Packing up some junk

Now that I’m moving, I wonder how much moving-topical writing I ought to be doing. I could live-blog the packing process or something… but actually, I’m feeling surprisingly blasé about the whole thing. Sure, packing up everything you own and transporting it to a new apartment that may or may not turn out to have a cockroach problem is a total fest’o’stress. But, and this is undoubtedly from whence my Newfound Moving Calm has originated, I have realized one thing: no matter how many dishes get broken, or socks get lost, or cockroaches get freaky on the remaining, unbroken dishes or un-lost socks, no apartment experience will ever trump last year’s in total horrifying insanity.

In the totality of my life (25 years, 1 month, 11 days), I have called the police twice. There was nothing fun or funny about the first time, but the other time, about which I can write freely, was related to my last year’s apartment. More specifically, to its unfortunate proximity to other apartments. And most-most-most specifically, to those other apartments being inhabited by men whose idea of being neighborly was to flash their junk at strangers.

Yes, that’s right. This is a Penis Story! And not only that, it is a Penis Story In Five Chapters. Or maybe Six. I’ve only written Five, so far, but there may be the need for clarification requiring an additional Chapter.

Like, you know, if I see another penis or something.

Anyway. The point is, this is a good story. It has everything – humor, intrigue, nudity, the police… but it’s also a long story. Which leads me to several points:

1) The really good stories are few and far-between.

2) People do not like to read really really really long stories, even if they are really good, and about penises.

3) Because of the move, I will be exhausted and busy and not really in blogging mood for the next week or so.

And so, I would like to present… A Penis Story in Installments! This is just lazy, really. I've already written the story and am now guaranteeing fresh material for my next exhausted week, with little to no real effort on my part. But to YOU, it will be new. Maybe it’ll even keep some of you on tenterhooks, and intrigued, and coming back for more.

Now, without further ado:

ROOM WITH A VIEW OF A PENIS
by Kat

Chapter One: Introduction

The nightmare location in which all this madness took place – my very first NYC apartment – was in Harlem. This is not to say that all Harlem-dwellers are perverted weirdos (although, as you will see, some of them clearly are), but it’s necessary to mention because, in Harlem, all the buildings are very close together. The old, gray-bricked tenement buildings on the block where I lived were separated, side-to-side, by an alley that was maybe ten feet wide. It didn’t offer much privacy; I mean, if my neighbors and I had each leaned out of our living room windows, we could probably have held hands. It meant that, when I was in the kitchen washing dishes, the teenaged boys who lived adjacent to me could see me so well that they would immediately run to their window, open it, and make lewd, loud remarks about my ass. It also meant that, when this happened, I was able to reach into the refrigerator, find a half-rotted tomato, and chuck it across the alley into their apartment.

Though of course, all of that happened before The Penis.

To be continued…