Just when I was getting too comfortable with the apartment life, we've had a tough week.
On Tuesday I could no longer take the thump-pound, thump-pound, thump-pound coming from upstairs. It was at night, and I felt that the toddler upstairs should be getting ready for bed, not running back and forth, back and forth.
We've put up with it for months, but once it woke Molly up, it was go-time. I got up on the dining room table and started pounding on the ceiling. That's right, I had sunk to the level of Mr. Heckles from Friends. I was a ceiling pounder.
I would have felt bad about it but instead of quieting down, they just pounded back and continued with the thump-pound, thump-pound. Grrr.
Last night I kept waking up after midnight. There were loud voices, dogs barking, cars beeping, argh! But around 1:15 the neighbor blared their stereo. LOUD. I could hear everything, word for word. Some of the songs I knew. I almost started singing along. After the seventh song we gave up and just called the police.
We cannot get out of here soon enough.