I’d like to think of myself as a well-rounded, mature man who’s learned from the past, grown from his childish ways, and wears suits on Sundays. A man like this doesn’t have time for silly pet peeves.
Well, I have a ton of pet peeves. And this isn’t the first time I’ve posted about them either. Check this out. Geez, I’m really taking a step back, aren’t I? A more evolved man would talk things out, have a discussion over coffee and a scone.
But I don’t blame myself for this one. I blame the apartment building where I lived before moving to the house I live in now. And hey, don’t try to look up the Roundtree Apartments on Lebanon Road because you won’t find it! They’ve changed their name to something more trendy so they can charge double what I paid! “Only minutes from downtown!” They’ll say, as a giant guitar hangs above the main office entry way.
But back when I lived there it was super shady. Imagine coming home from work and one of three things happening:
- The scent of your downstairs neighbor’s dinner wafting up through the floors. Like, so strong you skip dinner because you’re stomach thinks you just ate.
- The floor shaking from a loud bang, and you’re not sure it wasn’t a gun shot.
- Wanting to jump in the pool but thinking it would just save time to inject yourself with some random disease.
There was also the matter of cars honking their horns at any hour of the day, and this is where I want to camp out for a sec. Say someone showed up to give a ride to one of your neighbors. Who cares, right? But instead of ya know, parking, getting out of the car, knocking on the front door followed by a “Hey so-and-so, I’m here to pick you up. Are you ready? Today is a great day.” No, no… it’s HONK HOOOOONK get your booty out here because I’m not coming up to get you.
How am I supposed to live in conditions like that!!?
Now I’m busy being an adult, with dogs that
know I’m the boss don’t even know my name and a house of my own. I love the solitude of my back yard. The freedom of my own place. No stinky fish head curry cooking below! And honking? That’s a thing of the past!
But if you won’t be too judgmental, I’ve got a confession. I’m trying to be a good neighbor like State Farm wants me to be. My neighbors are making it hard, though. Every day around 215pm for the past couple of months, a car pulls in front of my neighbor’s house and honks the horn. Every. Single. Day. I’ll go ahead and say it: This is my Vietnam.
And I’m a horrible person because, well, the woman that gets picked up is old. So I constantly remind myself that this can’t last much longer. She’s pretty old.
I’m a horrible person, just don’t tell my dogs.
-Out of the Wilderness