And then there’s the neighbor.

Never in my life did I believe that I would be this person, the person who rages against someone whom she barely knows.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, so here goes: I think I hate my neighbor.

I’ve seen him exactly once, when he had just moved in, and my brother was visiting. He said, “Oh, you guys live here? That’s cool, my name’s Zach. I moved in upstairs.” (No, Zach. Just me. I live here. Cool.)

Zach’s mother tried to break into my apartment a few days after that, because she was delivering some stuff to her son. She stood at my back door for approximately 15 minutes. I know because I heard rustling for 5 and then stood in my kitchen for 10 to stare at her and wonder just what the fuck she was doing. When I opened the door, she asked me if Zach was there, and I said no, Zach lives upstairs, and she said, (laugh laugh laugh) oh, I thought this was upstairs.

(Laugh laugh laugh) It’s cool.

But Zach likes to listen to music that rumbles my entire apartment. And it doesn’t matter what time of day it is. It could be 7pm, midnight, sometimes even 4am. And part of me feels like this is karma for my younger self, because no one loved blasting music more than I did when I was in my early 20s… and it’s like, “Announcement, everyone! I finally get it!”

Zach also loves to play his guitar or his bass. He’s better on the guitar than he is on the bass, though. And while I understand dedication to craft, he plays it at 5am. And the part of me that gets up at that hour is like, “Sometimes you work better than my alarm, Zach. I guess I’ll get up now.” But the part of me that actually has days off sometimes is like, “SHUT THAT FUCKING THING UP RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THIS IS THE LAST SLEEP THAT I WILL EVER GET IN THE UNIVERSE OF SLEEP AND YOU JUST WENT TO BED LIKE 4 HOURS AGO.”

But the thing I hate most? Is that Zach is a walk-and-talker. Correction: LOUD TALKER. A couple weeks ago, he was screaming at this girl named Sarah because she cheated on him. He walked all through his apartment, screaming at her, pounding his foot because he was MAD. But, because he’s a youngin’, he kept saying goodbye, but not hanging up, because you don’t do that in your early 20s. You stay on that phone for hours, pounding away, because your heart hurts.

About a week ago, he was back on the phone with Sarah, saying that he’d always have feelings for her. Of course he would, but he just couldn’t do it again. Not again. No he couldn’t do it again. Again, he would always have feelings for her.

And this morning, walk walk walk, pound pound pound, he’s very busy, okay? He’s fucking busy, all the time, with all the walking and the pounding and the feelings.

I mean, if we were friends, I would tell him that he needs to wait out his age. I mean, I’m almost 30, so I know that sometimes in relationships – good ones or ones that end really really badly – you know you’re actually fighting when you just don’t care enough to argue. You don’t have the energy to stay on the phone or bleed feelings verbally. You just mentally argue until you have conversations that sometimes involve yelling. Every once in a while you can just talk, like regular people.

And I would also tell him that practicing can wait until … at least 7am.

And I would tell him that he’s early-20-something, and ¬†because I can hear him all the fucking time complaining to everyone who will listen on the phone, he’s really not as busy as he thinks. Perhaps he would like to find a place outside of his apartment at which to bitch about his current state of affairs (or his ex-girlfriend’s, BOOM!).

(And I guess there’s things I’ve learned from him too, such as: Guys really talk on the phone that much? Since when?)

I mean, I’m not going to start pounding my ceiling anytime soon – that’s why the blog is there, to write out the rage. Nor have I reached the point when I’m gonna knock on the door and ask politely, because 1) the stairs are all the way over THERE and 2) there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t just punch him and tell him to stop being a whiny bitch.

I guess, overall, all I can hope for is that someday he will meet-once-but-not-really-know his karma, and that his annoyance will be headachy or otherwise long-lasting.

Have a good day, friends.

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One thought on “And then there’s the neighbor.

  1. Erica says:

    Oh my god. Guys really do talk on the phone that much. I spend more time talking to my guy friends about their relationship drama than my girlfriends.

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