Things I did not do yesterday evening:

  1. Dishes/clean kitchen
  2. Fold and put away laundry
  3. Practice for choir
  4. Practice individual repertoire
  5. Clean the fishtank
  6. Trim Evil Kitteh’s nails
  7. Blog

It was still a pretty good evening, all things considered.  I had  dinner with a good friend, and then hung out with my brother, who played with Vishnu and fed him treats.  I’m hoping eventually he’ll get the idea that guests are a Good Thing and not hide for half an hour first, and I think last night helped.  But not only did I fall short in my lofty goals of accomplishing something, my attempt to torment my Asshat Neighbors was thwarted.

Some background first:  I do not like my Asshat Neighbors.  The mildest of their transgressions is smoking really rank, nasty weed under my open bedroom window in summer. Our units share the same front steps, and not only do they almost never take a turn clearing the snow off them (they don’t even own a shovel that I can tell), when they do clear snow, they only do their side even though I do the whole steps, and the one time I (OK, actually my partner did it for me) did only my side, I saw them deliberately kick the snow off their side and use their feet to evenly spread it all over mine.  They did the back when they came home, and a few minutes later, came out and did the front, and went back inside.

The ongoing problem, though, is the noise they make.  While the wall separating our units appears to be made of concrete brick, it barely attenuates sound at all.  If it weren’t for the woman’s boyfriend, this wouldnt’ be a big deal.  The occasional music or TV show that may not be my favourite, loud talking and laughing, stuff that’s just part of living anywhere that there are other people.

The boyfriend, however, is an entitled dudebro of the first order, and besides the really loud, porny-sounding sex the two of them have right on the other side of the wall from where I’m trying to sleep,  dudebro likes to par-tay!  And for whatever reason, he can’t par-tay at his own home; he brings his asshole friends to his girlfriend’s and they party there.  On weeknights.  Their parties appear to consist of getting drunk and/or stoned, throwing their empties out on the lawn, and randomly yelling “woooo!” at the top of their lungs.  Either until dawn or until someone goes past happy-drunk into mean-drunk, and then it’s a lot of voices yelling “fuck you!”  “fuck you too!” and the girlfriend crying loudly, and it’s 50/50 whether there’ll be a fistfight in the parking lot. 

Sound carries both ways, though.  And the sound of a novice classical singer warming up and working on her high range is not exactly enjoyable.  I don’t do it at times when I know other people are trying to sleep, of course, but if I’m not feeling motivated to practice, nothing gets me going like seeing a parade of guests going in to the neighbors’.  The sound makes it obvious which room they’re in, so I work in whatever room is directly on the other side of the wall.  I’m just dedicated to my art, that’s all.

Yesterday when I got home from dinner I saw what I thought was the boyfriend’s truck parked out front, so while I was waiting for my brother I got in a really good set of vocal exercises – in the bedroom of course.  My brother showed up before I had a chance to get to working on repertoire. 

Neighbor and dudebro drove up in a different vehicle, moments before my brother arrived.  They’d missed the whole thing.


About The Intransigent One

Sometimes I like to post pictures of my cat or my garden or my sewing or other stuff I made or did. Other times I like to rant.
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