An open letter to my upstairs neighbor,

As much of a fan of Chris Brown and Gwen Stefani that I am, I am going to have to ask you to stop blasting them at 1am on a Wednesday night. I know the concept of other people in the world besides you and your friends is a hard one to hear but please try to listen to something besides thumping bass and the usual vapidness of your friend’s rhetoric. Please.

As you may or may not know, there are other people in this city besides you and your NYU friends. They inhabitat the very same streets you spit your gum on and walk by you everyday while you purchase your Prada sunglasses with your Daddy’s money. They may not look as cute as you and may not care about the guy you met on JDate but they exist. I swear.

The day you moved into our wonderful apartment building, I was unusually excited. I thought anyone could be better than the 90 year old woman who lived above prior. She once left the bathtub overflow while she lazily walked around her place. It wasn’t until I thought it was raining in my apt that I knew I needed to go up and possibly see if she had died in her bath. Fortunately, she was not dead. She had just forgot she was running a bath. Later she left me a thank you letter and a half eaten box of Milk Duds in a plastic bag on my doorknob. Maybe she wasn’t so bad.

Anyway, when you moved it, I thought, “Cool, young people. New friends, maybe.” However what I didn’t consider was the possibility of you practicing the 100 meter dash in heels or you singing along to Lionel Richie at 240am on a school night.

I always thought you were the least of my problems when it came to the Axis of Evil Neighbors. I mean you rarely play beer pong outside of my windown while smoking pot and drinking outside every night above the 45 degree weather mark. However, Apt 1 has decided to take the request of our management to shut the fuck up. Unfortunately, you did not seem to get that letter. Even when it was posted next to the vomit that sat in our stairwell for over a week.

Now as much as I would like to entertain the fantasy I had last night of coming up to your apartment with a loaded paintball gun and blasting you and your friends while you insipidly discussed your math grades, I choose only to write you this.

However, next time you run around in clogs, dance to TI or fucking bowl in the apt above mine, I am going to go upstairs and slap you across the mouth with my down comforter and knock those Gucci glasses of your face.

Thank you.
Management.