Perhaps it's just my luck, but for me the word "apartment" is synonymous with "mice" and "noisy neighbors". Someday I will live in a house with a great big yard, far away from any other humans, with pest control on speed dial.
Our last apartment was not great, it was tiny and stupid and full* of mice in the winter. It was, however, quiet. Each night, when it was time for me to go beddy-bye in preparation for work, which begins for me each day at 5:30 or 6a.m., there was no thudding bass, no 20 year olds screaming and laughing. All sounds were easily drowned out by a fan on low.
Our current apartment, by all appearances, is great. It's big, especially the kitchen, it's got a balcony out back, tons of sunlight, it's downtown, and it's wicked cheap. What I didn't know when I signed the lease was that it came with a neighbor with a penchant for parties and a love of the unnecessarily loud bass. In fact, when asked about the noise level in the apartment, the realtor insisted that the people were professional adults and therefore quiet.
Dan has talked to them twice at night about turning the music down, and I went over there yesterday when my lovely nap was cut short by that damn bass. Two fans on high couldn't drown out the thumping, but when I asked him to turn it down he stared at me blankly and said "It's not that loud." What might have been a quick and cordial conversation turned into an argument, and we are now enemies. I. Hate. Him. Perhaps he will now wrap his tiny brain around the idea what we can hear his bass, and we don't like it; if not, maybe the landlord will be more convincing. If not, I could get a pet bear and send him over to discuss the music.
*this is a slight exaggeration
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