Everything that irritates me about my neighborhood in LA, doesn't compare to the craziness in my hood in NYC, yet it seems scarier, sketchier, and creepier. In New York I had a group of homeless men in front of my building who eventually became my buddies. We'd high five on the way home, I'd give them left over Magnolia cupcakes from my days as a Sex and the City tour guide... we were cool. In New York, your neighborhood homeless people don't fuck with you because they want to stay in front of your building, have a comfortable place to be and illegally use your electricity. You're happy, they're happy. In LA, they are aggressive and don't care who you are or where you live, but one things for sure: YOU live in THEIR neighborhood. So, yes, they are going to light matches and throw them on your lawn, they are going to call you a nosy bitch when you and your dog walk by, and they are going to break bottles on the street outside your window at 8pm on a Tuesday night. Welcome to Hollywood.
I hate my new neighbor. I first saw him a few days ago while letting my friend into the building, and right away I knew he was bad news. I can't tell if it's a rapey vibe, or a methy vibe, or both, but I know I don't like it. He's not on a lease, but he's somebody's "Uncle". My friend came over to hang for a bit, and when he left, I went to walk my dog and I ran into the new creepy neighbor and the first thing he said to me was, "Was that your boyfriend, or your brother?". Awesome. Nice to meet you too. As I looked at his greasy, sweaty face, I thought to myself, "I wouldn't be surprised if he killed me in my sleep and cut my face off to wear it as a mask". He also reminds me of Howard the Duck, who terrified me as a child. So yea, I'm not a fan.
And I don't really understand why I am so afraid of him. I shared a fire escape in New York with a neighbor who was most definitely the neighborhood meth dealer and there were sketchy people coming in and out all day. He had wild sex parties that I was lucky enough to hear all the time, and I once caught him watching me and my ex have sex and when we stood up and looked over to show him that we could see him watching us, he just stood there waiting to watch some more. (I called Dan Savage and he told me not to confront him, let it be, and get better blinds. I did). There were multiple occasions where he would party with his friends and sleep in a tent on our fire escape two feet away from my window.
I also had a neighbor in New York whose name was Marco, but he sometimes went by Sweetwater. He was very very sweet, but he had a whopping case of the bipolars that would get a little scary. Every time you'd see him, he acted as though he never met you and he'd have a different life story than the last time you met him. He would put on different accents, from Boston, to English to Madonna. He had different professions, sometimes a lawyer, or a flight attendant. He had a different names, Sweetwater and/or Marco. One time I came home to a pink heart made out of construction paper on my door and when I looked around I saw that some neighbors had the same, while others had wax smeared on their door. I asked around and it turns out that Marco had a habit of throwing wax on people's doors that he didn't like, and put hearts on those he did. Marco eventually got kicked out of our building for aggressive behavior after a major blowout between him and himself one tragic Easter Sunday. I'd take Meth Neighbor and Sweetwater over Howard the Duck anyday.
So I've seen Howard the Duck lingering here and there around the neighborhood numerous times since I first saw him a few days ago. A few neighbors have also expressed concern about his creepy and murdery vibe. He asked a neighbor if he thought smartphones could detect crazy people. I wish that was a thing, with this guy living near me. The other morning I came home from the gym to a mini Kit Kat bar on my doorstep. And I knew...I just knew who left it there. Creeped out, I left it there and closed my door to go inside and take a shower. As soon as I ran the water, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it and sure enough it was a very frantic, sweaty, and manic Howard the Duck with a bag of open Mini Kit Kats.
"Please take this bag" he said.
"No, thank you."
"Please, please take it."
"I really don't want it, but thank you"
"But what if there are children running around who want it"
"What if? I don't know. But, no thank you"
Ever since I turned down the Kit Kats, I can see him scowling at me every time I see him....burning a hole through my black ungrateful heart. I think I really offended him. If I die this way, I'm gonna be pissed. So, if you don't hear from me for a few days, he's about 45 years old, he says he "works for the 1%", he's in apartment 21, and he looks like Howard the Duck.
Goodbye cruel world,