…oh, yikes. That’s two song lyrics in a row. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Anyhoo, it was my birthday yesterday. My 21st. That means I probably hit the bars last night, got smashed beyond endurance, and don’t remember much, right? Well, not exactly…I just had a low-key dinner at Free State with some of my friends. I’m no prude when it comes to alcohol, but that suited my mood better. I’m not really much of a bar person, I guess. I’ll have a proper party, with copious amounts of alcohol, after we move from the ghetto so that people won’t be so afraid to come to my apartment complex. Hell, I’m afraid to go to my place.

After dinner we went back to said ghetto apartment, had tons of popcorn, and watched “The Butterfly Effect.” I didn’t really have high expectations for this movie. Ashton Kutcher is definitely hot, but he lost standing in my eyes with Punk’d, which is a horribly unfunny show - all he does is run around and act like an ass. A pretty, frat-boy ass. That gets old after awhile. Yet surprisingly, the movie wasn’t bad. Sure, Hollywood’s grip on “Chaos Theory” was a little tenuous, and there were points in the movie that were supposed to be dramatic but instead made me giggle. I’m a harsh critic when it comes to sentimental scenes. But the movie did serve to remind me that Ashton Kutcher, beneath the stupid Punk’d veneer, is still very hot. Mmm. Oh, what was the movie about again?

Our lease specifies that we must move out on the 31st. We can’t move into the new place until noon on the 1st. That means we’re basically homeless for a night, and I’ll have to find somewhere to stow my cat, who is damned near impossible to get inside a carrier. I’ve surveyed the apartment and have deduced that I have a lot of crap to move, without even counting the stuff that I have in the living room and kitchen. My roommates aren’t as big of packrats as I am, but now Beth says that she might not even be there when we’re moving. Her family is bugging her to leave as soon as she can for their trip to Yellowstone. Kristen has already informed Beth that she is not moving someone else’s crap. It looks though moving is going to be a catastrophic event - nevertheless, I can’t wait. We can’t stay here any longer than we have to.

I described my neighbors earlier in White Trash Psycho Rampage. Luckily for me I’m pretty sure no one down there has the minimum intellectual capability to operate the Internet, so I’m safe. Besides - as scary as WT Lady is, I can’t really picture her threatening to beat us up for talking shit about her on the Intar-net. I think if that happened, she would definitely kill me, as I’d be too busy laughing so hard to be concerned about my safety. While I might be safe on the Internet, I’m not too sure about real life.

The night before last, I ran into Anne, one of Beth’s friends, on my way up the stairs of the building. Anne and her boyfriend live in the same section as WT Lady. For clarifying purposes, I’ve taken the liberty of rendering a layout of the apartments below (we never did get an “official” one of our own; thank you, Gage Mgmt), in MS Paint:

Needless to say, I’m very glad we didn’t get stuck where Anne lives. Anyways, Anne and her friends were sitting around, smoking and talking. They sounded pretty pissed off. Anne turned to me as I came up, and said, “You know those guys that live in apartment 1? Well earlier today, one of them shat on our building.” !!! “Yeah, he had his pants down around his ankles and just left a big dump outside my window. - Oh, and he wiped with newspaper. It’s still out there; you can see it if you go around the corner.” I did not go.

Maybe there was a good reason for it. Maybe their toilet is broken, and given that our management’s minimum response time to emergency calls is two weeks, he couldn’t wait that long…but holy poopin’ Peter. I mean, he could have just walked a block to the gas station to crap. Or, if he couldn’t hold it, he could have asked one of us neighbors if he could use our facilities. I guess I probably wouldn’t let him in, due to my policy of not allowing strangers to take a crap in my apartment, but - was there really nowhere else to go, dude? Seriously. At least he could have disposed of the newspaper afterwards, like a decent public-shitter.

After sharing that pleasant tidbit with me, she and her friends proceeded to tell me more stuff about the crazy apartment goings on that I, thankfully, have missed in my more comfortable position on the second floor. Apparently not too long after the child-abuse call, WT-lady was spotted beating the living shit out of another woman in the parking lot. Anne said that the victim was looking for her ex-boyfriend, and possibly drugs, too. “I don’t got no coke,” quoth WT-lady. “I got kids now; leave me the fuck alone.” This upstanding mother was about to retreat into her realm of domestic tranquillity, until a comment from the departing woman made WT-lady go batshit insane faster than you can say “cops.” WT-lady ran into the parking lot and proceeded to pummel the remaining wits out of the coke-addict, and slam her into (our) cars. All of this took place in broad daylight.

I then shared the bit that I heard from Beth - she and her boyfriend were heading up the stairs to the apartment, as was one of our neighbors (a sane one, from -our- floor). WT-lady was in her car, pulling out of the parking lot. She was arguing with one of her boyfriends (possibly the shit dude, though I was not present at either occasion to be able to identify him). Then, as she was driving off, the guy pulled something out of his pants. Beth heard it - the unmistakeable sound of someone cocking a gun. All three of them - Beth, her boyfriend, and the neighbor - ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

God. After writing all of this, I feel like I’m living in some wacky urban ghetto, not Lawrence, the town of hippies and frat-boys. Anyways, I’ll be glad to move out. The increased rent is worth it. Between violent, insane neighbors and incompetent management, I’m surprised we haven’t broken our lease yet. I just wish the kids could get out of there just as easily. Anne says that the cops and SRS have probably known about them for awhile now - but there’s not enough funding to do anything about it. The whole thing is awful; they’re pretty good kids in spite of everything. We will be glad to leave, but I wonder what will happen to them when we’ve gone.