Are all apartment complexes this bad?

Or have I just gotten chronically un-lucky the past five years with loud upstairs neighbors?

And random fees?

You may be right, my friend. But not before a rant.

Starting with the neighbors above:

The last lot had a buncha kids rolling in every afternoon like a herd of ADHD elephants being chased by cheetahs. They remained there for a good time, smoking weed wrapped in Swisher sweets and having loud, raucous conversations on the balcony. I dealt with it as best I could. And when they moved out a month or two ago, I celebrated inwardly. Until this new group moved in and we went from frying pan to fireballs being launched at all hours. Now, it just sounds like a Latin American dance joint joined forces with a ballet studio for the obese. I know I’m not the only one who’s annoyed – but when I complain, I may be the only one who does because the other groups of neighboring tenants we share are loud on a domestic-abuse level themselves. (Now I’m on a snitch list. Great.)

Still, especially as my rent has shot up for next year (tacked on with a brand new pet fee that exactly zero of the people working here can explain to me the point of – especially when I already paid a non-refundable at the outset), I wonder why I can’t get them to do anything from fixing my stuff when it breaks to shutting down Club Thump upstairs. Much less doing either in a timely fashion. (The maintenance folk are great – there just ain’t enough of ‘em).

But, as I’m on a peaceful, spiritual path, I like to look for solutions.

And those solutions are as follows:

First, if these upstairs neighbors keep it up for even more night, I’m taking matters into my own hands and vocal cords. Tomorrow, I’mma buy a megaphone and start practicing my Patrick Bateman monologues through it into the ceiling. Was my rent raised to cover the costs of an after hours bowling alley installed above me? We may never know. But if you can do crazy ghetto party, I can do crazy white bish. Let’s go, muhfugga.

Also, since no one has been able to give me a reason why a brand new pet fee is necessary when I’m poor, I’ve done some brainstorming of my own. Ya know, since thinking and coming up with creative ideas is what I do for a living. And you know what epiphany came over me? That if they’re adding on more money and they haven’t repaired the shiz bins outside or resupplied them with bark baggies…

Duh! This new Fido fee’s meant to cover the dog shit I’m not going to pick up anymore!

Just when I thought there’d be zero silver lining to this week, this is just god’s way of telling me:

Shit gets fixed when you fix other people’s little red wagons.