Dear Next Door Neighbor,
Yesterday I came home at the lovely dusk hour of 7 pm to find that you were blaring what I can only assume was Swing Out Sister at concert volume levels with all of your windows open, clearly enjoying the cool summer breeze. My husband, with whom I was on the phone at the time, even asked where I was. I assume he thought I had decided to hit a bar or a club in my huge, pregnant state. I decided to give the benefit of the doubt that you just loved that particular song and I walked the dog before knocking on your door and telling you how inappropriate that decibel level is in an apartment setting.
Lo and behold, when I returned from my 20-minute waddle, that music was still cranked to 11. I knocked on your door and gave you what is commonly referred to as the stink eye and said "You've gotta turn that down, dude." You looked at me so dumbfounded, repeated "turn it down" and I asked if you wanted to listen to your music with me outside. That got me a door in the face which I probably deserved but you turned it off - not even down - and I felt like a winner.
I didn't realize that you took that to mean "Play it again super loud at midnight while screaming over the sound that 'It's a Bose' to whomever you were playing your demonstration for." You've made me into that neighbor that calls the landlord. And calls the other neighbors to tell them to tell you to turn it down as well so I don't look like the asshole in the complex. I didn't want to be that neighbor. I thought after my Husband told you nicely a month ago that you couldn't have the bass shaking the building that we were cool, but it's clear we're not. Know what else isn't cool? You're 60 fucking years old and drink all day. Yeah. Not cool.
Your frustrated, 8-month pregnant, "I just want some peace and quiet" neighbor