang on the door until some guy let us out. I wish I could describe that particular kind of panic.

Run!!!

I was talking to my coworker today, and I brought up Halloween. And she gave me this look of panic, and said, "I suggest you stay far, far away from your apartment on Halloween." I had considered buying the kids on my floor candy, because maybe I could woo them away from being little jerks with food. But, probably that's a bad idea and they will just come around MORE. Especially since I doubt they are getting much food at all at home.

Either Caliope or Kielbasa is eating the evidence every time Caliope gets sick. While I really appreciate the consideration, it's tricking me into thinking she's not getting sick. AND, I have to scour the floors every time I come home/wake up to find traces of what MIGHT be there so I can clean. The good thing is, she's eating regularly and looks ok. Now, if she'd only get really better, and I could go back to stressing about dumb, innocuous things like boys.

Power of Sleep

After yesterday's mini-breakdown, things are much sunnier (despite the rain) today! Last night, I cleaned my apartment, the dog managed to keep most of her food down. I gave her her shot, and I think I did it right? She ate her dinner, and in fact this morning ate dog food again! Which means, I don't have to cook her chicken every day. She even didn't seem to have an accident in the night! So, I slept and she slept! Yay, us!

My neighbors seemed to sense I was near the edge of my rope yesterday, so they stayed away for the most part. Even Banshee kept her shrill war cries to herself when I walked the dogs last night, and I wasn't robbed! Thankfully, I know a guy who builds bridges who said he might be able to install a lock (and put poop on my neighbor's door), so my television might make it through this unscathed.

Now, my front door key isn't really working. I think it might be sabotage. I look like a moron, jiggling the key, getting panicky because while I fumble with the door I have to hang out with the 5-20 gangsters casing the joint from outside.

I thought of something that happened last week that made me think. I yelled at these two teenagers from the building, who were clearly wasted for smoking in the elevator. Right before the incident, they had made a comment about my ass, and Caliope was in the elevator so I didn't think my poor sick dog should have to smell their damned cigarette smoke. I said they can't smoke in the elevator, their witty reply was, "What, you the Surgeon General or somethin?"

Yes, yes that's it.

Yet, the hipster was smoking in the hallway with his wonderfully behaved, funny-looking dog and I said nothing. Why? Well, because the hipster is always super friendly and nice. He doesn't make me uncomfortable by staring at my boobs the whole time, or commenting on my ass. So while I still feel a little hypocritical, it's because it's all I have on the dang teenagers. I have to choose my battles.

Angry day.

I should preface this entry by saying I drank a bottle of wine for dinner last night, so I'm not in the brightest of moods this morning. This is exacerbated by the fact that Caliope is now losing control of her bowels. I don't know if this is a passing thing, or if it's a new trend. But I came home just wanting to drink some water and go to sleep. But, I had to feed her, and give her all her medicines, and walk her, and clean up everything she'd left behind from the day. So that was tiring enough. But then maybe two hours after going to sleep, she wakes me up because she got sick in my bed. I know this is my fault because she shouldn't have been sleeping with me, but I feel like she sleeps better, and I like to monitor her. So, I had to get up and clean the bed, and change the sheets, and put her in the living room. Then, this morning, still not feeling so hot - after cuddling with Kielbasa for warmth because I don't have a comforter anymore. I wake up, and start the whole routine all over again. Only to have Caliope have an accident on the couch before I leave for work, and not eat her breakfast.

This has little to do with my apartment, except that it's what made her sick in the first place. And I did try imagining Katie and I's love nest to make myself fall asleep with Kielbasa. Maybe I'm just tired, and feeling annoyed today. But what did I do to deserve this? I moved to this apartment to help SOMEONE else out. My management company will let me out of my lease, but not give me a deadbolt. So I'm going to get robbed any day now. I have to live with these hose beasts, in fear. AND a very slowly, dying dog. How is this in anyway fair?

Exhausting weekend

Where do I even begin? I know something happened Friday, but I don't have time for that in this blog. Let's jet over to Saturday. Two things of note, my super gave me my key back. You're thinking, good - now he won't kill you in your sleep, right? Wrong. He gave it back to me because he said someone was robbed on my floor, and he doesn't want to be responsible WHEN I am robbed. Then, he mimed that I need to get a deadbolt put in, but that I need to call a locksmith to do this because surprise, surprise he's incapable. So I have to call my management company today to discuss that, I'm sure it's going to be AWESOME.

The police were on my floor EVERY SINGLE DAY THIS WEEKEND. In fact on Saturday night, the police were talking to some screaming lunatic I'd never seen before with 15 assorted children running around. And before she could threaten my dog, she said "I have nice white people living in my building I guess, so no more running around the hallway." I wish I owned a gun.

I rode down the elevator with the police, and I almost started crying to them. I told them this was the worst building I'd ever lived in. And that my dog is sick because of their littering. I felt like I was begging them to take me with them.

Gregg was scared his car would get stolen while parked outside. That's what I would like to elicit from my guests, fear.

Yesterday was a whole new adventure. I had about 10 people over to visit with Caliope. They all agreed she looked happy, so I'll stick it out a few more weeks. Although taking care of a sick dog is so draining. What was amazing, was that everyone saw my blog literally come to life. My awesome neighbors yelled at half of the guests. Andrea even saw a crazed woman in a hospital gown wondering in the hallway. Every day I spend in this apartment, makes me a more bitter, angry person. Like I need help in that department.

Clarification.

As the beautiful and talented Jennifer pointed out, I was a little too vague in my last post. Let me clarify. When I speak about Brooklyn, I mean my own little slice of hell. Thanks to the technology of match.com I'm able to search in my own backyard, and believe it or not there must be a shortage of slightly chubby, but completely doable blond girls in my postal code. Who knew? So I'm directing it to those dudes. Brooklyn is wonderful, everywhere except MY particular square block. Just lucky, I guess. Park Slope is nicer then most parts of the city. Williamsburg is always a treat when visiting Ash, Chris or Kevin. Even where Ruben lives on the Q is way better then my personal hell. But I was on my own while picking the place, and I don't know Brooklyn too well. So I'm dumb. To all the Brooklynites I might have offended, I'm sorry - you know I love you, baby.

A naked child wouldn't let me down the elevator last night. He kept holding the door open, and screaming "bye!" I didn't want to touch him because I was scared, so I stayed like that for ten minutes until a sibling pried him off the door.

I was so exhausted last night from working with the Alzheimer patients, and I was totally feeling sorry for myself - even though I was working with Rose a wonderful woman who couldn't remember her birthday - but I looked so pitiful that she kept telling me I should move to Savannah. It's like a message from God!

There were five police officers in my hallways last night. They made jokes about my dogs, and seemed happy to see me. I think someone screamed out one of the doors that somehow they were there on my request? I didn't call them, but was more then willing to be their friend anyway.

Cute boy did in fact move in next door. Getting nightie ready...

Do I lie?

Now that I'm starting to talk to menfolk again, the question of my neighborhood almost always comes up. Usually it's good for some funny stories that make me seem self-deprecating, and a little sad, but in an adorable way. The only rub is when the dude is super PRO-BROOKLYN. There was one guy who actually BOUGHT a home near my craptastic apartment. Why you would want to PURCHASE something on my little runway to hell, I'll never understand. But do I fake it? Do I pretend to like this monstrosity, or so I tell them how I plan to run back to Queens first chance I get? I think I keep it vague until date 2.

Except that dude who bought the house, he's nuts and I just can't respect that kind of insanity. Later, buddy.

Caliope is still sick. She's eating more, which is good. But still pooping. I found a lady who will take her and treat her and then give her away to someone. I don't want to come to that, but I suppose it is a good last option. I think it would possibly kill me.

Maybe eviction wouldn't be so bad?

So much happened yesterday, it's hard to recount it all. I came home to find landmines of dog illness all over my bedroom, which was awesome. Caliope has a whole new set of meds/vitamins. She's up to about 7 things she's taking, which is about 1 thing for every pound she weighs. And I have to give her a freaking shot! I hate needles.

When I went to take them outside, a woman came out of her apartment IN A TOWEL. Then, because it makes the most sense, shot ME a dirty look as if I'm the idiot for being in the hallway. She then walked past me grudgingly, dragging one of the small nameless infants that come in and out of those apartments. She walked into the apartment on the other side of the elevator(still in just the towel) and slammed the door, making the child scream in fear.

On the way back up in the elevator, I think I saw an eviction notice given to this old man who lives in between the evil triumvirate of apartments outside the elevator. While I'm happy to see most of my neighbors kicked out, I felt sorry for him. I feel EVEN MORE sorry for the poor sap that moves into that apartment after him.

Caliope managed to sleep through the night without being sick, which is amazing. I actually woke up and poked her this morning, afraid she might be dead. Maybe one of her medicines is working? I guess we'll have to see.

My super told me yesterday he's coming into my apartment today to fix my heaters. I can only imagine the kind of thing he's going to find when he opens my bedroom door. I mean at this point, I don't even care. Eviction couldn't be the worst thing right now.

The man to blame?

Last night, I'm coming up in the elevator with all my groceries. And my broker and a new client are riding up with me. The broker is this really sleazy Jewish guy. I disliked him from minute one, but since I was on my own while looking for this place I didn't have much choice.
The boy he was showing around the building, was pretty cute, and he started asking me about the building/neighborhood. I was torn. Do I tell the truth, and scare him away? Or lie, so that I have a cute boy living across the hall? I saw a mental image of me walking across the hall in some cute little nightie - the other ladies on the floor do it!!! - assuming I owned such a thing - to borrow sugar, or paper towels for dog poop as the case may be.

(because this is what I look like before bed)

I decided to tell a version of the truth, all the while glaring at my broker, that the kids on the floor make a good amount of noise, but that they were thinking of putting up cameras. That I liked the places across the street, and the park, but that the neighborhood was changing VERY slowly. The truth is, this shmo broker is going to get someone to pay to live there, and I can't possibly warn them all, right?

It's like Caliope knew the hell she put me through yesterday. I come home, with yogurt and Amodium and really anything I could think of in my last ditch efforts to not have to give her up. And she's running around like a puppy, a really bony puppy who hasn't eaten in weeks, but a puppy nonetheless.

She ate a ton, for her yesterday, and while she vomitted once - I knew that 2nd dinner was pushing it - and pooped a few times during the night, she ate again this morning. So, I'm torn. I'm picking up the dewormer today. Then, I figure I'll take a vote on Sunday during my, "Congratulations, Your Life Sucks" party. My friends are smarter then me.

No sleep in Brooklyn.

Last night, I could NOT sleep. It was killing me. I couldn't tell if it was just the ridiculous amount of noise outside my window, or all the coffee with Toni Ann - but it was awful. I maybe slept four hours. The things that drifted in through my window were so terrible, I have to share...

The usually loud people hanging out outside, and car stereos that sounded like they were in my room. Did I mention I live on the 6th floor?

A child, sobbing and saying "I want to go home. I want to go home." This one was particularly disturbing, because he sounded really close but I had no idea where he was.

A gangster screaming, "What! What! What!" for at least ten minutes.

Gunshots. I swear. I never heard them before, but definitely gunshots. Awesome.

I finally closed the window and put my fan on to drown out the noise.

I tried to sleep with the dogs again, but Caliope kept waking up to be sick. I have one more session of a dewormer I need to get from the vet, but if it doesn't work - and I doubt very much it will - I'm going to think of some other options. She's still emaciated, and sick. She's not getting better, she's shown no signs of improvements in at least a week. I'm going to have to give her up. I think Toni Ann knows of an organization that takes sick dogs that people can't afford to treat. I know it will break my heart, even more, but how can I continue to let her be sick and do nothing. The only other option is she will die, and that can't be better. How much more do I have to give up?

After last night's breakdown.

After blogging through some rage last night, I called my Super to complain about the no hot water. He comes up to my apartment, turns on the water, waits a couple of minutes and the damned hot water came on!!! How did he do that? I felt silly.

Then, Caliope ate a little dog food. After I yelled and begged with her to eat something. And on the way out last night this man stopped me - I'm almost 100% positive he's one of the "suspects" listed in the letter. He also asked me about it. He agreed with me that we didn't think it came from the management company. I have to believe they have a spell check for that kind of thing. And we think it came from someone inside the building. He was much nicer then the lady earlier who somehow blames me for the crime for calling the police on her children, because I'm wasting the fuzz's time with my silly complaint of a PARTY IN THE HALLWAY!?!??! However, I do think the suspect man sort of thought I might have been the one to send it. I had already had a little too much wine, so I was way friendlier then usual, so I either eased his fear - or he's coming to kill me later.Got a nice little weekend planned....

I really wouldn't worry about the rapists.

Last night, I was having coffee with Katie and she said her mom tells her that when things just seem so bad they can't get worse, and then they do, that life is like a pendulum and that as sure as it will swing as far to one side as it can - it will eventually come back around.

I'm not convinced.

It's Friday night, and I feel like my head might just explode. I don't know where to even begin to start. I hate this place so much. A kid shut the door on my face in the elevator when my hands were full. Then, on the way to walking the dogs the nice lady started lecturing me that the rapist letter is bound to happen because "people" keep calling the police on her poor children because they make noise, distracting the police. How can one place be so terribly bad?

I can't even shower tonight, no hot water. There's officially been hot water as much as there hasn't.

The dog isn't eating, and as far as I can see isn't getting better. She's either going to die, or I'm going to live in this state of hell until she's hit by a car.

I'm supposed to be going on dates, so I can move on. My heart is completely not in it, and where am I supposed to bring said dates? Back to my place? "Hey nice to meet you! I can't wait for you to see my place - if we don't get attacked in the lobby don't mind the endless dog poop in the living room."

How did things get so bad, so quickly.

'locks

Do you have any idea how many people in my building fit the descriptions below? It's astounding. I just keep staring at everyone trying to figure out if they are a "Look Out."

Katie and I think we might move sooner. I can't wait to get back to Queens. I miss it so much. I walked past the 7 train this morning, and sighed a sad sigh. I will miss the park, a little. But mostly I will run screaming from Brooklyn.

Caliope wouldn't eat this morning. Why won't she just get better?

Never fear

Every day I wonder when I'm going to run out of material for this blog. It seems like it's only a matter of time before stuff stops happening, but then every day some new ridiculousness becomes blog fodder.

Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail. I wanted to include it in it's scanned form, but I don't think you can really read it. So here's a picture, with the text to follow. I have nothing to add to this because it's just too brilliant on it's own. I have no idea who sent it, but with the poor spelling/grammar/punctuation I can only imagine it's a professional. It had no return address.

Tenants of 50 Lincoln Road.

It has become apparent that THIEVES and RAPISTS are living among us. The Police at the 71st precinct are aware of this problem and have "50 Lincoln Rd" as one of there "BEATS" in our neighborhood, which includes Officers making periodic spot checks to ensure quality of life issues are being uphold. It is for our SAFETY that we corporate with these Officers, who are not always 100% courteous but will get the job done if you happen to face any of the "Low Lives" that are terrorizing our "Homes and our Children." Home Invasions and Rapes are on the rise and you need to protect your homes and family. The Cops have taken back the streets now these "Low Lives" are operating indoors {men/boys who hang around smoking weed}, in groups of 3s and 4s "Breaking into Apartments," stealing anything they can possibly sell. Things to look for;

1. "Look outs" {men between the ages of 16-35} who stand blocking the only entrance/exit of 50 Lincoln Rd, all day long watching your every move.

2. These folks stand across the street as well for hours at a time engaging in the same activity, stalking you or your children {seeing you leave/return & if your kids are home alone}.

3. Don't get into the elevator with any one who has been standing in front of the building waiting for you to open the door. {"Look Outs" conveniently hold doors for you & ride with you to your floor, just to see where you go}. Stairway should be safer.

4. "Look Outs" often live in the building where they commit their crimes or have friends who do.

5. "Look Outs" also listen for sounds of Tenants leaving their Apartments to see where you live.

6. If the Lobby's door is jammed with any object, it would be helpful to release it for the safety of all the law abiding Tenants of 50 Lincoln.

7. Change your routine every so often or get someone to check on your apartment if you live alone or work long hours.

8. If you know anyone who does not live in the building and is seen sitting or lying around, call 911 and have them removed.

9.Stay clear of two known African American male characters who frequent our lobby; (a) Tall 6'2 slim built, 180lb dark complexion with short dreads. (b) Slender built 5'9 dark complexion with breads or a pony-tail, 165lbs. Thanks, & Please Pass This On.

My pleasure! It just writes itself.

Them.

I'm reading this book "Them" by Nathan McCall. It's not that great of a book, but what's amazing is that it's all about the Old Fourth Ward in Atlanta, and what happens when a white couple moves into to an all Black neighborhood. It's like it was written for me.
The white lady who moves in goes into a mini mart across from her house.

[She had never gone into the store before. It seemed like some fraternity house or private club she was not yet a member of. Her instinct about the store was more on point then she might have imagined...When Sandy approached, the mini-mart was filled with people and chatter. Sandy appeared in the doorway and stopped just inside. The place fell deathly quiet. Met by burning eyes, Sandy advanced just beyond the first row of canned goods. She could feel eyes trailing her. Sensing a tension mounting in her store, the owner, Juliette James called to the white lady from up front.

"May I help you?"
"No. I'm fine. Thank you."

She could feel it: Every hint of motion she made was being scrutinized, especially by the women. Their eyes cut like razors, peeling back her skin and clothes. The whole affair wore on Sandy. She decided to get out of there...On the way out she heard snickering. From the far corner a woman's voice trailed her: Beeeeeeiiiiiiitttttcccch! Beeeeiiiiittttttccchhhh!]

Rainy day.

I befriended a Bob Marleyesque braided man in the elevator yesterday. He helped me with my laundry. The rub: I think he is a crack dealer, and he lives across the hall. When we walked down the hall there was a mess of a lady, literally cracked out and shaking, waiting for him outside his door. Lovely.

Then, this morning 6:30am, I'm coming inside from the rain with the two dogs. False alarm on Caliope pooping a solid yesterday, so she's still sick. As I push open the elevator door, these two beasts - there hair was standing on end, and they looked like extras from Michael Jackson's Thriller video- give me dirty looks. I can only assume because I had the nerve to walk out of the elevator? The one monster kept saying, "I DON'T THINK SO. I DON'T THINK SO." They continued chanting and staring as I walked down the hallway.

For those of you who keep asking why I don't move. I will, I promise. I already have plans to go back to Queens in the Spring with Katie Noonan, and never, ever look back in the direction of Brooklyn.