Welcome to the Neighborhood

Oh, the joys of moving.

I recently relocated the New York City, and, let me tell you, moving sucks. I’ve done it so much, you’d think I could pack and unpack in my sleep. Alas, that is not the case. I despise packing, and resent having to unpack just a day or two later. And don’t even get me started on the joy that can only be experienced while searching for people to live with. It’s like survival of the fittest, where the fastest to respond to a Craigslist ad wins, and all they can do is hope that the people their newfound roommates aren’t nuts.

I have to charming and completely random roomies, one of which took it upon himself to serenade me (and the other roomie) this morning the crack of 8:30 or so a.m. Yes, that’s right. He was playing guitar and singing. And, suffice to say, I’m pretty confident he was treating us to some original material that will never see the light of day, radio airplay, or even a sad open mic session at a neighborhood cafe. He’s lucky I have a sense of humor, and was already up.

Oh, the joys of moving, indeed.

One of the things I find most interesting about moving into a new place is discovering who your new neighbors are. I always hope they’re Mr. Quiet and Mrs. Minds-Her-Own-Business, not Mr. Noisy-Sex-All-Night, Dr. Drug-Dealer/Junkie, or Miss Musician-Who-Practices-Her-African-Drum-Routine-Before-Work-Every-Day.

I have no idea who my new neighbors are. I have yet to meet (or, thankfully, hear) a single one of them. However, I have seen their Wi-fi connections… and what Wi-fi connections they are!

When I opened my computer for the first time, I was greeted by a few dozen signals, and a few of them stood out:

• Why, hello, 5th Street Whorehouse! Sure glad I live on 6th!
• Bananapancakes?! Are you Jack Johnson fans? If so, you know it’s 2011, right?
• What’s that? You have Bieber Fever? Are you proud of your condition? You know, there’s a cure for that: It’s called “stop hanging out with seventh graders.” C’mon, guy. You might as well name your network “pizza face.”
• Ummmm... Assflag? Can someone please tell me what an assflag is? Because I’m confused, and I don’t feel like looking it up on UrbanDictionary.com.
• Look out! It’s Lil Monsta/Lil Monsta Guest! I’m fine with both, as long as they’re lil monstas, and not big monstas. Lil monstas I can deal with; big monstas are scary. (Same goes for obsessive Lady Gaga fans.)

… Now guess which one is my new roomies’ Wi-fi network. (They insist it was a former roomie who named it, but I’m not convinced.)