Dear Upstairs Neighbor,
You don't know me, but I feel like I know you. How is that possible, you ask, since we've never met?
Well, dear upstairs neighbor, it's because you are so mother fucking loud, I feel like we actually sort of live together!! So hear me when I ask you to please, seriously, for the love, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I, of course, realize that I live in an apartment. I have neighbors on all sides. I chose to live on the ground floor, because it was cheaper, and because Juno likes to chase the squirrels back and forth across the patio door in the spring, and let's be honest - that is her only cardio all year long. Also because I have neighbors on all sides, I follow the rules set forth in my lease. For example, I don't run my dishwasher late at night. I don't do laundry early in the morning. I don't blast my music or run the vacuum late, nor do I listen to the TV too loud or throw raging parties. I also pull my headboard a respectful 4 inches from the wall so that the neighbor next door doesn't have to hear me bang.
I know I live in an apartment.
Which leads to me to wonder, how in the fuck you do not realize you live in one too!?!?
You. Are. So. Loud,
Literally so mother fucking loud, I think we may actually share an apartment, and I just haven't realized yet that you live with me.
Things you should know before choosing to live in a top floor apartment:
1. People live below you. That's right, underneath you. And despite the fact that they choose to have neighbors in the ceiling, they would appreciate if you did not choose to get up and play fetch from one end of your apartment to the other with your giant-ass dog in the middle of the night.
It's a fucking dog. And a fucking ball. Take that shit outside.
2. Your heels are not the part of your foot that should be hitting the floor first when you take a step. Please consult with a podiatrist to confirm there is no actual lead in your foot. I'm worried about you.
3. Also please don't chase your fucking dog around the apartment while it jumps, barks, chases, wags, and threatens to fall through the ceiling onto my couch. And stop bouncing it's fucking ball on the kitchen floor before I walk my ass up there and make you eat it.
Let's just be real, upstairs neighbor: living in apartments sucks, in general. And living in one with a dog has got to suck even more. It's probably the same as how living in an apartment with an infant who screams all the time, or a toddler learning to walk, probably sucks. Or a door-slamming teenager, I suppose. And so of course, dear neighbor, I do not have high expectations. I have a high threshold for noise. I expect to hear laundry and music and cleaning and lead-foot walking.
That said, shut your god damn dog up, dude.
Because sadly, your dog is not the ass hole. Your dog is just a dog. Dogs are dumb; they can't help it. They don't know they live in an apartment. They just see your stupid happy ass bouncing a ball on the floor or throwing a frisbee down the hallway like a dumb ass instead of putting a coat on and going to the dog park. Your dog is not at fault for your idiocy. That's on you.
And so, dear upstairs neighbor, as I sit here, typing this blog and listening to you stupidly play a long, loud, annoying game of fetch, I ask that you consider being a little bit less of a fuck stick in the future.
After all, it is after 10:00. And I know your lease like the back of my hand.