Problems With My Apartment

An ongoing feature at suddenlystruttin: Problems With My Apartment, wherein, I bitch and moan about why my apartment sucks. Today is part two and the topic is my neighbor's rescue pit bull.

My downstairs neighbor, we'll call her "Linda," moved into my apartment building at the beginning of September and for the first month everything was Fonzie between us. I'd see her in passing in the stairwell, say, "Hi," she'd say, "Hi," and we'd both continue on our merry ways. Fast forward a month and I see Linda heading off somewhere and I ask, "Where are you going?" "Oh, I'm going to pick up the dog I'm adopting from a rescue shelter." "That's nice," and we both continue on our merry ways. Later that day when I get home, Linda is outside with what appeared to be a roided-up pot-bellied pig that had fur scotch taped to its skin and ferociously over-sized incisors soldered to its mouth. "I see you went with a pit bull," says I, upon witnessing this behemoth. "Yeah, nobody wanted poor Bob, here, so, I took him home," says Linda. "Hey, that's great," says I, even though my brain is wondering where I placed my .45 Magnum, just in case the beast goes on a rampage inside the building.
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SOME TIME LATER...
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The Bob Experiment is a complete disaster and Linda seems to be completely unwilling or unable to do anything about it. In no uncertain terms here are my problems with Bob:

1) He barks incessantly whenever Linda leaves her apartment. If she's gone for a mere five minutes than it's a relatively brief nuisance. If she's gone for upwards of five or six hours at a time, as she often is, than it's a much more difficult thing to cope with.
1. a) Due to Linda's prolonged absence from her apartment, Bob occasionally shits in her apartment. Thus stinking up the entire stairwell. Now, I'm only in the stairwell for an incredibly brief period of time, a max of two minutes a day, but FUCK! YOUR DOG IS MAKING THE WHOLE FUCKING FLAT WREAK OF SHIT!


After these two troubling facts were brought up, I've really begun to empathize with Michael Vick, not on the dog-fighting, per se, but with the dog-killing? Yes. Absolutely. This measure may seem Draconian by most of your standards; but the frequency with which Bob begins barking at 6:30 every morning has forced me to completely reevaluate my ethics system. Originally I would stop by Linda's apartment and say something along the lines of, "Hey, your dog is barking, can you get a muzzle for him?" Now, upon being awoke by the dog after more than likely already being awoken by the "monster in the back" once that night, I think about how much fun it'd be to smash Bob's dumb dog face in with a cast-iron skillet.

Problems With My Apartment

A new feature on suddenlystruttin "Problems With My Apartment" is intended to be a forum for me to bitch, moan and lament the many faults of my apartment. You as the wonderful readers of suddenlystruttin should feel compelled to completely ignore this new feature or comment, love and above all else worship this new feature.

Problem #1: The dumb woman who lives with her grown son in the apartment behind mine. When I say, "dumb" I do not mean unintelligent I mean that she cannot speak. She's one-third the woman Helen Keller was and is fully annoying to me. I hate to sound like a real asshole [Really? -Ed.] but this person for far too long has scared the holy bejesus out of me. My landlord made no mention of my bedroom wall sharing a common wall with the rear aparment and definitely said nothing of the freakish mute/dumb old crone who lives in the rear apartment. My first night in the new apartment (May 1, if I recall) I was awoken at 3:20 in the fucking AM by some of the most terrifying and guttural noises ever managed by an "alleged" human vocal chord. Convinced that there was a monster of unknown origin lurking somewhere in the wall behind my bed; I, armed with a pitchfork and torch, stayed up the rests of the night fighting off slumber all for the sake of Vigilance Against Monsters. The next day I called my landlord:


Me:"Hey Anthony, is there a monster in this building?"
Landlord:"What are you talking about?"
Me:"Yeah, something was making awful sounds at around 3:30 in the morning, any ideas?"
Landlord:"Can you be a little more descriptive?"
Me:"Well, it sounded like an animal being tortured but more guttural."
Landlord:"It could be the mute in the back."
Me: "Excuse me? Did you say, 'mute in the back?'"
Landlord:"Yeah, a mute woman lives in the rear apartment with her adult son who helps her out."
Me: "Uh huh, yeah, so, you didn't want to tell me that my bedroom shares a wall with the rear apartment's bedroom, and that in said bedroom lurks a monstrously voiced woman?"
Landlord:"I guess it slipped my mind."
Me:"Thanks, well, I gotta go."

Since that fateful conversation the lexical cacophony has not ceased nor even diminished and most mornings between 3:30 and 6:30 I'm awakened by a fit of vomiting consonants, grunts and cries. It'd be so much funnier if this person suffered from Tourettes but as is, the humor has evaporated from this situation and I only grow more tired, annoyed and above all else bothered by her early morning fits.