Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Dear Landlord

Dear Landlord,

Just a quick email to let you know about some recent noises coming from the apartment above us. Someone must have moved in over the weekend, and while we are usually very tolerant about walking noises and doors opening and closing (as such is part of apartment living), the new resident above us is doing something that is incredibly noisy. Usually around 8:30 PM and continuing into the night, an incredibly loud banging noise occurs, as if someone is either (a) dribbling a basketball, (b) dropping a bowling ball, or (c) just throwing their entire body on the floor, repeatedly.

Normally Steven and I would just find this amusing, but I’m starting to get concerned that the ceiling will crack and the entire bowling league that has taken up residence above us will come falling through the floor onto our heads. Which would not be fun.

Also, this past weekend, on Saturday night, the same tenant had a party, and at 2 AM they were still standing on their balcony above us, shouting “Woo!” off of the balcony. I understand there were March Madness basketball games, but not at 2 in the morning, right?

Could you please just send this tenant a quick notice to ask them to keep the noise down late at night, and also maybe to stop dropping heavy things on the floor?


It is one of my goals in life to avoid incurring a head injury resulting from an idiot falling through my ceiling. I know, I really aim high.

We tend to have neighbor problems. I maintain that we are not ever the problem (except for the shrill barking from our five-pound dog. Quit laughing.), but we do tend to consistently attract a smidge of neighbor-craziness.

In our old apartment complex, a thirty-something single girl lived in the apartment below us. Her shining moment, in which we realized the true depth of her level of crazy, was on New Year's Day, at approximately 6 AM. She thought this would be a perfect time to grab her cordless phone, jaunt out to the porch (conveniently located below our bedroom window), have a smoke, and make a few calls. Nevermind that nearly everyone on the planet had been up the night before until at least midnight -- she was going to make some calls. And call she did.

First call, in a voice as loud as humanly possible whilst puffing a pack of Marlboros: "HEY MOM! HEY! YOU WANNA GO TO CHUCK-E-CHEESE! CHUCK! E! CHEESE! HEY! (and so forth. With the shouting.) When Mom declined her offer, she called the next forty people in her address book to ask them if they'd like to accompany her to Chuck-E-Cheese. Loudly.

Her nickname became Chuck-E-Cheese from that point forward. Ms. Cheese would also regularly discuss (at length, via a pink glittery cell phone) the status of her MySpace page, and whether the latest boy toy had accepted her friend request, commented regularly enough, or just generally behaved in a Chuck-E-Cheese-Approved manner. At first, we found these conversations riotous, and we'd listen in for juicy bits of ridiculousness. ("Oh no, girl, he didn't friend you back? He un-friended you?! Oh, girl, drop him like a rock, girl!") But after about the thousandth night of MySpace updates, we'd had quite enough of Chuck-E.

And then there was the time Chuck-E's mother (yes, the one she was inviting to the children's birthday party locale at 6 AM on New Year's) got so completely soused that she fell down the concrete stairs, smacking her besotted little noggin, and the police were promptly called by a pair of Anonymous Observers. (No comment on whether I was hoping the whole lot of them would be arrested.)

And then there was the time when we watched Chuck-E pile all of her many classy belongings into a moving van and hit the road, and we rejoiced in the delightful freedom. Until she put her little brother in the apartment as her subtenant. And he brought his band. In a brief moment of silence, Chuck-E's little brother must have heard Steven strumming his acoustic guitar (to drown out the awfulness), and suddenly there was a knock at our door. I opened the door to find a shirtless 15 year old kid, who immediately said, "Was that you playing the guitar?" I laughed and said no, and gestured toward Steven, and Chuck-E's little brother says, "Hey man, would you want to come record with us downstairs? We've got it all set up...."

Needless to say, Steven is not making any guest appearances as a studio musician. At least, not that time. :)

So I suppose Mr. Above-Neighbor-Who-Throws-His-Body-On-The-Floor-And-Might-Fall-Through-The-Roof is just about par for the course. Time to turn up the volume on the Twins Game.


Oh, did I mention its the start of the baseball season? We are outfitted accordingly:


Happy Baseball Season, everyone!



The Mulvihills said...

Ahhhh, neighbors! I seem to remember a certain crazy neighbor in Arlington, also! Ha!

Love the Twins gear! We were just chatting about taking in a game in July. Josh is going in April also. He's planning on sitting in lower left and heckling the players. I'm going to teach him to do some unique clapping to go with the stadium tunes! :)

Erica said...

it must be the weather. you're my third friend to have neighbor problems this week.

spring fever perhaps.

and, I'm going to need an update when you figure out what the upstairs guy is doing.

Sean said...

Didn't take the time to read your post - just wanted to let you know the Mets are up 10 nothing tonight and David Wright is a triple away from hitting for the cycle.