Upside Down

Things have gone topsy turvy (sp?). All the steamy sex Sinkside seems to have subsided, or even abated. VERY disappointing, as I had become accustomed to simply looking out the window for vicarious experience. Now I have to invest in tawdry downloads – more expensive. Twyla may have a different job; her hours seem different, so there aren’t as many hours during which our waking and sleeping times are concurrent. Mostly, it’s been been dark over there, at least when I’m awake to look. Inexplicable. Tonight, instead of groping a guest, she took down the kitchen curtain and washed the window, forgodsake. No fun there. Hopefully, this is merely a passing New Year’s Reolution, soon to be broken so we can get back to the really good stuff.

In a complete reversal of what we’ve come to expect, the Other Side has become a hotbed of activity. Ashley and the Puppy have been there nearly every weekend for the past month. I insinuated myself into her morning romp with the Puppy last weekend, and learned that It’s A Boy, and his name is Bear. Kind of a disappointingly pedestrian name, but he’s no less cute for it. And when I went out to greet, Ashley was smoking, which was also inconsistent with the glamorous and beautiful persona that I attributed to her. Bear, however, was reported to be 10 weeks old and still had unmistakable Puppy Breath. He greeted me exuberantly, and we had a fine time making friends with each other while my own dogs howled indignantly inside, watching me cheat on them. At 11 weeks, Bear's still little, but starting to get slightly gangly in a big-footed galumphy sort of way, moving forever out of the compact ball of Puppydom.

And then there’s the situation in the upstairs apartment of the Other Side. I started seeing boxes accumulating outside on the walkway, and assumed that someone was actually moving in. Then the inevitable temporary No Parking signs (which one must pay for, the vendor being the City, who misses no opportunity for revenue) marking three spaces on the street, and I knew someone was moving in, reserving space(s) for a moving van. The van duly arrived – not one of those 18 wheelers, but instead a more modest maybe 8 wheeler? (I don’t know from trucks, but this wasn’t the biggest or the smallest) on the holiday morning, so I had all day to assess the contents and quality thereof, as they were moved upstairs to the apartment. It seemed like not enough stuff – some mattresses with no frames, some chairs with no tables. And as I ventured out my own door to walk into town to procure prescriptions, the New Tenant appeared and overenthusiastically introduced herself. She seemed young – for any age, probably due to a gratingly HIGH voice. I can’t even think of a comparison, except, yes! Mr. Bill! She laughed, whether appropriate or not, at everything she said, which I didn’t find particularly funny. She was perky-bouncy and cloyingly smiley. She seemed to be singularly in charge of the move-in; there was no husband in sight, though she referred to “we” and “my husband”. This was a week ago; after that day of frenzied activity, the place went dark, and it wasn’t till yesterday that there was any activity at all. Today, too, was frenzied, no truck in sight, but many boxes, and another woman (whose voice I thankfully didn’t get to hear) there to help. I assume Hubby will be appearing soon; how he tolerates the voice, I can’t fathom. I had to get something out of my car and she was outside talking on her cell phone in high-pitched, overly excited tones, and I had to run back inside because I couldn’t stand it. Can’t imagine what husband is like; who could put up with that voice? Time will tell; the set of golf clubs that appeared for a brief period on the stoop were taller than Voice Lady herself, so must belong to the husband. I assume he’s instructed her to “handle” the move, and he’ll sweep in in a rush of self-importance, just after all the work is done. He’s a guy, right?

Because I’m assigning pseudonyms, for easy future reference, I’m going to call the Voice Lady “Bambi”. She just sounds like one. She confided in me that she has two dogs of questionable descent; I think she said something like Whippet/Chihuahua mix. I can’t even imagine. Probably Bear downstairs will become infatuated and we’ll have, um, Labrwhihuahua Puppies.

A Puppy is a Puppy. Much more interesting than what’s going on Sinkside these days…