Sounds: dismal. But true. Advil won’t relieve these apartment ailments

Ah, the joys of apartment living, they’re coming back to me now!

{insert: drippy sarcasm}

Do not misunderstand. I’m not complaining, not really, and I’m in no way suggesting that I want to move. No f-in way!

But there are certain … charms in apartment living that you gotta admit if you’re said dweller.

Like?

Like it’s telling to live in an apartment complex. You can tell what your neighbors are having for dinner.

Like sounds. Not the sounds of the building. I rather like those. Sounds from the neighbors and ohhhhhhhhh is that a list a hundred miles long!

So let’s hone in on the Top 5 Audio Ailments of Apartment Living:

1. Babies bawling.
2. Couples, or people in general, arguing.
3. Loud music.
3a. Insert: Loud music at the most inconsiderate hours to enhance effect.
4. Loud TVs, radios or conversations in general.
5. Barking dogs. I’ve yet to meet a mewing house cat that drives me to insanity.

Now, I can’t speak for you but I’m no doe in the woods. Even as a baby, I was never the doe but the wise old knowing buck but that’s another post for another time.

And, short of living amongst apartment-dwelling felons (if I have, I’m unaware), I’ve experienced all shades, variations and mutations of said dwelling. Leaving me highly qualified to speak on such matters.

Those top 5 are subjective and within the bounds of “normal living” of course.

I mean, who among us wouldn’t put thuggy-gangsta-ghetto-drug dealers-fist-bashing-their-bitches-and-barrel-bashing-their subordinates-who-didn’t-pay-up in that 5?

So’s I’m not talkin’ those kinda dwellings subject to daily police attention. I’m talkin’ your everyday run-of-the-mill average-working-folks-and-retirees-and-we-cook-our-dinners-in-skillets-and-freeze-leftovers-and-wash-our-hair-daily sorts.

I’m stickin’ with my Top Cinco. It’s spot on.

1. Crying babies. They don’t shut up. They pay no heed to the hour. Awareness of others is not their forte. And the parents, they’re the worst, moreso than their bawling babes. I’m talkin’ American parents now.

They’re selfish, self-absorbed and of the view that Their Babies Are the Cutest in the Whole of the Universe and No Interference Should Come to That Precious Child That THEY Themselves Created.

Thus not to disturb or muck with this precious natural life flow of their ever-precious most beautiful creation in the history of mankind, babies are left to bawl until the cows come home.

Or someone toting a rifle appears, threatening “shush that young one up or I’m callin’ the cops for disturbance of the peace.” Whichever comes first. Not sayin’ I’ve got the rifle. Just sayin’ some people (too many) don’t grasp the meaning of civility and don’t care until they’re staring at the end of a barrel.

2. Couples or people in general arguing. Not gonna go there. I come from a broken fucked-up home where anger, rage, dysfunction (to put it conservatively) and warfare were daily rituals. On Christmas and other special occasions like birthdays, the collective of folks, sister and I put aside our deep miseries and pain and got along. A phony peace, sure it was, but when minefields and explosions are a way of life, you take what you can get.

3. Loud music. Who reading this says rap is music? It’s fucking sound pollution. And brain pollution. And I ain’t referring exclusively to the lyrics. Gangsta ghetto rap is boring. Couldn’t care less the views they espouse on women, sex, police, drugs, {fill in the subject}. It’s crap. No melody, no rhythm, save in the rhyming and as a words person I can appreciate that. Our current generation of rap lovers is our future. We’re all fucked.

And that stuff should be played either not at all or listened to with headphones. Because we non gangsta-sorts in apartment complexes not only get raging headaches (or migraines, in my case) that NO worldly supply of Advil can relieve but we need our shut-eye for our jobs and daily tasks. Jobs not involving intimidation, threats, unreal wads of cash, hiring kids as watch outs, macho attitudes and pants belted at the knees.

4. Blaring TVs, radios, conversations in general. Ohhhhh, this is presently a biggie! Won’t divulge why just yet, it’s a topic best served in its own dish.

Suffice it to say that I don’t have a TV. And, as it turns out, don’t need one! Because any time I wanna hear a show — and any time I don’t — my neighbor provides, amply.

Like I said, another post so I’ll leave you with this: I’d like to grab hold of that dude’s … remote (hahah, you thought I was gonna write something else!) … and give that Mute button a push it’s never had in its lifetime.

5. Barking dogs. Thank god for small miracles. Pets are not allowed in my apartment complex. Neither, come to think of it, resident children under 18, which takes care of No. 1 annoyance, the bawlers and concurrently Permissive American Parent who cares nothing for others around.

Oddly enough, I didn’t actually get to the original inspiration for this post. It happens. Rest assured I shall another time.

For now, suffice it to say that in the joys of apartment living {cough coughing up sarcasm}, I’ve got the goods. The skinny. The knowledge, wisdom and truths. They ain’t always ugly but ain’t pretty either.

Only thing I ain’t got – yet – is the diffuser. You know, that lil’ contraption involving a bowl of oil-scented water and tea light. Because Stupid reigns, not for the first time or the last.

{insert suspense audio as well as copyright on Top 5 Apartment Ailments} To be continued …

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