Eventually I'll get back to writing regularly again. I really and truly believe that. Right now I'm acclimating to having finished school and actually having spare time. What is there to adjust to with having spare time again, you ask? Well, it involves a lot of sleeping in and floating on a thingy in the pool. Hard work I tell you. It's very tough to get to used to and I have to hold myself back from typical Type A behavior. But, I have a story! And it involves nudity, so how is that ever a bad thing?
Shortly after I moved into my new apartment, on a Friday morning, I went to take my girls out for their walk and there is a note on my door. I assumed it would be about my girls having a barkfest, but no. It was about my breasts. In case you are not aware, I have a lack of modesty that has gone on for oh, my entire life. This is vital to know about me as it prefaces a great many of the family stories about me. I think my parents saw this sort of thing coming when I was 5 and dropped my towel in front of 2 of my brother's very religious 10 year friends. In response to their gaping, I asked, 'What's the matter? It's just a body.' Yep. Sign of things to come.
I mostly assumed that since I live on the third floor and that there is a very large tree outside of my apartment, no one could see me not really bothering to put on clothes. I live by myself; clothing is unnecessary. I am an idiot. Of the flaming variety. So, I find the note and basically it says, 'Hey, thanks for your lack of modesty and all your naked time. You have a very perfect rack.' And I laughed, a lot. Right? Because there is a little bit of awesomeness to that. What woman does not like to be told she has perfect boobs? Especially when they're real! Come on. Then I was briefly mortified because wait! Someone was looking at my boobs and they didn't buy me dinner first! Or at the least an ice cream cone. All that went away when I realized that crap, I have a peeping Tom. And that is kind of creepy. Except not kind of, it's just creepy. I bought very long curtains that same night from IKEA, but didn't immediately get around to putting them up.
A couple of nights later, my neighbor directly across from me was yelling to me from his balcony. Very Romeo & Juliet, but without all that pesky romance. I was in my bedroom playing on my laptop, very late at night, and this dude is yelling at me. But I have no idea where from. I hear someone yelling, "What kind of dog is that?" And I look all around like, "God? Is that you? You're God, surely you know what kind of dog she is." And he yells back, "Yes. You. Come out here." So I go out on my balcony and we proceed to have a yelling conversation, which I am certain pleased all of our neighbors. We talked about my dog. He feels that I am much prettier than the last person to live here. It was a strange conversation and I suspect fueled on his end by the majority of a case of beer. I felt that my question of who could have possibly written the note about the affection for my rack may have been answered and that shit - that tree is not nearly as big as I thought.
The curtains went up the next morning, by the way....
