hell, spells, and seinfeld

I feel like my life has the makings of a Seinfeld episode in it...or at least the potential for one. A few differences, however, one being that I am alone in my battle and don't have the well meaning support of kooky friends. For the last few hours I have been tortured by my annoying downstairs neighbors and their @#!$^% music. Now I've never been to Hell but I'm pretty sure that they play that exact music down there. It's sad, really, I used to like Latin music but I can hardly stand it right now. I would be perfectly happy if I never heard Reggatone or this Mexican polka crap that shakes my floors and rattles my furniture and windows ever again.

I've always been one to fantasize about the impossible, but oh how this brings that out in me. I wish that I was Hermione from Harry Potter. I would be casting spells left and right. Perhaps their speakers would disappear, or maybe all they could ever hear again would be Disney songs. No matter what they played or where they went, it would be Disney 24/7..and not even the good songs. It would be the ones that you always skip. And maybe it would only be 4 of them...on a continuous loop! (I can still be somewhat generous.) Oh, the possibilities!



Anyway, borrowing this idea from my upstairs neighbor, the first time this happened I started to bang on my floor with the end of my broomstick. (Maybe I am a witch.) When that would happen to me, I would immediately turn the TV or music down and then apologize with a phone call or something. However, I soon learned with the neighbors downstairs that the broomstick wasn't loud enough. They couldn't even hear it over their horrid music. So in an effort to be somewhat cordial I braved the unknown and decided to head downstairs to have a conversation. I was somewhat hesitant at first because I don't normally go around exploring my building by myself--especially when I know that there are men--probably drunk men--that I need to confront. But I was desperate so I went. I knocked on the door. Nothing. I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I did this for about 4 minutes and then got scared. Visions of them answering the door with a gun flashed in my head so I ran back to my apartment.

Fast forward to today. Knowing that the broom didn't work I went straight for the big guns. I picked up my five pound weights and started to bang on the floor. Much, much better as far as sound production goes. Still no response. At one point I started to switch arms because I wanted to get an even workout between the two. They would occasionally stop, so I would stop. And then they would start up again. At one point they even started to bang on my floor. The nerve.

Here's where the Seinfeld episode started to formulate in my mind: We would go back and forth banging on the floor or on the ceiling. The music would get louder so I would get my music and hold the speakers to my floor. I would choose some score from an opera--something that I love but something that I'm sure would torment them. I would be relentless. Between the weights and the opera surely I would win. But then I remembered that far too often, Seinfeld episodes would end unfavorably for our main characters. As a friendly ending didn't readily come to my mind, Seinfeld then turned into a CSI episode...something much more realistic and believable for my building. I could then picture them pulling out a gun and shooting me through my floor or maybe them coming to my door and as I went to answer it they would shoot me through the peephole. Incidentally, if I am found dead within the next week or so, it was my neighbors in 4E.

I really could have kept up the back and forth for an hour or more if I had wanted to. I was that ticked. But I thought about it and decided to not waste my time that way. Instead, I decided to waste my time complaining about them on my blog.

Pretty please, let me be magic....Evanesco! (It's a vanishing spell.) :)