Eh

Maybe I'll post again here sometime. Not sure.

Maybe not. I'm just bored.

OK, thanks.

xoxo
Ha Ha Sound

Because it's boring...

I don't know. Just don't feel like blogging much anymore these days. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not feeling it anymore.

Life is good and bad, as always. But I'll still be commenting, and posting occasionally.

You can now find me at:

http://hahasound.tumblr.com/

Don't expect much. And I promise not to disappoint on that front.

xoxo
Ha Ha Sound

A poem I wrote while waiting for my computer to finish backing up my data so I can go the fuck to bed because it's almost 1am already

His fur is the color of vidalia onions
I'm not sure if I spelled vidalia right
and I'm too tired to doublecheck.

White, almost translucent, badly in need of some grooming.

He rubs his nose against mine
happy, affectionate

and then he sneezes all over my face.

Now I have cat snot on my cheek.

Yum.

Think I'll go wipe it off now.

I'm trying to think of a not-that-vulgar way of saying that I kind of know now what it's like to have somebody cum all over your face when you weren't expecting it.

But really, it's something I have absolutely no interest in being able to relate to.

It's 12.59am.

Jarvis Cocker, please report to the bridge of the Enterprise

My high school math teacher performs standup comedy as a hobby

This is seriously hilarious, but totally NSFW:

I'm tired today, but in a good kind of warm and tingly happy and contented way (although I am going to have another espresso soon)

In my rush to get to work this morning, as I left the apartment of the new woman I'm dating I accidentally put on one of her socks. So, I'm wearing hers on my left foot and mine on my right foot.

I had no idea until she text messaged me to tell me.

It's kind of hotttt.

Not as hotttt as wearing her panties at her request, but hotttter (and less creepy) than if I'd somehow accidentally wandered out wearing her panty hose.

And I promise to stop using the phrase hotttt in all future blog postings.

And FYI, we both wore black socks last night. Which is why I couldn't tell whose was whose this morning. Especially because I hadn't had any coffee yet.

Sometimes you create things that, upon reflection, make it seem as though you were drunk when you did them even though you weren't

Poem composed at EV Idiot's trivia night last night:

If your pet hamster has herpes
Give him two aspirin
Some sushi
And a Valtrex Slurpee.

Let's just say that people were writing poems back and forth in order to taunt other teams. I wanted to get in on the action, but I guess I didn't quite get the game.

You know you're drunk when We Are the World sounds beautiful at 2.44am

I feel sorry for people who don't have tickets to go see Radiohead on 08/12/08 in Camden, NJ

'Cause I do. Got tickets this morning. After hitting refresh on their tickets website for almost 2 hours.

Yessss.

When you buy a bottle of white wine after work, put it in the fridge as soon as you get home so that it'll be properly chilled later on

Last night, I was told I shouldn’t put any hair products in my naturally untameable Jewfro. It was cute, but I don’t think I could walk around like that.

Last night, I ate a slice of Sicilian pizza with sausage and pepperoni shortly before midnight.

Last night, I slept like a baby.

But before going to bed, I listened to this old song called Good! by Pizzicato Five. I think I’m addicted to it. Here are the lyrics:

How do you do?
How do you do?
How are you?
I’m fine!
What are you doing?
I am singing
What did you do today?
I did a soundcheck

Nice to meet you…
See you again…
Nice to meet you…
See you again…

Come again soon!
Yes, I’m sure
Say hello to mama
Yes I will
Oh what’s the matter?
mmm, nothing
What’s the problem?
It’s okay,

I’m sorry…
See you later…
I’m sorry…
See you later…

Un, deux, trois, quatre…

Na na na na na na na na

Have a nice day
same to you
What time baby?
9 o’clock
Gonna have a good time?
I miss you
How do you think about it?
I don’t know!

I’m happy…
How I love you…
I’m happy…
How I love you…

Puis-je fumer?
Oui, bien sûr
Bonjour, monsieur!
Comment allez-vous?
C’est combien?
Je ne comprends pas
Au revoir, monsieur
A bientôt!

Sil vous plait…
Merci beaucoup…
Sil vous plait…
Merci beaucoup…

Good, good, good, good,
Good!

Being sober when somebody who lives in your building knocks on your door late at night while in the midst of a crisis is probably a good idea

This past Thursday night, I got back a little bit before midnight from my friend Dyanna’s birthday party. It had been fun, if not the social event of the year. It was at a restaurant north of Union Square that a friend of hers is the manager at. We gorged ourselves on delicious appetizers, drank and talked. Other than Dyanna the only other person I knew there was her boyfriend, but enjoyed meeting her other friends. And interestingly, I wasn’t even that drunk when I left.

Interestingly. Of course.

So, after stopping off at 99 Miles to Philly for a snack before bed, I climbed the stairs to my apartment. I could hear my next door neighbor sobbing wildly in her own apartment. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that I’ve posted about her before. She and her boyfriend are always arguing loudly, but I’d always been of the opinion that he wasn’t abusing her or anything because it was usually he who stormed out after a fight. And he’d usually yell something like, I don’t have to take this anymore!!, before leaving in a big huff.

I didn’t think much of it that I could hear her crying through her apartment door. I went inside, lit a cigarette and was considering flossing my teeth when there was a knock on my own door. I was surprised. It was late. I asked who it was, and my neighbor asked me to open the door. Odd. But I did. And her face was streaked with tears. I asked if she was OK.

She told me that she’d fallen off of her bed and hit her head on her radiator. Immediately, alarm bells went off in my head. Had her boyfriend hit her? She removed her hand from the back of her head, and it was completely covered in blood. I asked her to let me call 911, but she begged me not to. Instead, she handed me her bloody iPhone and asked me to call her boyfriend. Surprised, I did exactly that as my neighbor sat down in my doorway and continued smoking a cigarette. I grabbed a paper towel, wrapped some ice inside of it, and handed it to her as her boyfriend picked up the phone. I explained what was going on, and he said that he’d be over in a few minutes. He sounded surprised, and so I ruled out that he might’ve been the one to injure her.

By then, I had taken command of the situation enough to simply call 911 of my own volition. My neighbor didn’t argue. The emergency dispatcher said that help would be arriving shortly, and that I should apply a dry cloth or paper towel to the back of my neighbor’s head. So much for my medical knowledge. I took the bloody ice and paper towel mixture from my neighbor, and handed her a dry paper towel. And, as she was sitting there smoking, I also gave her an ashtray. No point in starting a fire during the midst of all of this craziness.

As her phone rang, she handed it to me. It was her father, and she wanted me to talk to him. He had a very thick Southern accent. Now, I’m not one of those Northeasterners who has a snobbish attitude about Southern accents. I actually like them. On women, they’re really sexy. And on men, they sound badass. I mean, think about Chris Cooper and Tommy Lee Jones. Total tough guys. And their gruff, Southern way of speaking definitely factors in.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. I think it’s because I’m hungry. I’m going to make some pasta after I post this entry.

My neighbor’s father had a very thick Southern accent. If I’m remembering correctly, the area code for his phone number was 404. Atlanta. When he said the word in, it sounded like eeeey-in. Cool.

He asked me who I was. I told him I lived next door to his daughter. He asked me how old I was. I replied. He wanted to know if I’d called 911. Affirmative. Then he started to go on about how, no matter what, I shouldn’t call his daughter’s boyfriend. OK, this was getting strange. He then proceeded to tell me that my next door neighbor was basically suffering from some kind of battered partner syndrome, really needed to be institutionalized to deal with it, that my neighbor had probably injured herself to get her boyfriend’s attention and that the boyfriend was a really bad fellow. My neighbor’s father begged me not to let the boyfriend in. I said that would be no problem, even as I wondered how to coordinate that. The father told me that the boyfriend was a pretty big guy. I said I wasn’t worried. I’m not exactly easily frightened. The father said he’d call back, and that was that.

The boyfriend called moments later, asking if I’d called 911. I said I had. He told me he would be there shortly. Thinking about my conversation with my neighbor’s father, I told him not to worry about it. Everything was under control. He didn’t need to come by. I wasn’t exactly slick about it. The boyfriend seemed confused and was silent for a long moment. He was probably putting two and two together. He said he was coming anyway, and then he hung up.

The EMS workers arrived, and they couldn’t have been nicer. They thought that my neighbor had a concussion, and needed to be hospitalized. I was chatting with one of them, a nice guy who looked to be in his early 20s, when my neighbor’s buzzer went off. The other EMS worker let him in before I could tell her not to. Fucking great.

When he got upstairs, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He must’ve guessed that I’d spoken to my neighbor’s father, and he probably had a decent idea about what I’d been informed of.

They all left. The boyfriend went to the hospital with my neighbor. The father called back a few minutes later, and asked if the boyfriend had gotten in. I told him that he had. I gave him my number, and said he was welcome to call me back if I could help in any way. He asked if I’d gotten the name of the hospital that his daughter was going to. I told him that I hadn’t even thought of it. Vodka and then a cheese steak had made me... well... not exactly at my sharpest, mentally.

And that’s it. Bizarre. My neighbor hasn’t been back in her apartment since then. I’d like to know if she’s OK.