On horrible neighbors and sausage parties...

I hate having to deal with asshole neighbors. 

And that's the only kind of neighbors we seem to be getting lately. Are all neighbors assholes to each other? Seriously, are there no decent, reasonably kind, understanding and, well, normal people out there? Why do we always get horrible people as our upstairs or downstairs neighbors? 

You know, that movie with Seth Rogen and Zac Efron is only funny (though not really), if you're not  actually living it.

Moving is so not fun.

A month ago (well, a bit more than that, actually), we had to pack up and haul our asses to another unit, two buildings down, in the same apartment complex. 

Two-bedroom apartment worth of stuff (including three bookshelves double-stacked and few huge-ass boxes of advanced reader's copies) moved in one day, by my husband alone, on a day when the temperature was like -15F with windchill (we are freaking poor, we can't afford paying a moving company $200 per hour for a minimum of 5 hours). I had to take care of the baby, so I couldn't help much, other than packing and unpacking. It was f***ing ridiculous. Pure chaos and un-diluted exhaustion. And I so didn't want to do that. I did not need that disruption in my already busy and chaotic life... 

Sausage parties don't belong in family units.

So why did we feel like we had no other choice but to move? Cause we had a "sausage party" college-kids as upstairs neighbors, right above our heads, yelling, playing Wii (or some other life-sucking box of games), and partying till 3-4 am. And you know what that spells when you have a one year old baby? Yup, a fucking nightmare. A no-sleep-at-night and cry-your-head-off disaster. Well, we tried talking to them and asking politely, which only resulted in even more laughing and screaming at night (a very vindictive sausage party, indeed). So we then talked to the management, who pretty much gave us the equivalent of a middle finger and did absolutely nothing to help us. And so, with no other options left and growing increasingly agitated by the long, crying-filled nights, we moved... 

(But wait, there's more)

only to end up with downstairs neighbors equally annoying; if not more so. We are now in the upstairs unit, and apparently we are the ones bothering the asshats downstairs. Now, I don't call people asshats lightly, so hear me out. On the very first freaking day after we moved, someone comes knocking on the door. Husband opens. It's a middle aged Indian guy. He seems completely surprised at the fact that he is, in fact, upstairs knocking on our door, and so he starts by apologizing. Then he says "It is very loud upstairs, yes?". To which my husband replies "we just got up, the baby was walking around as we were sitting on the couch, I'm not sure what you mean..?" The guy seems even more confused, but he says. "It's ok, I understand" and skulks away. 

Later that day, the cable guy comes around to hook up our internet service. The Indian guy is back saying the very same thing. Baby was sleeping, the only thing making any noise was the cable guy walking around. Same story. We are, apparently, incredibly loud to the point it warrants a second visit on the same day.

The ridiculousness continues.

Day two: 7:30 am. Victoria wakes up, so I put her on my bed to change her diaper. I take maybe 3 steps across the room and then hear a series of very loud banging on the ceiling. It startles the kid and she starts crying. 

And then another neighborly visit in the afternoon, and the guy stating - again - what we already know: we are criminally loud. 

But the real fun begins when they - the guy and his wife - start banging kitchen cabinets on purpose and then slamming washroom door. They don't do it during day time, they wait till the kid goes to sleep and it gets real quiet in our apartment, THEN they unleash their childish fury. Like seriously, what are you, five? I would laugh in your face if it wasn't so freaking frustrating, because with every slam and every bang the kid wakes up. Is that really your goal here? Get back at the one year old kid for walking around. And what do you expect me to do, really? Chain her to her bed or teach her how to fly? It's just a little kid, for fuck's sake, she isn't purposefully stomping around or throwing things to disturb your inner zen or kamasutra, or whatever the fuck it is you're doing during day time instead of being at work. 

Be fucking civilized.

After the second day of banging on the ceiling my husband went downstairs and asked them - politely - to be civilized. He explained that the baby is just walking around, and she goes to sleep at 7pm and sleeps till at least 7am, and other than her walking around for a couple of hours per day, and maybe occasionally tripping on a toy and falling, there is no other noise. The guy got defensive, said he's sorry and that he understands. 

But the banging, the slamming, the knocking on the ceiling and the knocking on the door continues, so I'm pretty sure he doesn't understand and he isn't sorry after all. I feel like I can't breathe. 

So yeah, I king of hate people. No, not you, you're lovely, obviously, you're visiting my blog and reading my post, we are good! (Unless you're my downstairs neighbor, in which case, fuck you. Asshat.)

So here's an idea.

Why don't we all try to be a bit more understanding and accommodating to people around us. Maybe think outside of our little boxes and see past whatever there is on the surface of things. Being considerate isn't a terminal disease, it's actually - gasp! - a pretty good, nice and decent thing to do. 

I don't want to be negative or whiny, and I certainly don't want to be an asshole to others, but it's pretty fucking tiring on the long run. All I want is to take care of my own business. Make sure the kid is well-fed, has clean clothes to wear every day, sleeps well, grows healthy and is happy - that's my business. Whatever else I get to do - taking care of the dog, cleaning, cooking, maybe - if I'm extremely lucky - reading and reviewing something - that's a secondary thing, because my kid will always come first. And you, sir, are adding to the every-day stress of my life and preventing my child from getting sleep and, therefore, being happy. And trust me, you don't want to do that. Because I don't want to be an asshole, but I certainly will if I have to. 

God, I can't wait to be a house owner...