Friday I woke up with what I thought were a couple of bug bites on my legs. After googling bug bites, I convinced myself that I had bed bugs. I returned home, stripped my bed, flipped the mattress and swept the room.
The itching got worse.
Saturday, I woke up with more “bites” and began to worry. How can there be so many bugs eating me alive at night and I don’t wake up!? More googling and twittering and asking friends. More worry. Then I went to my Mom’s house and she declared it a rash, not bug bites. No wonder it was spreading up and down my legs! Moms always know. Well, at least my Mom does. I trust her judgment and not only because she worked for a dermatologist for years. (Do not click that thumbnail if you are squeamish. That is my leg and it is gross.)
So I slathered on cortisone cream and took some Benadryl and drank three beers. I felt better. Better if not sleepy. Alcohol + Allergy medicine = passed out. It was warm in my bedroom. The fan with the window open was not sufficient in cooling the temperature. The bed is too small and the Fella and I were tossing and turning. I got up a couple of times because the itching was so uncomfortable. I was cranky and tired.
Then 3am came and over the hum of the fan I could hear voices. Jovial voices and raucous laughter. It continued. I got up, turned the fan off and listened. Someone upstairs was having a party. Whenever anyone talks on the balconies of the building, the sound carries. They are alcoves with great acoustics. But at 3am? No one wants to hear your drunken rambling. Disgruntled, cranky and tired, I hauled myself up to the top floor to find the balcony door wide open with four people smoking and an adjacent apartment door wide open with a party in full swing. I did not see anyone I recognized.
“Hey. I’m the building manager and you guys might not realize this but your voices carry in this alcove. It is also 3am.”
“We’re sorry. We’re sorry. We won’t talk.” Says the drunkest of the drunks wearing a hat.
“You have to keep this door shut because the smoke comes into the hallway, ok?”
“Sure. Yes. Sorry. We’re sorry. We’ll go home.”
“Is there a problem?” the party thrower and tenant appeared behind me, drunk and high by the looks of him.
“It’s 3am. You guys have to keep it down. And keep this door shut when smoking out here.”
“Ok. Yeah. Sorry.” to me. “You guys should probably just go home.” to them.
I return to my apartment, flop back to bed and grumble to the Fella. Still itchy. Still miserable and hot.
At 4am I hear the voices loud and clear again only this time they are standing outside at the front steps of the building. I wait ten minutes hoping they will just say their goodbyes and leave. Drunk people can’t comprehend the concept of time or whispering. I get it. It’s not like I’ve never been drunk. Or stupid. But these drunk and stupid people are probably disturbing half my building and me.
“Do you want me to go down there and talk to them?” the Fella asks me.
“No!” Because as much as I love my boyfriend, I’m the one with the de-escalation skills. I head out again, this time downstairs.
“Hey you guys? It’s 4am. I really need you to be quiet.” When the tenant sees me he starts to walk away like he knows he is in trouble- while carrying a classy 40 in his hand, I might add.
“Sorry. Sorry! We’ll go.” Yeah, I heard that one an hour ago. But within 5 minutes they disperse.
I am not anti-party but I am not okay with people being inconsiderate of their neighbors. And 3am is way too late for entertaining guests at that volume. I was really surprised no one called to complain seeing as how this tenant lives next door to Smell Lady. She must be out of town.
Now it’s Monday morning and I’ve had two nights of restless sleep thanks to the itching. The baking powder paste I slathered on my legs did make the itching subside to a tolerable level even if it looks as though it snowed inside my house. I am waiting to for 9am to call a doctor and hope that they can squeeze me in today. I can’t take any more itching! I need relief! I’m pretty sure the rash is an allergic reaction to a LUSH bath bomb. It’s the only thing new/different I have used in the last week. At least I am hoping it’s something as simple as that and not that I’m like, you know, dying or something.