My Little Oasis

This post is another recap of the irritating nerve jangling noise of the family next door. Its worth repeating in more adjectives simply because of how disruptive it is as an only person living right next door. My level of compassion is ebbing. ******

This week I am co-host to a single mother with two teenage sons who speak an unknown asian language directly next door to me. I refer to them as the Bickersons. There is an adjoining door that helps transfer sound sufficiently. Suffice it to say that they have two manners of speech. Polictical and Jesse Jackson in another usual rage. I woke one night at 11:30 to the younger of the two screaming his wisdom teeth out calling for his mother. I take it that the older son (Daniel) was somehow torturing him while their mother was enjoying a nice hot shower.

I know the name b/c I can hear the mother yelling it regularly. I think the younger one is called stoopid. Or something like that. That's what the older brother seems to call him. I had to intervene by knocking at 11:30 to see if I could administer last aid. The mother said everything was fine. It woke me up. How could that be fine?

I complained to the management seeing if he could send them to another room or possibly to Child Protective Services or even Singapore as a last option. They are quiet tonight. Almost human. Daniel is a real complainer. He's a big kid. Glad he doesn't know the woman next door complained. They'er probably thinking someone else on the entire block complained.

The lighting in the bathroom is strange. If you wanted to have a romantic dinner for two I would recommend my bathroom at the Oasis. I wasn't aware that they made 5 watt bulbs. Luckily I have two in there. Shaving is becoming a sensory experience. Dangerously so.

I have the last room in the furthest corner away from the street which is absolutely marvelous. At the Red Roach Motor Lodge all rooms faced the corner of two very busy streets. Turk and Polk. I felt I was sleeping at SFO on a runway. My room here is bigger and the bathroom is much more modern. It means a lot in a small space.

I'm on the second floor of a four floor Inn. There is a patio area right outside my door with vending machines and ice machines. That good old ice machine makes a wonderful backdrop. I hear it often. Like someone trying to ski down a slope and falling head over heels in the process. People here in chilly SF seem to like ice well into the night. How odd.

Even more curious to me is that we seem to be built over a nest-burrow-enclave of skunks. I like to have my window open but this is worse than it was at my dad's house in Rolling Hills with horses and open space. These little critters are fighting for their lives with their only resource. The Stinker. Unbelieveable. I just shut my window at 7:45 from the intoxicating fumes. Great. Right after my shower. The school said not to wear perfume. Too late. Guess I'll make more of that Sauce Tomate. Then pour it on me. It's really good. I now prefer it to Whipped Cream. (back in the dayz)

That's all I can say about my little outpost on Franklin St. Except that I have about 3 outlets with about 17 things plugged into them. Refridge, microwave, computer, and all the other stuff including their lighting. I better buy some marshmallows just in case. Food. It all breaks down to food for me in any situation.

I LOVE BEING HERE AND BECOMING A CHEF. End of story.