Monday, November 28, 2005

Listening to the man upstairs

I am going to break down and say it: I hate the man upstairs. No, not God. The guy whose choice in dance radio is throbbing just above my head right now.

I have avoided posting about this guy -- he just turned it up as I am typing this -- in case there is litigation. The rest of the group has seen an attorney for other reasons. Which is why he's blasting the music right now, cause he's mad at us. This man is 40 years old. I kid you not. I just heard him come home from work, heard his footsteps on each individual stair, then heard him walk across the length of his apartment to the stereo. I knew just when it was going to come on.

Just move away. Please ... go ... away. Why aren't you getting my mental messages, obnoxious upstairs man?

On a brighter subject, if you ask Nutmeg how her diaper is, she always answers "Good," even when the contents are decidedly not. She has figured out that any question that begins "How..." can be answered with "Good."

How cute is that?


Kori said...

Oh, man. That stinks. We have fantastic neighbors, but I must admit, the man who lives below us often plays his music way too loud. It makes me crazy when I'm trying to get the bean to sleep.

I'd complain to our homeowners' association, but his wife is on the board. I'd complain to the city, but his wife is our alderwoman. :)

Good thing they are such extremely nice people---they even took in our mail when we unexpectedly went home for Mike's grandmother's funeral, and the postman complained he couldn't fit our mail in the slot. They've even been friendly when we've accidentally flooded their house. The music is a very small inconvenience for the total neighbor package. I'm imagining, however, that in your case, the music is the least of your worries with the man upstairs. Hang in there, then move to Chicago. :)

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