I Hate Neighbors

So I've never lived in an apartment before. Hopefully, I will never have to do so again. I don't particularly like giving directions to a complex where 45 buildings look the same. I don't like having to walk up three flights of stairs when carrying 18,000 pounds of groceries. And I really don't like the people that moved in right below us.

About 6 weeks ago, they moved in. With their yappy little dog. I remember the first time we heard the thing. Jake and I were standing in the kitchen unpacking about 12,000 pounds of groceries, and it began. Then about three days later, we walked in the door and there was an unmistakable and overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke in our very non-smoking apartment, wafting up through some sort of air duct.

That's not even the most offensive thing that's happened to us since they've moved in. For some reason, they seem to think that 4 foot statues of hooded monks with giant crosses around their necks are ok to put, in triplicate outside their front door. I genuinely startled when I first came down the stairs and saw them. I said to Jake that they couldn't possibly intend to keep them there. Well...it's been 6 weeks and the only thing that's changed is they've added an ugly totem pole on their balcony.

Tonight was the final straw for me. I came home to an apartment that, yet again, reeked of their second-hand smoke. I called the apartment complex and very sweetly asked if they could try to fix the problem. (left a message)

Later, Jake tackled me on our bed. This always makes me laugh, and since I'm not used to being tackled by anyone on a regular basis, always catches me off guard. About five minutes later someone pounded on our door. I figured that it was the maintinance guy coming to fix our problem. I scurried to get something a bit more "Hi maintinance guy" and a little less, "Hi, husband" appropriate. But then I hear a woman's voice, and Jake saying, "I was just sitting at the computer...No, really, I was just sitting there."

Apparently the worst neighbors in the world think that there's something wrong with us and the ugly, fat lady was yelling at my husband and I for being loud and stomping around. Really? had I not been scrambling for a hoodie, I would have given her quite the piece of my mind. I would have, with extended finger, recounted to her the time that her yapping dog interrupted our Valentine's day dinner.

Never had a war with another neighbor. Who knows, this could get ugly. There may be hooded monks involved.