So, we watched the fireworks tonight. Had a lovely view.
So, we're standing on the balcony, me in my underwear, because, go look at the temperature on the left there, it's fucking hot outside, and then there were people on the roof. And Steady went inside and grabbed meone of his dress shirts because he is a good boyfriend.
We live on the top floor. So we were directly below the idiots. OUr first concern (please excuse the typing, champagne, 2 bottles) was that someone would fall off the grate above our apartment and die.
THen suddenly priorities shifted as someone ashed in my hair. I screamed up there expecting a decent person who had accidentally done this to apologize. I was mistaken.
Then there were bottles, glass bottles, flung from six stories up. Then THEN someone tried to set my boyfriend on fire via lit cigarette. and after that? Someone peed off the roof and onto the next-door neighbors' balcony.
At this point I was out for blood. At the first sign of the finale, as Steady, normally an anti-war, peacenick, socialist, was muttering something about his hopes for a draft reinstatement, I grabbed my pencil, my camera and my fancy monogrammed legal pad case and ran out the door (all the while, my boyfriend reminding me that I wasn't really dressed).
I believe I did tell him to stay right where he was because I could go and yell and scream all I wnted and no one would try to hit me, but if he came along there might be a fight. As a tiny little girl I happen to feel entitled to holler at whoever I want with no concern for my physical well-being, and I didn't want some guy screwing all that up with all that fist-fighting nonsense.
I stood in the stairwell and screamed at each person who walked past (approximately 40 people).
"Are you the fucker who peed on my balcony? Are you the asshole who tried to set my boyfriend on fire? I want a name and an apartment number. I don't care that you were on the roof. I've clearly got no problem with drinkin' and havin' a good time. I just want to know who the FUCK pissed on my balcony and which idiot almost set fire to my boyfriend."
Nevermind that it was the next-door neighbors', it could just as well have been mine.
I didn't take any pictures of the idiots on the balcony (see also: two bottles of champagne). No one volunteered a name or an apartment number. Someone did suggest the name James "Haywood. H-E-Y-W-O-O-D like 'hey would you blow me?'" To which I answered "No, but I would kick you in the nuts.
We left a note for the nice girls next-door letting them know, you know, the fate of their outdoor space. We plan to file a complaint in the morning.
The fireworks were lovely. Watching the traffic was almost just as entertaining. The idiots on the roof? Ought to be evicted.