I’m up at 4am on a Saturday, writing this post. Why ever so, Ivana? Yoy may ask. Unfortunately, I’m not dealing with insomnia, a broken heart, nor am I too excited to get to sleep. The truth is, the neighbour above me is having a party tonight… again.
Since the weather got warmer, it seems that she’s been having guests over every weekend. Great! I’m glad she’s popular to demand this sort of dance card, much more popular than I. The problem is that week after week (after week) these parties run late into the night and not only wake me from my slumber, but keep me up and eff with my sleeping schedule!
I can’t believe I’ve become this person so young but I have and that’s just that, I can’t change it. So tonight, she had some friends out in the backyard. I had my window open on this lovely summer evening. But wait, what do I smell in my room now? Cigarettes! Argh! Fine, shut my window, no problem.
I knew that their talking was going to bother me, so I solved this by lulling myself to sleep with the lovely sounds of Arrested Development. This worked! I was out like a light. I was woken up around 2am to some super loud pop music. Grreeeaat. The minute I heard the pop music, I knew exactly where the night was heading.
Upstairs neighbour was in the first stage of drunk girl night. The stage where all is fun and dandy and top 40 music is where it’s at. It seemed that all of the songs she was playing were direct from my iPod. I managed to convince myself that she was stealing it from my iTunes. I had to ensure that the computer was no longer connected because I’d be damned if I was being kept up all night by my own music.
Soon after, she got into stage 2: ABBA. So much ABBA was playing only moments ago. To make matters worse, I could hear her singing. It’s terrible. It was at this point that I decided to pay her a visit and politely ask her to turn it down. I’m making out full words and can even hear her sing, it’s 3:30am, I don’t think I’m being crazy? Am I? Please confirm.
I finally get the courage to knock on her door. The talking stops momentarily, yet no one comes to answer. Strange. I wait a minute and knock a few times again. Louder. As I start knocking, I hear this terrible, nasal voice yell, but then yell louder as I continue to knock. Is she playing a game? Does she think this is funny? I wouldn’t put it past her, seeing as she barely has the tact to say, “hello” in the hallways… there’s 4 apartments in this house, come on now! Eventually I give up on the knocking, fearing I’ll try her doorknob next and that’ll be a whole other level of crazy.
Stage 3: the last dance. Or what usually is the last dance. But I feel like it’s just the beginning. She’s playing the Canadian bar, last call favourite, Home for a Rest. This is always the last song before heading out and it’s so painful to hear right now. Not only am I listening to this tune on high but I think they’re doing a jumping, skipping, folk dance jig. The floor is creaking, shaking and my nerves and patience are at their wits end.
It’s at this point where I decide that drastic times call for drastic measures. The Boy has told me that I’m famous for my passive aggressive notes and that I should post one of my notes to this site one day. I pull out my trusty passive aggressive notepad and start writing away. It wasn’t even mean, really. I explained that after 2 failed attempts to knock on her door, I’ve had to resort to this. Asked her to turn down her music and even signed my name, that’s not THAT passive aggressive, right? If you answered no, you may change your mind momentarily. I folded up the paper, wrote APT#2 in big, bold letters and taped it to the window by the front door. I then, rang her buzzer repeatedly and ran back to my apartment. In an effort to conceal my identity (although my name was on the letter), I turned my lights off and didn’t lock the door – she was right there, it would’ve been far too obvious. I wait a few minutes, as she retreats back to her apartment, expecting for the music to be lowered, or worse, put up even more. Nothing happens. WTF?!
BITCH DIDN’T TAKE THE NOTE!!!!
At this point, she’s entered stage 4: Classic rock. I don’t know if there’s a stage after this one, so I’m hoping her evening will come to a close shortly. I’m cutting this stage short, because in all honesty, I started writing this after I left her the note, it’s 4:42am. She turned off the music a few minutes ago and all is quiet up there now. She’s asleep and I’m sitting here, writing about how I’m waiting for the music to stop so I can get back to bed. I’m the only loser awake in this house now. Now, as I abruptly leave this post, I must retire. Peace out, homies.
