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This has been an interesting week. We had earthquakes and parties and run-ins with the neighbors and I totally had the Office Walk of Shame this morning.

...But we'll get to that.

One thing I've been meaning to talk about here (if I could ever get around to actually updating) was the incident roughly two weeks ago, in which I was awoken in at 2am by what I thought at the time were gunshots from a semi-automatic. ...In Phlegmy's apartment. It was a quiet night, I was sleeping soundly, having gone to bed at a blissful 9:30pm, when I was startled awake by five "shots" that I swore were bullets ripping into the wall adjacent to my head. It scared the shit out of me. I waited it out, and after about an hour when no cops came, no screaming was had, and my heart rate had finally gone down, I managed to get back to sleep. (Though not without dreams rife with Rear Window allusions and coming-down-off-of-adrenaline jitters.)

After a few days, no smells were seeping from the apartment next door, an LAPD detective hadn't slipped his card into our mailbox, and our building seemed to be free of crime scene tape and chalk outlines. I finally came to the conclusion that Phelgmy had, in fact, not killed his wife or himself, and that he was probably just hanging pictures...in the middle of the night.

And then it happened again a few nights later. I had a very WTF?! moment and promptly pulled my pillow over my head and went back to sleep, confident that no one had just been killed in my dance space.

Tuesday night saw martinis and conversation, at which point I brought up the weird pounding to Dr. No, who, curiously enough, had run into Phlegmy earlier in the day. Creepy, as he had to shake the guy's hand, but uber-creepy because Phlegmy looks like a serial killer. Apparently, Phlegmy had introduced himself to Dr. No and calmly expounded about how Dr. No and I liked to listen to our TV at an unreasonable volume late at night...

It all came together, then. That creepy effing douchebag Phlegmy is hearing someone's TV blaring in the middle of the night, thinks it's us, and proceeds to pound on the effing wall right next to my sleeping head. I'm not sure what's creepier; the fact that he's freaking hearing things, or the fact that I got 10 out of 10 on this test, and have long thought that Phlegmy looks straight-up like a serial killer. (And for a night, I thought he was one.)

We'll see how that plays out. At least now there will be a published account that the DA can use in The State of California v. Phlegmy.

In other news, I went to a party this weekend that had a really fabulous theme. My friends Sas & Abs threw a housewarming party at their new pad, but gave it a Mediterranean theme in which everyone attending had to wear white. They served Greek delectables and Mediterranean flavored pizzas, and I must say, people look fabulous dressed in all white. Chip and I went the extra mile and were That Obnoxious Couple Who Matches. I had a bright green sash-y belt that I tied on, and he got a matching boy belt, and we looked like a seriously hott couple. The best part was when the party moved down to a dance club a few blocks from Sas & Abs place--we looked a bit like a Hindi funeral procession, but there's no denying the looks of admiration that are drawn when 50-odd people dressed all in white are walking jovially in the direction of the bars... Add onto that the fact that the club we went to had black lights blazing on the dance floor, and it was pretty wicked sweet.

What wasn't sweet? The fact that I had to go into the DMV this morning before work. I stayed at Chip's all weekend, and being that there's a DMV very close to his apartment and the best time to go is first thing in the morning, we figured it was best if I just stayed there last night as well. (That I happened to have drank more than several drinks last night and was way too sloshed to drive home didn't really have anything to do with it.) The problem was, I hadn't planned on staying the night last night and didn't have any work clothes with me. So of course, by the time I got out of the DMV, I had to haul ass across town just to get to work on time and was wearing jeans and a "Redheads have more fun" tee shirt... In true ghetto-fabulous fashion, I grabbed my white skirt from the Med party, the shirt and shoes I wore out on Friday, and had to have the receptionist buzz me in so I could carry them into the bathroom and change. It was only kind of humiliating. I mean, I always see girls doing the walk of shame in the morning and while I usually don't judge them, when I'm the one doing the walking, the circumstances are usually different than those for your average walk-of-shamer. (Read: I usually didn't get drunk or laid the night before.) So I can always pull the This isn't what it looks like! thing with relative confidence. I did the same this morning, and the words were already out of my mouth (to the receptionist) when I realized that it was, in fact, exactly what it looked like. Heh.