Condo living

Oh my God. Whoever moved in upstairs from me really needs to a) get some sleep (even though whoever sleeps in there snores so loud we can hear it through his floor/our ceiling) b) stop walking on his non-carpeted floor in steel-toed boots and c) stop playing his mariachi music so loud that it woke me up at 8:15, an hour before I had to get up for my YMCA class.

See, I love my building. I really do. I love my landlord – he’s great, doesn’t make unannounced visits, hasn’t raised our rent and gives us great gifts. I love the fact that the view off my balcony is beautiful – the jacarandas are blooming and look nearly neon purple, the pool is rarely used during the weekdays, and the birds constantly taunt Kip. I love that the refrigerator and parking came with the condo. I love that we have central air. I could probably stay here for a few more years.

But this new neighbor is driving me bananas. A couple of weeks ago, he decided to start working on his pipes at midnight and shut off the water – without letting us know. When I get home at 11, he’s constantly still walking around in the aforementioned boots, sometimes dropping heavy loads of whatever, startling both Kip and I. Now, it sounds like he’s tearing up the floor up there with a table saw, the sound of which punctuates the constant mariachi music that I can hear through the floor.

*sigh* Thank God I’m going on vacation.