fuck. shit. balls.

Warning: Take a look at the title of this post. Go ahead, take a look. I will wait. Yep, this post might contain some swearing. If that offends ya...move along!

I think I've mentioned before that my upstairs neighbor is kind of loud sometimes. If I haven't...consider it mentioned.

So...let me backtrack to Thursday and tell you a little ditty of a story. So, Thursday night...I ended up working at the video store until 1am...because one of our employees quit and so her shift needed to be covered. So, on Thursday I worked at the A job from 8:30 to 4pm...got home in time to do a hurried workout, eat a quick dinner and run over to the video store from 6pm to 1am. Then...I went home and quickly fell asleep.

Now..it is Friday. I once again worked the A job from 8am to 4:30pm...was dead tired from probably getting 4 hours of sleep. I looked forward to getting home to my quaint little apartment, making dinner and watching the Corpse Bride. So, I get home pop my dinner into the oven and before I can get 5 minutes into the dvd...my apartment is suddenly turned into a retro rock concert. My upset neighbor who will be renamed asshat for the rest of this post...well, asshat has his music blaring so loud that my ceiling is literally shaking. I grumble to myself....and wonder how long this will last. I swear...and then swear some more. Fuck. Shit. Balls. And then...I do it...yep, I banged on the ceiling to tell asshat to shut the fuck up. It's not mature, but I hoped it would get the job done. The response? I can tell you the music did not go down...and it might have gone up. The swearing continued. Fuck. Shit. Balls. I was getting more livid by the minute.

Sidenote: It is interesting how therapeutic swearing can be. I mean...I really starting feeling better after calling asshat a mo'fo' and the King of Douchebaggery. I know he couldn't hear me (through the wall of deafening sound), but I could hear it...and it helped.

Back to the story. I was already going batty...and then the straw that broke the camels back. I started hearing...very loudly...Guns n' Roses Welcome to the Jungle. One, it was so loud I could hear it as if Axl was in my living room singing it to me. And two, any loud music is bad enough...but bad 90s hair bands. This is where I MUST DRAW THE LINE! So, I picked up the phone...and called my landlord.

She answered the phone....which most of me didn't want her to. I didn't want to have to call her...I immediately felt uncomfortable doing it. It made me feel like I was 12 years old and telling my mommy something my brother did. So, every passive aggressive bone in my body wanted to just leave her a voicemail and be done with it. But...she answered. I was nice...told her I know that people have different ways of living their life, but there should be some ground rules. She said I did the right thing calling her and she would give him a quick call.

She called the asshat. The music went down. She called me back. She said that he said he didn't hear me banging on the ceiling and that he knew the music was loud, but that he didn't think it would bother anybody. Now, I don't believe he didn't hear me...but whatever. But, the best thing she told me was...he is moving in March!

*Shelley does the Balky happy dance of joy*

I enjoyed the rest of my evening in blissful silence. End of story.