There goes (comes?) the neighborhood...

I live in a townhouse/condo, in a row of 8 nearly identical units, just left of the center of the row (fourth from the left, in other words). It’s a nice unit, brand new when we bought it, the street is quiet enough…but the main reason we live where we do is because it was spacious, affordable, and convenient. We would have preferred our own discrete house but, around here? HAH! You have to be a millionare, practically, to responsibly own a house in greater Boston.

You buy into a condo, you take certain risks. You share one or more walls with your neighbors. You settle disputes in an association of which you are but one member of many. IOW, some aspects of your ownership can be subject to irritatingly democratic forces, and your options are to move out or just deal.

Perhaps until recently, we’ve been very lucky. All our neighbors have been fine, courteous folks, young professionals getting a start in the market like ourselves, the sorts of people you feel fortunate to have around, if you must have someone around.

Then the new chick moved in. We’ll call her Angie. Angie moved into a unit once occupied by two newlywed resident physicians. The marvelous thing about the residents is they may as well have not been there at all. Normally, they either really weren’t at home, or were asleep if they were. It was great. We’d go months without even seeing them, and they barely made a sound. The perfect neighbors in a condo arrangement.

Angie’s a different story. We caught wind she’d had her old house foreclosed on, something to do with a nasty divorce…yet she still drives a shiney new Lexus SUV. She’s from somewheah on the Nawth Shoah, smokes and cusses like a troopah, and has the biggest friggin’ haiah I’ve seen in quite a while. She’s also got these two punk teenage kids who don’t seem to actually live with her, yet are around all the time, partying with their friends and smoking weed in the alley out back. I’m getting a little tired of their fucking obnoxious music through the walls, and the smell of ganga wafting in. One time her kids were out front pounding loudly on the door and screaming “Mom, open the fucking door! MOM! Open the FUCKING DOOR YOU SKANK!” Apparently, Angie was passed-out inside. I stuck my head out my door and gave them my meanest STFU-or-I’m-calling-the-cops routine, but, like all punk-ass little fucking shitstain kids, they weren’t terribly respectful of my righteous indignation.

I may as well face it: We got us some gen-u-ine white trash next door, and our happy neighborhood won’t be quite the same.

The last straw may have been last night. There’s this fat, bald, scary looking fuck Angie appears to be shacking up with, and I think I overheard them going at it. The scary image of Ms. Hairwall doing the nasty with Michael Chiklis’ much uglier and flabbier sibling was disturbing enough, but at what I can only guess was the climax of their passion, I overheard him bellow:

“OH! OH my GOD my ASS! OH MY FUCKING ASS! YEEAH!”

I dunno if I can take a whole lot more of that. That’s some nasty fucking toxic noise polution, my friends, and I’m thinking long and hard about what kind of disinfectant we can use to hose it all away. My guess is some of the neighbors aren’t much happier than I am, if they’re at all aware. Maybe opening up a little can of democratic whoop-ass will serve me better than I’d thought…In the mean time, oy-vey! Perhaps it’s time to start looking at the house listings again…Woe is me.

That sucks man.

Call the cops on the kids. Don’t threaten, just do it.

Record the noise pollution if it is at all posssible. Especially the x-rated stuff. Maybe she can be shamed…? Nah, I guess not.

Sorry but I laughed til I cried over that one…

Certainly does suck. You could alwas try to out-do her but then again se’d probably complain :wink:

And the screams of laughter from your place going through the walls just as easily as his, er, cries of passion didn’t shut them up? I’m thinking shame is not going to cut it on this one. :slight_smile:

Shame a No’th Shoah bighair broad? What are you, crazy? You might as well command the incoming tide at Reveah Beach to retreat.

Blast some Deicide at 4:00 am. :stuck_out_tongue:

I very nearly cried, but I sure as fuck wasn’t laughing…written out it does read as if pure hilarity, I’ll admit, but…oh it’s just the biggest cringer…I can’t…

Is this a glimpse into where Jerry Springer used to find his tv show guests?

Loop, here’s whatcha do…

  1. Get a smoke machine. Borrow it, don’t buy it.
  2. Get some clear tubing and a metal funnel.
  3. Look for an open window on skankerella’s place.
  4. Run the tubing from your place to her place, attach it to the end of the funnel, put the funnel over the smoke machine hole (it can get hot).
  5. Turn on your sprinklers, aim them at her exits
  6. Wait for the sexual gymnastics to begin.
  7. Fill her house with harmless smoke, setting off the smoke alarms.
  8. Wait for her and baldy sour to come on out.

Hilarity, and probably penis, will ensue.

If you’re not that ambitious, video/audio tape all the illicit goings on, send it to the condo board and the cops, in an unmarked envelope with the address of the activity on the label.

::furiously scribbles down notes::

Invite a narc to dinner. Wait for kids to smoke in alley. refuse to lend SkankMom bail money.

Excuse me, not only is this dangerous but probably illegal. DO not do that.

See, this is exactly why you have condo boards. If they can tell you what shade of white you can paint your front porch, they can tell Skankarella to not do many of the things she is doing. If you’re willing to move anyway if things get too bad, I would make it my life mission to have her (legally) evicted from the condo complex.

Seconded.

Our first home a number of years back was a townhome that shared a bedroom wall with a neighboring unit. It was inhabited by, coincidentally, a divorced mom with two teenagers. The problem though lay strictly with some guy the mom was dating. He was, in short, a moaner and I’m pretty sure the muthafucker could cum for about four minutes straight judging by the symphonic groanings that would fill all of their bedroom and a fair portion of ours.

Every freakin’ Saturday morning… “Mmmmmoooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyooooooooooooooooooooopppppppppppppppppppaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…eeeeeerrrrrrfffffff!”

As bad as it was for us, it was her kids that I really felt sorry for.

So is smoking weed. Score tied 1 - 1.

Yes, at least one of us realizes that there is a 98% chance buttonjockey308’s post was in jest

::evil grin::

Hell yeah, no way in hell I would be moving.

You should probably start reviewing such movies as War of the Roses and Duplex to formulate a battle plan. Just remember though, grinding her kids into pate and inviting her over for tea and crackers isn’t neccessary.

About the time she’s going into wall-thumping passion, fire up your stereo with the US Marine Band playing John Phillip Sousa’s Greatest Hits. Or maybe some tracks from Barney the Dinosaur. So-o-o-o-o romantic. How about The Sound of Music? “High on a hill was a lonely goatherd, yodel-ay-dee-odel-ay-dee-o-hee-hoo!”

Not necessary, World Eater, but I sure bet it would be satisfying. pun intended