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Monday, March 22, 2010

Not your kids' mother

Posted on Mon, Mar 22, 2010 at 1:12 PM

You and your constantly angry boyfriend sit on the balcony above ours and smoke your pot while your little terrors tear around your place, making a constant thumping that seriously sounds like a herd of elephants above, shaking the ceiling of our apartment. It's been so bad that the people next to us have moved out. I can hear your kids jumping off the bed (directly above my bedroom) and your couch. It's a miracle that they've only hurt themselves once, and I heard the crying. And this is every single day, early morning and night.

We had students above us before who'd have parties with 30+ people and that was no problem for me, I can usually tune stuff out, I'm used to living in apartments. Do you ever try taking your kids to the park to burn off some of that energy or are you too damn stoned? Eventually I have enough and knock on the ceiling with the broomstick like some crotchety old woman to remind you and your kids that you're sharing an apartment and you are driving us insane. So you come tearing downstairs to come bitch me out, Maury Povich-guest style, and tell me why don't I go up and tell your kids to be quiet?

Why the hell should I, lady? IT'S YOUR GODDAMN JOB. —If I had to live here any longer than I am, I'd call social services on you

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