Mar. 11th, 2007

revena: Logan from X-Men with text: Grumpy (Grumpy Logan)
The first words I spoke yesterday were:

Excuse me. My front porch, like many porches, is private property. You need to sit somewhere else.

Today it was:

Excuse me. This is private property - it's a residence. You can't sit here.

Somehow, these people always act like I'm the one being rude when their noisy chatter right outside my bedroom window hauls me out to the front porch in my pajamas. Jeez.

I haaaaaate the rental space next door. More accurately, I hate the management. How hard is it to explain to renters that they have to keep their people off the surrounding property? How hard would it be to stop by once or twice during long events, and make sure the renters are sticking to the rules you have (presumably! Perhaps you haven't) laid down for the use of the space? HOW HARD IS IT to either install some sound-dampening insulation, or else refuse to rent the space to loud dance parties??

I would not think these things are hard. The evidence of none of them happening, ever, would suggest otherwise, I guess.

Once I'd gotten all the way up today, I blasted some my iTunes "loud mood" playlist and went out in the backyard to strip the faces off some Barbies I'm gonna repaint, which did make me feel better. Not least because anyone wanting to try and sit on my porch would have to put up with my musical tastes.

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revena: Drawing of me (Default)
Robyn Fleming

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