the Angie’s List Blue House Blog

As my apartment-dwelling colleagues Mike and Matthew well know, our house-dwelling co-workers sometimes seem to have the upper hand in many respects. My biggest apartment complaints usually have to do with my neighbors.

1. To the girl across the hall: Who stays up all night until 8 AM on a Sunday morning listening to music and having loud conversations? You do! Thanks for the wake-up, but my alarm clock works just fine. And I get the feeling it’s more than Diet Coke or strong coffee keeping you up.

2. To the girl across the hall on the other side: Lady, I know for a fact your friend hit my car! The neighbors in the basement apartment saw him do it. One of them used to be a police officer. They took his license plate number. Although your steroid-enhanced friend (Dude, really, how big do your pecs need to be? Do all your shirts need to be let out in the bust line?) strongly disavowed any knowledge of the incident, and I still have a $750 collision repair estimate for a new front bumper, I do appreciate you coming to my door and putting me in touch with said steroid-enhanced friend, despite his lack of personal responsibility.

3. To neighbors in general/friends of neighbors: There are only 12 parking spaces for 30 tenants — which means parking permits are a necessity. When your six friends come over, each in their own vehicle, maybe you could suggest they park in one of the many streetside spaces? I’m more and more tempted to call the tow truck each time I see this happen.

4. To Mr. Meticulous-Car Driver: Despite #3, you don’t have to stare intensely at me every time I pull into the parking lot. I know, I know, your 1996 Toyota Camry is your pride and joy, but I don’t park anywhere near it, so trust me, I won’t hit it. However, I do enjoy watching you take 20 minutes to pull into the same space you always occupy and watching you visually inspect your car’s surface, tires and undercarriage EVERY time you park. However, your compulsion for checking the door handle to be sure it’s locked over and over again (sometimes up to 12 times, I’ve counted) is a little unsettling.

5. To passersby with dogs/neighbors with dogs: See that black plastic dog bone hanging off the leash when I take my two dogs out? You do? Good. That’s full of bags I use to pick up my pets’ eliminations. You say to yourself, “Why does he pick up their poop?” Because I don’t want anyone to have to smell it or step in it! I swear, if I have to clean up any more dog doo off my shoe, I’m going to chuck that feces-encrusted footwear at the first irresponsible dog owner I see. And yes, I can be more careful and look where I’m stepping, but I shouldn’t have to, and I get tired of staring at the ground.

Rant complete. Josh out.