I’ve been in my apartment in Brooklyn for over 10 years now. I’m now that lady when people move in, the realtor whispers “She’s been here for 10 years. Try to keep the noise down when you see her. She’s a little (twirls finger around ear) about noise” My building has 8 apartments, 2 on each floor. The apartment across the hall from me always has a couple in it. One couple moves out other moves in. I’ve always justified my singleness by critiquing the couple across the hall.
The first couple I remember who lived across the hall for me was moving to Nicaragua. They talked about it for almost a year.
“We are off to our Spanish lesson. Got to learn Spanish if we want to live in Nicaragua”
“We are selling our coach, won’t need to bring a coach to Nicaragua”
“I just got offered a job here, 6 figures, but I can’t take it because I’m moving to Nicaragua”
It got to the point I wanted to say “Hey I don’t want to move to Nicaragua. I don’t know if you think I’m jealous of you but I’m not. I’m happy here in Brooklyn!” I really didn’t want to move there, Nicaragua is hard for me to say. I like to be able to answer the question “where do you live?” eloquently.
With the hopes of avoiding them, I took to looking out my peephole before I would leave the apartment. Their door was literally directly across from mine. I wanted to avoid them at all costs. They even had a Moving to Nicaragua party. I didn’t go. It wasn’t very loud so I’m sure there were not too many attendees. They had annoyed the crap out of every person in Brooklyn by that point. Everybody was like “go to Nicaragua, I’ll drive you to the airport, we’ll all drive you to the airport”
They were an ok couple. I didn’t know much about them besides the Nicaragua thing which made me think they had nothing else going on. How the fuck can you have nothing going on in New York City? That’s what I wanted to know. Either way, the whole moving storyline got boring and, you know, it occurred to me, they never asked a thing about me. I often wear vintage mumus around the building. Like shit from the 60’s that nobody wears. Not once did they acknowledge my individual style. Not once did they say “Cool dress. Where did you get that?”
I’d have to be like “You guys happen to notice I’m wearing a housedress from 1963?”
They respond with weak smiles.
I always ask people questions whether they are in a relationship or not. I’m most likely to comment on an item of clothing “I like your shirt. Is that new?” is my biggest go to conversation starter. I am least prone to offering up information about me. Like if I was moving to Nicaragua, guaranteed not too many people would know about it until it was just about to happen. People would be shocked. I’m like a polar bear conserving my social energy until I have a big story to tell. Point being, these people who never ask about me, those are the people that say things like “You didn’t tell ME you were into Pucci printed mumus” Well, you never asked!
The next couple was in and out in no time. They were in their 20’s and he worked in finance and was shorter than her. Despite her height advantage she was meek and gave the impression she looked to him for guidance. He was talkative about his career and was always holding her hand. She never spoke but she did smile at me once when I swore. The best is she DIDN’T WORK! I wanted to strike up a conversation about that but never found the right wording.
The most recent couple cooks bacon at least 3 times a week. Sometimes more. They have crazy loud sex. It’s like the life I want is right across the hall. They never invite me over, even when they have parties. I wonder how long it’s going to take them to realize that every time they have a party and I’m not invited, a Fed Ex package disappears.
I’m breaking federal laws here to try to get a party invite! And here’s the thing, I am great at a party. People would be asking them “Who’s the girl in the mod polyester jumpsuit? She’s great!”
“Oh, she lives across the hall. We have to invite her or she hides our packages”
Thanks for listening!
Kisses-
Kendra
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.
www.kendracunningham.com
twitter @theotherkendra
