You know, I never wanted to be the guy who had to pound on doors and ask people to turn down their music. It felt too much like crossing a barrier into being an old man. I don't what being 36 is suppose to feel like, but one of the great surprises of adulthood is how often you don't feel all that much different than when you were a teenager. So I thought I was safe from that one.
That theory was proven wrong around 3:30 a.m. when two hours of tossing and turning in a desperate attempt to mentally block the sound of heavy metal music finally caused me to snap, get out of bed, get dressed and then pound on our neighbour's door and tell him to turn down the music. Some fresh-faced, mildly stunned, probably stoned 22-year-old guy answered the door, apologized and turned down the music.
So I am "that guy" now. At one point, I was the mildly stunned 22-year-old answering the door with the police saying they had received a complaint about the noise and could I keep it down (the complaint came from the people living in the basement apartment of my father's house. They will never know how close them came to be evicted for calling the cops on me.)
Anyway, chalk one more up in the "I am becoming old category." On the upside, if I hadn't of done it, Cathy was going to go over and "have a chat" which meant I would have spent most of my day online or on the phones soliciting bail money.
So two things have come from this. First, we are moving. No idea when, really, but that's that. We've put up with the noise for the better part of eight months. People living on other floors call ours "the party floor." So we're done. We were going to wait and see what happens with me on the job front. But since it could take months to get anywhere with a new apartment given the vacancy rates around here, we're not waiting the extra month. The sooner we can flee to some place a bit more quiet, the better.
Secondly, we're getting a dog. Which, I appreciate might be eliminating one kind of noise for another.
We can't have a dog in this apartment complex. Cathy has wanted one for years. And the next place is going to be two-bedroom that will allow dogs, she is beginning her quest for one. A couple of hours were spent online today checking out what kind of dog she wants. Because while I have no problem getting a dog, her dream dog, a Newfoundland, is not happening while we're up here. No way. And thankfully, she understands that.
So if anyone has a suggestion for a dog, feel free. The requirements include:
1. A thick enough coat so that we don't have to spend 20 minutes bundling it up to go and pee.
2. No so big that it takes up an entire apartment.
3. Not so small that there is a risk the ravens will swoop in and carry it off (you only think I'm kidding).
4. Quiet and a nice personality.
5. And able to handle time by itself alone in an apartment without feeling the compulsion to destroy the place as a cry for attention.
I'm honestly beginning to think that Yeti is more likely to exist than this mythic dog, but if people have suggestions, let me know. Cathy is leaning towards a Chow Chow right now.
Blink The Brightest - Tracy Bonham