Friday Night to Saturday Afternoon. Less Than 24-Hours.

Why do people have to mess with my life? If it weren't for people, things would be so much better.

I was home alone Friday evening. One roomie on vacation. One hanging out with her little sister. And I was happy as a stylish clam, watching "What Not To Wear" when my leaseholder/the Tavern owner came to my door.

"Did you call me?" he asked me with his cell phone in hand.

"Uh, nope. Didn't call you." I said, wondering why caller ID wouldn't have told him that already.

"Okay."

He walked upstairs to the second apartment, whose lease he does not hold.

I knew somebody was up there because I'd heard some squeaky floorboards at the back. Oh, I fail to mention, Friday is now Karaoke night at the Tavern. It was loud. Bad and loud.

Tavern owner proceeded to beat down the upstairs neighbor's door. He was hollering and swearing for at least ten minutes. Why I didn't call 911, I don't know. Why Dean didn't call 911, I don't know.

Tavern owner left. I called Dean.

"What the hell was that!?"

"I called his house and left a message to tell his bartenders to turn it down."

"Oooohhhh," I thought aloud. Hence the cell phone in his hands. His wife called him on his cell from their house.

"Why didn't I call 911?" he asked.

"If he sets foot inside this hallway, I will," I said.

"If I turn up dead, will you tell everyone?"

"Yes," I said, "I will avenge your death."

So, I went back to my show, now ten minutes to being over. Thinking I'd want to go to bed by say, 3:00 a.m., I called 311 myself and filed an ANONYMOUS noise complaint. "Make a note," I added, "That the bar owner has been intimidating everyone in this building for complaining tonight. He nearly tore my neighbor's door off it's hinges."

Fifteen minutes later, two police officers show up at my door with the Tavern owner in tow.

I called Dean.

"Why would the police bring to my door the man who's just scared the crap out of me?"

"Oh, God. I'm coming out. Hang on."

We calmed down over the next hour or so, telling stories about our best brushes with fame and where I could get my haircut in the city. (Two people you want on your side in New York: a sassy gay man who takes no crap and knows how to help a girl look good, and a born & bred Queens girl who just takes no crap.)

At about 2:45 a.m. I called in another anonymous noise complaint. My calls were only a fraction on the complaints phoned in that night.

The next day, my roommate (Tavern owner's cousin) took me down to a shopping area in Queens where there's an Old Navy, Marshalls, Conway, Best Buy, Toys 'R' Us, etc. She went outside while I stood in line to pay for my stuff.

She came back in. "[Tavern owner] wants me to tell you to be out of the apartment by the 1st. I told him to be a man and tell you himself. I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm moving out, too."

My phone rang. I didn't answer. Message, no surprise.

Wow. He legally can't do this, and I'd love to make his life hell. But that would involve making my life hell, too. This is actually doing me a BIG favor, thanks to the police department.

Civil complaints have been filed. Health code violations have been filed against the Tavern via the Department of Health. Tavern owner's entire family has been informed of his idiocy via my roommate (thus far, sans the info on the mistresses). There's just one roommate returning from Nashville today. And my heart is broken knowing she really ought to pack up immediately and live ANYwhere else, but she probably won't.

I'm outta there tomorrow.