urban living

I've been feeling a bit morose and down the last week or so, a combination of the hated Christmas season and visiting Christchurch again. Catching up with friends and once again realising how much I miss them. While the interweb a wonderful tool, and has made me a number of dear new friends, it's no substitute for a real life hug.

So it's taken a while to recover my blogging feng shui.

Fortunately tonight, well, this morning technically, downstairs guy has kick-started me back into it.

I've not mentioned him here before I think. He's been a minor irritation ever since we moved in. He makes loud (house-shakingly loud) bangs at very odd times of the night (well, odd for most people - I'm usually awake, being the vampire that I am). Initially we thought he was chopping firewood inside, and it took us a while to figure out that he must be deliberately slamming doors. Repeatedly.

Things came to head the last time I was in away in NZ. He'd been waking my partner up with the noise so at about 3am one night she went down to ask him (politely!) to stop. He decided to yell and threaten her, not letting her talk at all. She wisely retreated and called the landlord the next day.

Our landlord is cool, has always been good to us and helpful when we've needed anything. He rang downstairs guy and basically told him to shape up or get out, which we thought had done the trick since there's only been the occasional random thump from the guy for a couple of months now.

But obviously the strain of reining in the arsehole within has gotten too much for the cunty fucktard. So he starts up again tonight. Slamming doors, thumping around down there, generally being a fuckwit.

I guess he thought there was only a girl living up here (he never comes out of his apartment, we've seen him twice - both times in his doorway) so it must have come as a bit of a surprise when a furious and foul-mouthed man just about broke his fucking door down.

I remember telling him to shut the fuck up, threatening to kick his fucking head in, and something about tearing his motherfucking throat out, but the rest of it is a bit of a blur. Probably a very good thing he wouldn't open his door. Something broke when I was hammering on it though. Oops..

The positive outcome is that he's not made a peep since.

Unfortunately now I have more adrenaline than a base-jumper on crack coursing through my veins and sleep is a laughable concept at best.

And I bruised my hand on his door. Owie.