I had the wonderful fortune of having neighbors in the city who decided to convert a residential garage into a venue for rock concerts. No, really. I'm actually not just being snarky here--they charged people and everything. About the only questionable part of my statement is the term "rock"--their music generally sucked. And the true joy was that the garage was located three stories down, but 5 feet across from my bedroom. It was fan-freaking-tastic. My mom stayed over one night and we couldn't hear each other talk, it was so loud. Plus, bonus--people would come out into the alley way and smoke and drink and yell at one another (or whatever it is that sociable people do).
Being me, I of course handled the situation in a completely adult, non-emotional manner. I cried. A lot. And then I emailed and called the Alderman. Constantly. I basically threatened to personally begin a campaign to unseat him if he didn't fix the problem. Sadly, I had no idea he wasn't planning on running for re-election. BUT in a rare act of generosity rarely seen in Chicago politics, his office put a (sort of) end to the concerts. Took pretty much the summer of 2010, but my newborn was finally allowed to sleep.
So....here we are. The first few weeks of being in Montana, it was so quiet at night, it completely freaked me out. It was just strange. No sirens. No yelling. No bar across the street. Very, very weird. And then I got used to it and it was heavenly. And then my neighbors started rennovating their house. For some reason that defies logic, they decided that between 11pm and 3am is the best time for working. I'm not kidding. They are pounding and sawing and blaring Guns N'Roses (yup, we're in Montana) all night long. It's as though the thousands of miles never happened. But this time, if I call the cops they will be very confused and likely laugh at me. If they're even up at that time of night.
So what do I do? Well, I tried walking over in my slippers to have a polite discussion with them. After all, unlike in Chicago, I was fairly certain that, though they probably had guns, they likely only used them to take out furry things. But nobody answered the door. That happens a lot here (remind me to tell you about the kids selling things--man, I'm a sucker). Anyway, so then what did I do? I cried.
Blissfully, it seems that they are about done with the HGTV show over there. But I guess it goes to show you that some things never change. You can be miles from where you were, and still you experience frustrations that make you want to scream. I guess there is some comfort in that, though. Like maybe we take our crap with us wherever we go. I don't know about you, but that sort of makes me feel better.
But maybe I am just sleep deprived.
No comments:
Post a Comment