Odd-Ball Tales About Living In New York - Is Sex In This City?

One of the things about living in New York City is the fact that people live above you.

I sometimes feel like I'm in a bad dream where a bus load of men with big beer bellies are coming towards me wearing nothing but spandex shorts and ashy-feet-in-white-tube-socks-in-sandals.

This is one nightmare you don't ever want to be in.

Ah, yes. The apartment above.....

Well, I once had a neighbor who did nothing but vacuum all day that it drove me to write down the multiple intervals on a paper bag just from going crazy.

7:33am....vroom.

It started at this time because her husband, the cab driver, would leave for work.

8:46am....vroom. vroom.

Zeus, please make it stop.

9:51am: vroom. vroom. vroom.

Mercy, me.

11:42am. Vroom. vroom. vroom.

God. Please. I'm begging you. Give her diarrhea. For one whole year.

This went on like this for weeks at a time. I couldn't take it anymore and I just had to confront her. So, up the stairs I went and knocked gently on her door.

Truth be told, I really wanted to bust it down with 10 deadly karate kicks I learned from an old boyfriend.

Boy, was he a fine specimen of a man. But that's a whole other topic, folks.

She finally opened the door and the conversation went something like this:

Vacuum nut: "Yes, can I help you?"

Me: "Hi, I live right below you and I can't get any writing done with all the noise from the vacuum?" ( pssst....I was really watching one of my favorite shows: "Judge Mathis"...shhh!)

Vacuum lunatic: "So?"

Me: "You know, I have a puzzle downstairs I could lend to you if you're bored or ..... in heat!"

Shrek-the-vacuum-monster: "Go to ....!"

She slammed the door in my face before I could catch the last word. But after discussing it with the nosy lady who's always looking out the first floor window (there's one in every neighborhood)....we've concluded that the place she wishes for to "go" is somewhere near purgatory.

Now, this made me madder than a hatter. And I vowed to do what most white folks do - WRITE A LETTER TO SNAPPLE.

That'll teach her to mess with my special moments with Judge Mathis.

So, I sat down and wrote a letter to Snapple and cc'd every single agency my book of stamps would carry.

Dear Snapple:

I am writing to complain about the woman upstairs. She's dangerous with household appliances and causes me great pain in my backside every single day.

I'm not a doctor but when in the shower and I'm examining things as taught to me by my gynecologist, I think I feel a lump - on my right cheek. You guess which cheek.

Just when I got used to the rattling of her bed at 7:03am from the act of marriage consummation.....she took up the sport of turning on her vacuum machine - and never turning it off.

Can you please send her 23,574 of your bottle caps and tell her she will win the prize of the world's greatest vacuum cleaner if she comes up with an equal number of trivia questions?

This will keep the loony very busy for about two years and by then my lease will be up and I will have moved to another pint-sized Manhattan apartment.

Sincerely,

Strawberry Kiwi

Loyal readers.....I don't know if they ever granted my wishes but 12 days later I saw my neighbor drinking a bottle of "Mango Madness". The vacuum sessions stopped. I was back with Judge Mathis. Ahhhh....life was good again.