As I said, I have had many encounters with police officers over these past 2 years. Last year, the house I was living in was broken into. My laptop was stolen, as well as my ability to sleep soundly through the night (without a 2x4 situated next to my bed). Somehow I imagined that if the burglars ever came back I would wake up, grab the 2x4 to defend myself, and that would be the end of it. Years of playing softball had to come in handy at some point, right? Wrong. Instead of encountering them in my sleep, I encountered them outside, on my back porch, attempting to get into the house once again (my 2x4 was in the house at the time).
ME: "Excuse me, can I help you?
Burglar: "I'm looking for Sasha. Does Sasha live here?"
ME: "NO, there is no Sasha here"
Burglar: "Well uhhh, she said to meet me here"
ME: "Well uhhh, you should probably leave"
I don't know what came over me when I encountered this man. I would think I would have ran and hid somewhere but somehow the stubbornness that I embody (which is ALOT) got the best of me and I couldn't fathom backing down to this man (who probably sat home at night going through every photo on my laptop, laughing to himself about the documented life he just stole from a 23 year old girl) ANYWAY, you get the gist of what happened. My house got robbed. My stuff got stolen. Life sucked. In the chaos of all this happening, I dealt with numerous police officers who searched and fingerprinted the house I was living in, with hopes of tracking down who this man or men were that stole my shiz. No such luck, they were never found and nor was the stuff they douchebaggadly (yes, i made that up) stole.
That was encounter #1.
Encounter #2 happened last night. I feel like before I start this story, I need to justify why it happened in the first place (to save myself from being accused of being a 24 year old going on 80). Last year when I lived in the house I was perviously telling you about, I lived with 6 other girls. YES, 6 OTHER GIRLS. I can officially go on record and say this WAS the worst experience in my entire existence. Not only was the house falling apart but my room was in the basement. This, I thought was a good idea at first because being the "to-myself" person that I am (i.e: I like to be alone and can't handle anyone up in my bizz) I figured I could hide away in the basement and no one would bother me. WRONG. Note to self and everyone else for that matter: When you live in a house that does NOT have insulation between the floorboards and the ceiling DO NOT choose the room in the basement. You will hear everything, and I mean everything. Details are unnecessary here because I think you get the idea. To make a long story short; the house was noisy. I slept with earplugs every night (I thought the day I would sleep with earplugs would come when, with my luck, will probably end up marrying someone that snores louder than the cement truck outside my building right now). Alas, it did not and earplugs ended up being my best friend that year.
So, you can imagine that when looking for a new place this year, I wanted somewhere quiet. And when I say quiet, I mean Nunnery quiet. I chose the apartment I am in at the moment because the landlord swore by the quietness of the building. When I walked in to view the place, there were photos of Jesus everywurrrr. She informed me that a priest had currently stayed in the apartment I am in now, so I figured if it was quiet for Father Michael than God bless me, it would be quiet for me too. WRONG. For the most part my building is quiet, except for the construction across the street that has been going on for the past 6 months and most importantly, except for the Douchebag that lives below me who blasts his disco, Richard Simmons music until 430am. The latter is the subject that inspired this entire rant.
Last night I was sleeping soundly in my bed. No disturbances. No being woken up by the sounds of grotesk sex sounds. I was happy. Until 3:30 am hit and my walls began vibrating with the sounds of Euro Discotek music and people yelling "F* this" "F* that", "I'm going to kick his ass man." Let me also state here that this entire time I have always thought that it was the person above me making all this noise. I have had many nights of banging on the ceiling with my broomstick like an old hag, hoping that the man upstairs would turn down his music and shut the * up. Low and behold, that man upstairs has been sleeping soundly, probably thinking I am off my rocker. Let me also further state that all of this happened on a SUNDAY night.
So, when my walls began to vibrate and the choches began to fight, I decided to call my friends at the local police department to file a noise complaint. I've realized over the years that 1) no one messes with me and my sleep and 2) i hate ignorant people that think the entire universe centres around them. The police officers showed up at 3:40 am and because I have always thought the noise was coming from the apartment above, they knocked on apartment 307 and were confronted by a man in his pyjamas half asleep (insert HUGE apology to apartment 307 man *here*) After this, they came down to my apartment and informed me that it sounded like the noise was coming from the apartment below. This made me feel tremendous amounts of guilt for all the abusive ceiling banging I have inflicted upon Mr. 307 but happy that they were kindly here to extract that noisy douches from the building. After they left my place, they made their way to 107 and took care of those Euro Discotek, Chochy, Douchey fools. I climbed into my bed with a HUGE smile on my face, knowing that I was going to get the good night sleep I longed to have (although it was disturbed at 7am with the sounds of a cement truck outside my building). To sum up this long story, I would like to send a BIG !High-Five! to the 2 police officers and their act of kindness that allowed me to sleep soundly without any disturbances from the douchey choches and their Euro-discotek, Richard Simmons "music". !High-Five! police officers, !High-Five!
