2003-01-29

My downstairs neighbors have taken up a new hobby. Which, you know, is great, since I�m all for personal growth. However, since they live in close proximity to folks who are not olfactorily impaired, I wish they�d decided to take up yoga or stamp collecting or something, rather than what they decided to go with, which, judging by the aromatic onslaught in my apartment in the evenings, must be a cooking class of some sort, since it smells like deep-fried fucking GOAT. Sweet nuggets of Christ it�s disgusting. When I go down to the second floor I have to put my hand over my face to avoid gagging. What goes ON in there, people? The fucking FUCK?

In other news, my futon is trying to kill me. I woke up on Monday feeling like I�d been somehow beaten by a tire iron all unawares during my sleep, and it hasn�t gotten any better since then. My spine feels like some pot-smoking Phish fan has been using it for macram� practice.