My Accursed Apartment

So I have lived in my cozy little apartment for coming up on three years, and generally I like it fine, but it comes up radically short in one department: noise.
The whole place is four shoeboxes stacked on four shoeboxes with the cardboard thin walls you would expect in the aforementioned shoeboxes. Luckily I'm at the end and on top, the best place to be, and the neighbor beside me is the sweetest most quiet person you could ever hope to meet. But the downstairs neighbor? Oy. I'm on the second set of neighbors there and both have been some bad bunches of bananas.
I mention this because the thirteeen year old girl and her mom downstairs have just had a lively exchange of platitudinious insults and momisms--"No, you'll do it NOW!" followed by a duet of door slams, adante and con brillo.
The girl seems all right but boring, a typical teen with her typical friends. She used to hang out with a pack of loser boys who would come by and yell for her at the balcony (conveniently located right above my balcony). They all had crushes on her and would bay at her window like a pack of fat homely wolves. But lately she has smartened up and traded those weenies for a pack of monosyllabic skateboarders, so all in all I can deal with her.
And I have to admit that all in all these two are an improvement from Ubercunt Nicole. That girl came at me when I had been moved in for about two days and told me I was walking too loud. And that this was clearly me because she had never had this problem with the rock band/kickboxers/tako drum/samurai warrior/sumo wrestlers who used to live in the apartment before me and would practice all their craft simultaneously in the apartment but who were still not as loud aas me just walking normally across the flooe. And when she told me this she had this weird squirrelly look in her eye. So I said ok, I'll try to watch it and the next thing I knew the landlady was after me saying Ubercunt had complained (the plaster is falling off my ceiling! she said. Pictures are falling off the walls!) So I suggested that she start knocking on the ceiling every time there was a problem so I could know exactly what was bothering her. And over the next few days, she started knocking every time I so much as breathed too loud. Books dropping off my bed and my daughter dropping her shoes from a distance of six inches onto a carpeted floor were particularly venal sins. So I documented all her nuttiness and sent a letter off to the landlady and that more or less shut the bitch up, except then...
She gets a saxophone-playing roommate who starts to use the apartment to practice in all the time. And it's loud and it's driving ME crazy, and frankly, despite the fact that she was crazy as a bag of rats, I had always felt a little sorry or her too because I am neurotic and vulnerable to sound as well, and for the next five months I lived in hell, escaping my apartment day and night , living in fear of the saxophone player but not able to confront the situation because I wasn't totally sure it wasn't cuntmunch herself taking up the horn, and I didn't want to scrap with her about it. And what was worse, sax guy never played whole songs, just riffs and runs. If it were whole songs, I think I could have dealt, but this was just endless little blats and honks and splats of sound never adding up to anything.
Well eventually I figured out it wasn't her and went downstairs to talk to the sax dude and he turned out to be a very reasonable person and we agreed on a schedule, and I turned to leave, but not before Her Cuntitude accused me of throwing daily cocktail parties at three o'clock (a time when I am at work)(she never seemed to go to work herself)and that I had to stop inviting all those loud partying pot smokers to my house every afternoon. Even knowing that she was one crazy bitch, I got paranoid for awhile that the fbi was bugging my apartment and throwing parties there while I was at work, (ever since studying Russian and being involved in leftist politics in the 80's, before the Cold War ended, I have an ongoing fear of surveillance that I deal with by being a mouthy leftist who never actually does anything but talk--let them waste their time listening to me). Anyway I sternly reminded myself that she was a screaming neurotic crazy girl and to ignore her.
But ignoring her became impossible shortly after tht, when her relationship with her boyfriend deteriorated and I started getting to hear one-sided hour-long screaming sessions, often at four in the morning (if I streined, I could hear the soft pleading tone of the boyfriend as he begged her not flip out). Shortly after that the sax dude fled (we commiserated a few times about what a crazy fucking cunt his roommate was), and I was left to the joys of round-the-clock angry screaming punctuated by descents into hysterical sobbing. And then, hallelujah, he decided to leave her and she could no longer afford the apartment and one blessed blessed day, silence descended.
Really I am bring very flip, but it was very draining living with that much acute misery, and she was absolutely miserable, and not being able to do anything about it. I didn't even ever complain about the screaming because I figured she had enough misery without having to live with the humiliation of knowing that the upstairs neighbor that she despised could hear her yelling, "Don't leave me! Don't you fucking leave me!"
When you live in a stack of cardboard boxes, you often have to maintain the polite fiction that you can't hear other people, even when you hear everything. Sex becomes particularly problematic that way, especially if you like it loud, and I do (not Tarzan loud but, you know, what's the fun in living alone if you don't even get to have loud sex).
Anyhoo, after a month or two of sheer heaven, the lady and her daughter move in, and right away, I don't like this lady. She gives me a funny feeling. Hard to say what it is but it soon becomes clear to me that she's an A1 passive aggressive bitch and her daughter hates her. So we're back to periodic screaming fights, plus she has a whole bunch of friends that don't seem to be able to get the "tenant parking only" concept. And (proof that she's passive aggressive), she broke the law of not asking about noises that aren't that loud and don't concern you at all--in order to let me know that she could hear my vibrator..."What's that motor-like thing in your house? It comes on and goes on and off for fifteen minutes or so?" And giving me this nasty coy shitlicking face.
I told her it was the vacuum cleaner and tried for awhile to just preface every masturbation sessions with a hearty, "Boy, are the rugs dirty again?!" but it was no use. She made me self conscious, which is just not sexy.
So now I have to wait for her to leave the house to use my bad boy hitachi. I tried buying a quieter vibrator, but you know how it is when you're in love. Nothing else will do.
And, of course, like the cuntzoid in the apartment before her, she seems to have no job. All other six tenants obediently get up and are gone by nine am and don't come home till five or six,like good little worker drones, but she and I are the only ones with irregular schedules. So she puts a major crimp in my style (if you consider regular masturbation a "style".
To make matters worse, there is the cutest little free-standing two bedroom hosue for sale a block away with fireplace and hard wood floors, and I get to walk by every day and think, "If America valued education and paid teachers even half of what we deserve, I could afford a house in this neighborhood ann masturbate anytime I want in peace.It's just not fair! It's just not fucking fair!"

Moral of the story: support pay raises for teachers!

Other moral of the story: if you live in a small apartment, mind your own damned business!

third moral of the story: Don't have children. Overpopulation is jamming us together so tight we can't breath already, okay? If you have kids, you'll just end up in a small apartment slamming doors and yelling, "No, I hate YOU!" at them. What's the point?

OK, I'm cranky and depressed. What can i do to relieve this tension?
Hmmm....gee.... "WoW! I can't believe I let my rugs get this dirty!"

Cherry on everybody