So It's Come Down to This

We are going to have to move. Our German neighbor, Herr Schwein, has won. His incessant loud rude behavior is causing us to react poorly. I no longer take responsibility for my attitude or actions. When a good night is one where you sit around plotting all the ways to destroy the man across the patio, then you know it's time to skiddaddle. Rotten eggs and incoming water balloons are too lenient. Slashing tires and keying the side of his car all seem within reason. His drunken parties with his foreign friends and St. Regis wait staff are never-ending. The loud guffaws, shrieking cackles and booming techno music cannot be drowned out by our TV, washer, dryer, dishwasher, or multiple area fans. I am on the other side of the apartment and with my bedroom door closed can still hear him through my bathroom vent. We've asked him to tone it down, complained to the office, called the cops, and have questioned the sanity of my giving my Walther PPKS to my brother, Bill. All those years I carried a concealed weapon in TX never knowing I might have reason to use it in sunny CA.

We are waiting for approval on a condo we've looked at. If that doesn't come through then we will find something else.

So far Chelsea has had two really good ideas:

1. to sit on our patio opposite his and repeat back to him, in a strong German accent, everything he says through a bullhorn. Bill has promised to mail us the bullhorn.

2. to drive by late at night after we've moved and still call the cops on him.

All of this seems like very reasonable mature behavior. I have not entertained or plotted such delightful revenge for many years. I'm going to the library tomorrow and look on the "Inspirational Reading" shelf for The Count of Monte Cristo. Au Revoir.