Dumpster Drama: Episode 1

I've finally moved to the back of my building, and so now I once again have a lovely view of a dumpster -- this time the next-door-building's dumpster and carport area. So instead of Scenes from a Balcony, we are back to good ol' Dumpster Dramas! How excited are you?

Our new saga brings us to Episode 1: Drunk Girl vs. Angry Dude

Last night at around 1 AM this car drove through to the end of the carport and dropped off this obviously drunk girl. She got out, then she and this guy (the driver) had some sort of a spat, and then the guy said something like "Forget it" and got back in the car. He revved up his engine and backed out of the carport, and Drunk Girl cried out, "Nick! Don't go! Wait!"

Then I heard click click click click and "Nick! NICK!" She was running in high-heeled shoes after him. "Nick!! Stop!!" She became more frantic as she ran. "NICK!! NIIIIICKK!!! STOP!!!"

He didn't stop, and this continued on until her voice and the click click click noises faded.

And I thought, Oh honey, I don't care how drunk you are or how hot he is...never -- NEVER -- run after a man in heels.

THE END.

Scenes From a Balcony: Scene 8

Which is worse, being in the front of the building or living in the back with the dumpster?? It's a toss-up. Especially since a new instrument has become part of my morning orchestra. In addition to yipping poodles and overbearing mothers, there is a woman who at about 6 AM walks up and down the street and repeats:

"Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty... Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty..."

After many mornings hearing this repetition, and imagining some old haggard bag with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth (because of the scratchy throaty muttering), I finally peered out the window this morning to see what this feline-calling female looked like.

Yep, she was a frazzled old lady smoking a cigarette. And she was walking up and down the street in her pajamas, searching in the bushes and underneath cars for this unfortunate cat. "Baby Blue? Baby Blue? Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty..."

Each morning she does this, and sometimes even in the evenings. I feel like going out there and telling her to get the fucking hint. I mean, this poor cat...first of all, he's named "Baby Blue" for chrissake. Secondly, he obviously does not enjoy living with this nicotine-perfumed old dame, because he's always M.I.A. So leave the miserable creature alone already, and let the entire street sleep in peace.

At least until my morning alarm of "Goodbye, Love of My Life!" starts ringing.

Scenes From a Balcony: Scene 7

My morning ritual was jarred this morning by a strong variant in protocol. As outlined in a previous scene witnessed daily from my balcony, this morning was quite different. I woke up to the beloved 'love of her life' having a major tantrum outside my window. His uncontrollable outburst was so startling that the poodle even stopped yipping.

"I hate you! You are the worst mother ever!! I wish you'd DIE!" were some of his choice phrases. The mother, who usually smothered her son with kisses and called out in to the early morning air "GOODBYE, LOVE OF MY LIFE!" was unusually quiet, except an occasional "You don't mean that."

The meltdown continued until the bus pulled up. The little boy got on with no words exchanged with his mother and was driven off. Finally the poodle resumed yipping.

I stifled a laugh, afraid the mother would hear me. But I felt like yelling out to her, "Guess he wasn't the 'love of your life' today, huh?"

Scenes from a Balcony: Scene 6

It's been a while since any real drama has happened in my ghetto abode in the valley. Well, except for the new morning ritual that happens daily outside my window.

I'm lucky enough to live only 15 minutes or so from work, so that means I can sleep until 8 AM. Yet every morning before my alarm goes off this woman stands under my window with her stupid yipping poodle; the constant, high-pitched YIP YIP YIP of this fluffy nuisance begins at 7:30 in the morning. Why is she standing there, you ask?

Well, I'm wondering this, too, so at this point I'm out of bed and staring out the window, trying to see who the hell is standing on a corner at 7:45 in the morning with their irritating poodle going YIP YIP YIP over and over, and for what godforsaken purpose.

Now a rather small school bus pulls up and stops outside my building right where this woman and her high-strung ball of fur are waiting, standing next to a child. She is seeing her small child get on the bus. At this time -- when it first happened -- I believed my annoying wake up session was over, and I felt a brief moment of relief.

But then the mother yells out in a falsetto sing-songy voice: "BYEEEEEEE!!! BYE, LOVE OF MY LIFE!! BYEEEE!!!!" and frantically waves at her child now finding their seat on the bus. As the child sits by the window, the mother becomes more frantic. "BYE, LOVE OF MY LIFE!! I LOVE YOU!!!" Sometimes she even has the menacing little white pup 'wave', too. "BYEEEE!!! LOOK, SHE'S SAYING GOODBYE!! SHE'S WAVING!!!"

The bus finally goes off and the mother and the yippy poodle go back in to their apartment. And I only have 2 minutes until my alarm goes off.

Since this has been happening EVERY morning for the last month and a half, I see no point in setting an alarm anymore.

Scenes from a Balcony: Scene 5

So last night Dyno and I were taking a drive to the grocery store when we spotted three street-walkin' ladies milling around only a block away from my apartment. What's scary is that since the last time we saw a hooker in my neighborhood, we've been seeing more and more of them around.

It got me really fired up, too. Before I moved to this hot and sticky town in the valley, I used to live in such a nice neighborhood right by the beach. A town where I could walk around at night without running in to a single whore. What has this world come to, that in a semi-decent neighborhood such as mine there are prostitutes??

Well, Dyno saw how fired up I was so he decided to call the police and have those sluts rounded up and taken outta my hood. After searching through the yellow pages and calling 411, we discovered that the only phone number for the local police is the LAPD. Apparently my large city in the valley doesn't have a local police or sheriff's station.

And worse yet, the receptionist taking the call said that due to some heavy gang activity in other parts of L.A., all of the available police were on watch, and that our street-walker problem would be put on a low-priority list.

So what's another way to get rid of neighborhood hookers?

Scenes from a Balcony: Scene 4

Today's drama should be called "Out on the Street" because it didn't take place on my balcony, but it's still indicative of my wonderful neighborhood I'm slumming in.

Dyno and I decided to take a nice evening walk down the street on Saturday after dinner. We circled around the block and were making our way down Sepulveda when we got to the crosswalk at the intersection. A woman wearing a party dress was standing next to us, and we waited for the light to change.

It was taking forever. Dyno and I looked at each other, both thinking, "Did she press the button to cross?" But neither of us could answer. Finally, Dyno pressed the button.

Just as the light changed allowing us to cross, I heard a honking noise and a man pulled up next to the curb. The woman leaned in to the passenger window and then got in the car.

As Dyno and I crossed the street I -- for a split-second -- still believed she was just waiting for her ride. But then it hit me what had happened. I looked up at Dyno to see him laughing. At the same time we started talking: "I can't believe I just saw that in my neighborhood!" "That was hilarious!" "I've never seen that in real life before!" "That was awesome!"

But there's more. I was still staring at them across the street because the john hadn't driven off yet. Just then we were passing a second woman, and this time I could recognize what she was doing there. Sure enough, the man across the street whistled, and the second woman ran across the street towards him.

Ahh...the lovely sights and sounds of my community.

Scenes from a Balcony: Scene 3

Today's drama should be called "Oohh...Fi-yah!" Last night the building next door's fire alarm went off. I went out to my balcony to see what was going on and saw that residents were evacuating the building. (As a sidenote, I spotted a few hot guys that live next door. Yee-haw!) There were a bunch of dog owners among them, so the street was filled with dogs barking and the fire alarm wailing.

Then I heard sirens in the distance. The fire station is only a couple blocks away, so they were there in no time. I was lucky enough to snap some pictures from my lovely vantage point on the balcony. Two humongous firetrucks parked right in front of my building, right under my balcony. So I got to see all the firefighters climbing out, suiting up, and heading inside.

Firetrucks to the left of me...firetrucks to the right...

It seems that whatever caused the alarm to go off stemmed from the garage, because after a while they all headed down there and then residents started pulling their cars out.

Then the traffic began. This woman trying to pull in to my building's parking lot drove up and then just stayed there in the middle of the street next to the firetruck, putting on her blinker to signal her intention of turning. The firemen, all inside the building, couldn't move their truck. She got frustrated and just stayed there, blocking other people from coming in to the street. Finally someone got out and yelled at her to move her effing car so other's could pass. I could hear her whine, "I'm trying to get in to my parking lot." What a dumb@ss.

Scenes from a Balcony: Scene 2

So some people leave their hearts in San Francisco. I leave my keys. Or, so I thought. Here's what happened: I go to SF for a while to visit friends, and when I return, I can't find my keys anywhere. So I had to ask my new apartment manager to lend me a pair until I found them again.

I'm sure this isn't the first time someone's gotten locked out or lost their keys. But she acts like this is a major inconvenience. I mean, isn't that her job? Take the rent, tell people to shuttup, and let me in the building if I'm locked out.

She's an ugly little troll anyway. But now she gives me attitude whenever she sees me. Until finally I root through my suitcase and find my "lost" keys. Well, thank God, because if I had to deal with her attitude for one more day, I'd explode.

Okay, I'm done venting. For now.

Scenes From a Balcony: Scene 1

Seeing as how I no longer live in the apartment that overlooks the dumpster, and therefore can no longer witness any Dumpster Drama... I shall now bring you Scenes from a Balcony, as my new apartment now has a balcony that overlooks the street. This required a new graphic. (No, I don't live at the Charles in Charge house. That's what the front of my building really looks like.)

Anyway...on to the story. Scene 1 opens at the nice hour of 7:30 PM. This is when I got home finally. I live less than 15 minutes from work, but I had to stay late. Right when I drive down the street, I hear continuous honking, and I see it's coming from a car parked across the street. (Love the invention of the car alarm, lemme tell ya.)

Fast forward to 3 hours later when I'm ready to go to bed. The car alarm has been going on and off continually every 20 minutes. I've been debating for the last 3 hours on what I should do. Should I plug my ears and go to sleep? Should I call the nearest tow truck company? Should I call the police? Or should I go outside and throw a high-heeled shoe at the windshield out of pure frustration? Finally I make a decision: I don't know the number for the local towing company, but I do know the number for non-emergency police.

The operator has finally answered and by the time she does, I think the car alarm has stopped for good. But I ask her to please send a patrol car out to look in to it. New to the neighborhood, I anticipate a car to come out in about a half hour. None ever came. I guess now I know the type of neighborhood I'm in now. No longer in the plush beachside community I once cherished. I'm in the city -- the real city! With it's car alarms, noisy traffic, and lack of police protection.