Sunny Days in DC

Jack of All Trades, Master of 3-ish.

I Live in a Sorority House… and it’s full of idiots.

I’m not a passive aggressive person. I’m not even an “aggressive-aggressive” person. I’m generally a, “let’s not piss each other off,” person, and I lean toward the “let’s all order pizza, hang out on the couch, and watch some bad movies” kinda gal.

I’d like to think I’m zen about life, but mostly, I’m just lazy. And getting all stabby means I have to get up from my chair.



So, I think we can all be a LITTLE impressed with me, when, upon first moving in to our lovely new apartment, I went straight to the neighbors downstairs and said, “Hi! We’re new, and we have a small child. I really want us all to get along, so if there’s ever ANYTHING that concerns you, please feel free to talk to me.” I EVEN CHECKED IN WITH THEM. AND I WAS NICE. One might even use the word “charming!” It would be ill-advised, but one could!

Anyway, then, a few weeks after that, they wrote us this nasty letter saying that we shouldn’t let our son play in the communal courtyard, because that’s right near their bedrooms, and we should know better. Let’s all take a minute and reread that phrase. Did you see the word “communal” in there? YES, BITCH. That means *I* pay for the space, just like you do. But, since I’m on this “charming” kick, I won’t let our Max play out there, because I am a nice person. And also, my husband hid all the knives.

Then, on Wednesday night, they were playing their music extra loud. And it was that BAD music. Like, euro-trash, disco-sweat, gonna-wear-a-speedo-to-the-beach, whatever-nonsense… but I let it slide, because the husband and I were able to fall asleep, so ok. Then…. THURSDAY NIGHT COMES ALONG. That music is now SO LOUD, my floor is vibrating with the bass. So, the hubs and I put the wee one to bed, strap on our big kid trousers, and go downstairs. Now, we had waited a while, because we remember what it was like to not have offspring and have lives.


*this looks correct*

…so we didn’t want to be the assholes who go downstairs at 9pm, and tell the whipper snappers to turn it down. BUT WHEN 12-FUCKING-30 ROLLS AROUND, YOUR ASS IS MINE.

We go downstairs, and I knock. I knock again. Now I THUD on the door, because I KNOW your ass is in there, you passive aggressive little shits. Well, they turn off the music and all their lights, and don’t answer the door.

So, since they started this silly note-writing-thingy, I write a note and POLITELY ask them not to play their music so loud past 10pm. That seems fair.

And now I got some crazy ass ranting note BACK from them. We gave it to our landlord. They’re mad because it’s a “circus” up here, what with all the walking we do on our floors. And also because our son cries sometimes at night.

Hey, you know who hates it when our son cries at 2am? ME, MOTHERFUCKER. I FUCKING HATE IT. I HAVE TO GET UP, SOOTHE HIM, GET HIM BACK TO SLEEP…. YOU GET TO STAY IN YOUR NICE WARM BEDS. Is it inconvenient? Sure. And do I feel sorry about that? Eat a bag of dicks Yes, yes I do. But that’s apartment living.

And I say ALL THIS to say, they’re downstairs right now, slamming doors. Guess who can sleep through that shit, because she has had to sleep through a crying child for almost two years? THAT’S RIGHT, MUTHAFUKKAH. SLAM THAT SHIT. I hope you get your fingers caught in it.


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