Love thy neighbour?

Much easier said than done.

After the Armenian gangster (and his family) moved out earlier this year, we had a blissful almost-six months without anyone living above us. For anyone who's ever lived in an apartment with people above, you'll appreciate how great this was. No stomping around, no loud television or music blaring at 2am,  no midnight vacuuming, no drunken yelling, no doors slamming.

Our bedroom is directly beneath the living area of the apartment upstairs, so if the neighbours are being less than considerate, we know all about it.

I also understand that noise travels, and there are times when it's hard not to make noise. I'm pretty sure that when I was in my early twenties, I may not have been the most selfless of neighbours... so I'm not against the odd night of loud music.

When our new neighbours moved in, we peeked out our windows and tried to guess whether they'd be trouble or not. We - or rather I - decided that they appeared to be a young professional couple, so Party Central during the week was unlikely. Phew.

Less than a week after they moved in, there was loud hammering above the Faery's and Miss Pie's room. Loud, repeated hammering - like the sound of furniture being assembled. It was 11pm, and a Tuesday night.

Seriously?

Given that our apartment complex has a clause in our lease about not using the dishwasher or washing machine etc after 10pm - out of courtesy to other neighbours - I thought that hammering furniture together could fall under the same category for noise pollution.

I decided a friendly introduction and chat might help, so I went and rang their doorbell.

And waited.

And waited.

I rang again, and waited.

And waited.

I took a step back, to see through the window above their door - there is a staircase which leads straight up to their living area.

What did I see?

The back of the guy, creeping away from the door and up the stairs to the living area.

Oh no, he didn't!

He'd come down, peered out the peep hole, and decided not to deal with me. Clearly, he had no idea that I could see all the way up their stairs.

Anyhow, the hammering miraculously stopped, and that was that. Whatever. I was happy to avoid any confrontation, and he must have realised he was making too much noise.

About a month later, on a weeknight (I'm less likely to complain about noise on a weekend - I was young once, believe it or not), they had their television up way too loud - it sounded like it was maximum volume, and some kind of console game was being played. Again, it was about 11pm, and preventing J and I from sleeping.

I figured they probably just didn't realise how loud it was - it happens - and threw on some decent clothing so I could have a friendly chat.

I rang their doorbell, and waited.

And waited.

Took a step back, peered up through the little window, and saw a sheet-wrapped figure tip-toeing up the stairs, then their lights went out.

Okay... it's going to be like that, is it?

But the noise stopped. Result.

As much as I hate confrontation, something about this bothered me. It's not like we're never going to run into one another - why not keep things pleasant enough? Instead of ignoring me, why don't they just own the fact that they were being a bit too noisy, acknowledge it, say sorry, and move on?

Overall, the noise they make hasn't been too bad. Often, we'll go for weeks without hearing any sign of life up there. Then there are other nights - usually weeknights - where they'll be loud, but it usually stops by 11.30, so we haven't bothered saying anything.

Then last night (actually, this morning) - after being up several times already, tending to sick kids - I couldn't get back to sleep. Their effing television was up loud, and it was 1.30am. I really didn't want to go through the whole charade with their doorbell. It's winter now, and bloody cold outside at that time. Eventually, I gave in because I wanted sleep, dammit.

I went outside, rang the doorbell, and waited.

I took a step back, and saw their lights on... but couldn't be bothered hanging around to watch the back of somebody skulking guiltily away from their door, so I went back inside.

And it was quiet. Result.

I think it's safe to say we have a system in place now, yes? They make noise late at night. I ring their doorbell. No words are exchanged. Noise stops. Result.

I just wish the whole thing didn't make me feel icky.

Not deep

These are the questions on my mind at the moment. Deep stuff, I know...


1. Why do most shoe stores not stock my size? I'm tall, but hardly a freak of nature. Shoe shopping puts me in a foul mood, especially when dealing with smug ho sale assistants who do their best to imply that I am a freak of nature. Hos.

2. Why do toddlers refuse to sleep a wink on long car trips, yet frequently nod off three minutes before arriving home - even when just coming back from the shops?

3. Why can't I find double cream (or even plain old thick cream) in LA? Why are my only options either watery 'whipping' cream, or sickly sweet processed crap from an aerosol can? Sigh. Even Whole Foods and Trader Joe's have failed me here.

4. How much snot can a toddler produce? Seriously?

5. Why do I find Jon Stewart (from The Daily Show)  strangely attractive?

6. Why can't I be sensible and go to bed at an earlier time each night? Not that 10.30 or 11pm is bad, but I'll never get that nine-hour stretch of sleep I want from a morning lie-in. Not. Going. To happen.

7. Why do small children think that 6.30-7am is a perfectly acceptable time to start the day?

8. Why haven't Ben & Jerry's made an ice cream flavour with whipped cream cheese yet? Just sayin'...


I don't expect anyone to have the answers, but please amuse me with your ideas anyway - that comment box below is waiting especially for you.

Off the hook?

I'm very lucky that most Sunday mornings, J gets up with the girls and lets me sleep in for an hour or two. You know you're getting old when 9am is considered a luxurious sleep in. The sad truth is that if I stay in bed any longer, my body gets all stiff and sore, so that kind of undoes any of the good that comes from extra sleep. Youth has left the building.

Not all of my Sunday sleep-ins are of quality sleep though. Sometimes when I go back to sleep, I have exhausting dreams that leave me wishing I'd just got up at my usual time.

This morning's effort had me thinking I was in my final year of high school, gearing up to do my Higher School Certificate.

Only, I realised I hadn't set foot in the school for a while. Quite a while. Shit.

What was on the syllabus? What assignments did I need to be working on? Shit, shit.

What was due? When? Shit, shit, shit.

What had I been doing with my time? Really - what had I been up to? I couldn't remember what was making me too busy for school. I knew I hadn't been sitting around, doing nothing. I hadn't been wasting my time.

Panic time.

I haven't studied! I don't know what I should be studying! I am so going to fail, just on attendance alone. Fuck.

And then...

Hang on... let's back up a minute. I do have my HSC. Oh, sweet relief! I don't have to sit those exams after all.

Exhale.

And what's that? There's more? Oh yeah, I have a university degree, too. 

Wake up, very sweaty.

What a relief to realise that the reason why I'd been too busy to go to school was because I'd actually been living life. A 'grown-up' life. As for the feeling of 'what have I been doing with my days?', I'm sure it's got something to with my current unemployed, at-home-with-kids status. I do know that's sure as hell a good reason not to be going to high school - at least I'm off the hook there.

I used to dream fairly regularly about impending assignments that were long overdue, missing classes at uni, being on the wrong train, and so on. Standard stress dreams, but it's been many years since those particular themes entered my head space.

I assume it's because the other day, I received an official letter stating that my application for a work permit has been approved.

Fuck.

I'm not sure what I want to do next. The Faery starts kindergarten in August, but in California, kindergarten is only a half day. Do I really want to put Miss Pie in day care all day, plus fork out for half a day of after-school care for the Faery? Tricky, and I'm not sure it's worth it. Not to mention I have a feeling that part-time teaching gigs are even harder to come by these days, and I'm not ready for full-time work yet. So, those are the cons.

On the other hand, some extra income would be very welcome. Embraced with open arms. Socially, I know I'd benefit from a job, too. I could definitely do with some regular adult face-to-face interaction.

Working daytimes could be too complicated - at least for the next year or so. Some kind of evening work, during the week, is probably the best option for now.  But what are my options? Private English language tuition? Maybe, but I find one-on-one tutoring so draining. An evening job in retail, when J is home and the girls are asleep? I like the idea of disappearing off to a bookshop like Barnes & Noble, a few times a week. That would be ideal, but I don't know if I'd be so lucky to get the hours that suit me. On paper, I'd look overqualified. And crap with the techy side of things.

I'm expecting the stress/crossroads dreams to make a starring comeback until I sort out what I want to do...

Dream job?    (photo source)

Wonky Reflections

It's the time of year where everybody talks about the year they've had. A good year, an eventful year, an awful year. One to remember always, or a year we'd rather forget. The sort of year that's best forgotten? Well, J and I have had a few of those in recent years. Thankfully, 2010 wasn't one of those. I don't want to bore readers, so the only recaps I'll make is: giving birth to my second gorgeous little girl, and moving to L.A. only months later. Epic!

For some reason, rather than dwelling on the year we've had, I've been thinking back much further. A good decade or so. The other night, I found myself going through my photo albums from 1999-2003. This was the first period of time that J & I lived overseas - in the UK - but I hadn't looked at the photos in quite a while.

Leiden, the Netherlands - 2002

The most obvious thing that struck me was how much younger I looked, but... duh! Ten years will do that. The difference between being twenty-something, and thirty-something is noticeable. Kids will age a person, too.

What else was different? Well, I used to bother wearing a bit of make-up. I used to make an effort. These days, concealer under my eyes - and some mascara with a slick of lipgloss - are about as complex as it gets.

From those photos, I can see that my hair also used to get a bit of attention. Not a lot (I've always been a fairly low-maintenance girl) but the photos indicate a variety of haircuts in that period of time, and some thought appears to have gone into the styling of it before leaving the house. These days, it's all about pony tails... and that's it. My hair is a pretty sad affair.

The differences between now and then aren't just physical.

I used to spend entire afternoons and evenings at pubs.

I used to go clubbing.

I used to go to underground dance parties.

I used to be able to just walk out the door without a thought as to what time I'd be returning.

I used to be able to disappear and lose myself, for a week or two at a time, in various European destinations.

I used to choose to function on only three hours sleep. For me, that's probably the craziest difference, right there. The fact that there were times when I crawled into bed at 4 or 5am, even on days where I might have to get up and go to work. And on the flipside, I used to rarely emerge from bed before 10am on the weekends.

Ah, youth... you were such fun! And so was I.

It's been a nostalgic Christmas for me as I remember those years. As 2011 is just around the corner and people talk of New Year's resolutions, I just listen. I don't do resolutions. I don't see the point in waiting until January to change something I'm not happy with.

I know my NYE won't involve any pubs, clubs, underground dance parties, wine, or cigarettes (amongst other things), but it will probably involve a decent amount of sleep. Broken - yes, I'm sure - but it won't be a late night for me, so I don't care.

Anyhow, expect the odd flash-back travel story here from time to time... and have a great New Year!