I am reminded that there are smart people that actually do live in houses every time I hear that fucker...oh excuse me, that gentleman downstairs blasting his music. Technically, when living in an apartment, there are normally rules of courtesy. Most places have some sort of noise rule, basically stating no crazily loud music late late at night and early early in the morning. I think the ass clown, I mean neighbor downstairs is immune to any type of courtesy concerning living in close proximity to other humans. I think he lives in his own little old man world where his silver minivan with the faded Cowboy's sticker is somehow cool.

And when I am lucky enough not to be forced to partake in the tunes downstairs, he flips the script and screams and hits his son for hours. I actually don't know which is worse. It's bad enough he plays Mint Condition's "What kind of man would I be" like fifty times per month. I used to like that song, too. And when his booty call is over, boy does that dude blast up the music with all kinds of slow-do-me-jams. Me being on the 2ND floor does nothing to mute this noise.

Don't get me wrong. I know living in an apartment does require patience and tolerance of others around you. I know that sometimes it won't be the quietest place on our planet Earth. But I do know that out of all that apartments I've lived in, this little skinny loser face butt fart is by far the rudest. I like my music loud but I respect others. And I've even gotten on the Hubby for having the TV too loud. It's all about the Golden Rule.

One day I will be in a house.
One day I will be in a house.
One day I will be in a house.