Jessy Delfino's Blog

Hey You Loud Fucking Hipsters: I'm Telling On You

Sometimes, as I'm getting ready to go to bed around 1:30 or 2 am, I hear the loud squealing of a posse of women, or a group of goonish Jersey-ites hollering in the street. It can last anywhere from 10 seconds to long enough for me to actually get out of bed and look out the window, thinking, "Maybe someone's being attacked...". But no one is ever being attacked, unless you count the alcohol attacking their dumb brains.

This is life on an almost nightly basis for me. "Don't you people have jobs?" I think to myself, as they teeter down the street in clonky fancy shoes, yelling, "Taxiiiiiii!!!!!!" out into a completely empty street or group chant-singing a horrid rendition of a traditional song like "You Are My Sunshine", an alcohol fueled baritone choir of idiots.

I've thought of several ways to exact revenge on these careless dweebs, who seem to have absolutely no consideration for the sleeping children, the Chinese people who worked 15 hour days who will get 4 hours of sleep before having to get up and do it again the next day, even the frickin' dead people at the funeral home across the street who are surely woken by the awful racket. They certainly don't feel for the hipsters and artists who have slowly creeped their way into the neighborhood and are trying to make an honest living as creative weirdos, who need a damn solid 8 hours of beauty rest.

I've thought of egging them. That'd get their goat, I thought to myself, picturing myself launching eggs from my 8 story window which would not even get anywhere near them. In a Woody Allen-esque turn out, however, I imagine them spotting me and then finding their way to my apartment to kick my ass. I try to outsmart them in this scenario, by tossing the eggs off the roof. But somehow, this drunken pack of idiots have perfect night vision, and they still know where to find me. Even in my own fantasies I get my ass kicked. Other times I think of sticking my head out the window and yelling, "Shut the fuuuuccckkkkuuuppppp!!!" But not only does that not make me any better than them, that scenario turns into an imaginary screaming match where they are all calling me names and ends with me still getting my ass kicked.

Recently, I had the bright idea that I could go out into the night dressed as a character I do named Carol, and mess around with them, (wo)man on the street style, with a camera in tow. I'd trick them into thinking that they were being filmed by a popular video blog, and insist they sign a release form. Using the information on the form, I'd locate their parents whereabouts. Then, I'd take the footage of them behaving like complete imbeciles, and I'd show the videos to their mothers, recording their parents' responses to their children screaming like drunken banshees in the night, finally posting that on YouTube and their Facebook pages.

Check and mate!

Orrr...eh...I kinda like the thing that I do now, which is turn up my noise machine, read my New Yorker Magazines and Netflix / PopWords app myself to sleep. Like a proper lady.