“Oh, so NOW you want to fuck me?” “Er……”

My next door neighbor had never stepped foot on my welcome mat. Ever. My kid and I have been living next to him, his family and his boat for over three years, and we have exchanged  a total of  seven words, not necessarily in this order:

“Hey.” “Hello.” “How ya doin’?” “Cold!” “Yeah, right?”

Look: I neither need nor am I expecting a close personal relationship with him or his fam, in fact, being a born, bred and raised Angeleno, I’m used to being strangers with my neighbors; that’s just how it is. I had been living in an apartment with my new husband for almost three years when the Northridge earthquake smashed through our floor at 4:30 in the morning. It felt like a giant with a fist the size of a Volkswagon was trying to burst his way through the  middle of the earth via our bedroom. It was scary. And at 4:30am? Really?  If you’re on a normal schedule, there is no other time when your entire body is in a deeper state of relaxation. Every single cell in your body is sawing logs, and to then be thrown up and almost out of your bed is extremely disorienting.

… ummm…

I have no idea where this was going, or why I gave it the scintillating title…

Awfully sorry.


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