I’m desperately looking for an apartment because the fat-footed Clydesdale who lives above me is making my life miserable.
Even my twin sister, Joy, who stayed at my apartment over New Years was woken up by her JURRASSIC PARK stomps, and asked, “does she ever sit down?”
No. The answer is No.
She paces around all day, all morning, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and this begins at 7 a.m. on the weekdays and 9 a.m. on the weekends.
W.T.F. IS WRONG WITH HER.
I say Jurrassic Park because I hear her footsteps coming before she actually walks above my head.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
She's coming.
The water on my nightstand starts to vibrate.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
And then she’s above my head and I fear she will break the beams with her tree trunk feet and fall straight through the ceiling and kill me.
That’s how loud she is. No joke.
She’s The Loudest Walker In America.
And she’s not even (that) fat!!!
I came up with a great idea: People who rent upper apartments should be required to have an additional reference in their application to confirm they are fit to live above others.
Landlords would have to call people who have lived below them for confirmation on their co-habitat ability!!!
Or do a test run!!!
Because if that were a requirement, then clomp bitch upstairs would have gotten an F MINUS on the application and banished to the basement.
And then maybe I’d be able to sleep in peace.
For those of you who remember, I wrote about this A YEAR AGO, and nothing has changed.
My sleep is interrupted nightly, and she gets louder everyday. It’s like the apocalypse. Earplugs no longer work.
I tried to take matters into my own hands.
I wrote her a polite, yet informative note about how she wakes me up every GOD DAMN DAY and wrote that “if she could please be aware that there is no sound barrier between her living room and my bedroom, that would make my life better.”
However, since delivering the note, the sound has gotten worse. Almost deliberately.
So I tried to talk with her face-to-face.
One Saturday morning, I was woken up to what sounded like FURNITURE BEING MOVED IN THE LIVING ROOM AT 9 A.M., (seriously...W.T.F. is WRONG with her??) and I went upstairs and knocked on her door.
I was in my printed pajama pants, so it was clear that I had just been sleeping.
Her ugly fiancé answered the door.
“Hi, I’m trying to sleep downstairs,” I said as she peered at me from over his shoulder. “Do you think ya’ll could maybe not walk around or move furniture in this room right now?”
“WE’LL DO OUR BEST!” He snarled...and then slammed the door in my face.
SLAMMED THE DOOR IN MY FACE!
So there I was, standing on the porch in my pajamas with a door slammed in my face at 9 a.m. on a Saturday.
My jaw dropped.
WE’LL DO OUR BEST?? WE’LL DO OUR BEST???
Hey, asshole, If I was informed that I had woken someone up AT 9 A.M. ON A SATURADY, I’d, I don’t know, APOLOGIZE.
(By the way, my final, scathing note to her when I move out will absolutely point out what a catch he is, and wish her good luck with the marriage.)
Not surprisingly, the noise continued in full force after I left the porch.
I considered getting a broom to bang on the ceiling but let’s be honest, they’d never have heard it with the clomp bitch in heels.
So bottom line: I gotta move out.
I’m a huge fan of sleep and don’t feel like that’s too much to ask for.
I’ll sleep till noon if I could. I love afternoon naps!
(Really. In my next life I hope to come back as a cat.)
Yet, I haven’t slept well in a year, which is sad. These under-eye bags are getting worse. I may have to start wearing makeup.
I was out of town for a week for Christmas and found it so incredibly refreshing to be able to wake up on my own and not when clomp bitch dictates it.
I realized how sweet life could be.
But my lease is up now!!! I can move out whenever!!!
Except nothing is suitable right now.
Do I have terrible luck or what??
There are literally no apartments in the area I want to live that I’ve seen that aren’t the size of a matchbox or have awkward toilets in the kitchen (no really).
It doesn’t help that I’m looking for a two-bedroom apartment in an area that has mostly historic New Orleans “shotgun” houses which means all the rooms are in a line front to back.
And no, my roommate and I are not walking through one of our bedrooms to get to the other one’s bedroom.
And I haven’t won the lottery yet, so I can’t afford $1000 a month in rent for a one-bedroom apartment.
(Sorry New Yorkers...I bet that’s a good deal where you live.)
I know I said I wouldn’t post rants anymore, but I’m slowing dying.
What I mean to say is...can I sleep over at your place?
-Jenny
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