Tell the Neighbors I'm Coming For Them

Holy shit, you imaginary followers, you! It has been a while. And what a while it has been. I got a fucking raise and promotion, I moved to Oregon, and I felt like I almost died. It's been a ride, and things are so much better. When I was living in Indiana, I forgot that I could be happy. I spent so much time just trying to drink my life away that I fell into this dark, angry depression, sending Brandon into one equally because he couldn't make me feel better. You know that feeling where you're waiting to do things with your life, but you live in conditions that make it impossible to do so?

Eugene, Oregon, is a really weird place. Filled with whiny yuppies and people who apparently don't understand that cars can kill them, Eugene is an art haven and hippie hell. There are a million things to do all over the city all the time, but most of them are vegetarian Hare Krishna chant meetings or Save the Earth-style conventions about how tiny houses are much more sustainable and everything you do as a homeowner is wrong. Don't mistake, I like this place! But hippies aren't my favorite people. Surprise!

It's gorgeous here!

Stupid neighbors outside think they can wake everyone around them with their sawing and hammering. Brandon bought this loud ass fan from a thrift store primarily so that we could put it outside and drown out the neighbors without really affecting us. You can barely hear it when you're inside! I just don't understand why you have to be so loud when you live in an apartment complex!

Side note: one of the neighbors thinks it's great to open up the windows and play a xylophone that is right next to the window. It's not cute. It's annoying. Especially if you don't play a fucking melody, like every musical experience you have is a coke-fueled cacophony in some ongoing art project where you purposely annoy the neighbors and then get indignant when we ask you to close the window.

This cat is the only neighbor I like so far (well, his owner is all right, too). The cat comes over and hangs out with us sometimes, although he prefers ignoring us while he sits in a box or a plastic bag, or whatever we have on our kitchen floor.

When I was growing up, I thought you were supposed to get to know your neighbors. I thought you were supposed to exchange housewarming gifts and ask each other to watch your pets or water your houseplants, but I don't think that's the case anymore. At least, not where I've lived for the most part. Maybe it's because I'm antisocial. Maybe everyone is. I don't know. But can you tell them to be a little quieter, for me?