For When Your Neighbor Wakes You with Noise from Music, Sex, and Snoring

I’m writing this in a most disgruntled fashion at 1:30am.

My downstairs neighbor must be the freaking Beethoven of our generation because this idiot seems to only want to play the piano at insane hours of the night.

My building has quiet hours that start at 9pm and a violation of that once in a while is not a big issue; HOWEVER, this joker has been made aware several times that his neighbors are trying to sleep and would rather not hear his playing so late at night!

During the day and early evening?

CRICKETS CHIRP IN THE SILENCE EMANATING FROM HIS APARTMENT.

Did I mention this guy also saws logs at night? Seriously, his snoring alone has woken me up from a very deep slumber.

Tonight, he took it to another level when his lady friend came over.

Picture:

  • 12:30am–my eyes snap open when the piano starts.
  • Shortly after, moaning (that sounds as if a cat is being drowned) begins–I deduce that these are the lady’s sex noises.
    • This ends more quickly than I think is fair to m’lady.
  • Now, the LOUDEST pillow talk I’ve heard in my entire life begins.
  • Next, the front door loudly closes shut–little lady is heading home at 1:30am.
    • No Sleepover? RUDE.

I’m sure I will be treated to his snoring in no time.

Regardless, I’m pissed as hell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he “got some”. It’s not the short-lived sex noises that bother me. It’s the PIANO PLAYING. I would’ve been perfectly asleep for the rest of it had he not chosen to tickle the ivories before tickling his lady’s fancies.

So, after emailing my apartment manager (who happens to be my neighbor) about the midnight serenade (leaving out the sexual details) what do I do?

This:

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Throwback of Throwbacks!

I recently rediscovered my original “Short and Feisty” blog–the one before I switched over to this shiny new model in December of 2012. It’s been pretty eye opening traveling back in time to discover what 2009 “Me” thought of her world as a college junior. It’s also pretty cringe-worthy when I look back at the awfully written prose (though, it’s nice to see how far I’ve come!).

My life is a bit up in the air right now with lots of transitions and long, long 10 hour days–7 days a week, so I thought it would be fun to share some of my oldies but goodies (with absolutely no editing allowed!).

It’s also been pretty funny to see where I thought my life was headed back then. Take, for instance, this blog from July of 2009. Much has changed in my life since then, but I think I’d still be a tad disappointed to realize I am still wiping butts for money:

“Why I Researched Child Exorcism”–July 22, 2009

As shown in my previous blog, I could very easily don the title of professional babysitter if I wanted to spend the rest of my life cleaning snotty noses and changing dirty diapers. Instead, I’ll hold off on that job description for another 10 years and eventually inherit the title “Mom” and do all of those things without getting paid (gee whiz, my best idea yet!). Most of the kids I babysit are pretty run of the mill as far as entertainment goes. A lot of the older kids just want to be left alone or just want to watch a movie. The younger ones enjoy wholesome games like Leggo building, reading, or coloring. All in all, babysitting is probably the easiest money I have ever made. I am paid to have fun! But babysitting Baby W was like babysitting a resident of the Gotham Asylum.

Everything started off normally. Well, it was a little off kilter in that I was babysitting Baby W at a resort time share instead of his house. His mother was throwing a baby shower at the house and didn’t want Baby W around (which I didn’t understand because he was so calm when I met him :P). So get to the time share and meet Mr. W (which is weird because usually the moms do the baby exchange) who is incredibly nice and gives me the run down of what is going on for the night: Baby W is 3 years old, the baby shower is at the house, they’ll be gone until about 8, the resort has a pool that Baby W might like to swim in, and he needs help going potty because he isn’t yet potty trained. CHECK! I am ready for the night.

Baby W and I successfully swam in the pool and he was unusually quiet for a 3 year old. He couldn’t swim, of course, so it was mostly just me sitting on the pool stairs with him. I wasn’t taking any chances going any further; babies are slippery little suckers and he didn’t have any floaties. We get back to the room and I feed him his dinner according to the “special diet” that his mother has him on (don’t ask me what it is because I couldn’t tell you from just looking at the hamburger helper and assorted Gerber products). Then, I swear one of Satan’s helpers flew in through the glass sliding door and took possession of this child. First, he started screaming as loud as he could in a shriek that would shame a banshee. He wasn’t upset, in fact he laughed hysterically after every squeal. When I told him to stop, he would just get louder. When I tried to distract him with a toy or TV show, he would spit at me-yes, I said spit. He thought that was hilarious and started spitting, literally hocking loogies, on the furniture. I put him in the corner for “time-out” and he thought it was a game. This kid obviously had never been disciplined and immediately reverted to his previous psychotic behavior. I wouldn’t normally worry about the decibel of his voice, but we were at a resort with really paper thin walls and I didn’t want anyone calling social services. Unfortunately, the happy resolution is that when he stopped screaming for thirty seconds, his dad showed up and it was all over. A tidy ending to a messy experience.