Dear Neighbor (Again),

Hi. I can’t believe it’s been just two months since my last letter! Like, I literally can’t believe it because I always figured you would call the cops on us every damn day like you did the very first day we lived here. I was starting to get a little comfortable here and was sort of enjoying myself occasionally. Whew! Thankfully you put the brakes on all of that nonsense.

The leasing office called to let us know how unhappy you were with the noise we make and, quite frankly, that baffles me just a smidge. Have you met us? Well, yeah, you have met us. Remember the time we passed each other on the stairs and I said hello and smiled and you remained silent while you gave me the death glare? Good times. You seem to have poor taste in footwear. Perhaps that’s why you’re so cranky.

Well, if you got to know us, you’d know that we are really, really boring people that spend a lot of time quietly sitting on our asses. I’m a writer and am lazy as fuck. My husband naps frequently and our son spends a lot of his time gaming online with his friends back home. The cat is probably the most active being in the house and she only weighs 8 pounds, so I doubt she’s causing too much of a ruckus for you. She’s a real asshole, though, so if you ever want to call the cops on her go right ahead.

We are new to town and know very few people here. We’ve actually only had two guests over, our realtor and her husband. We signed some paperwork and chatted for a bit. Wild times, baby! The husband and I do get up pretty early, cause he works and all. The great part about that is we go to bed fairly early. No lie, last night I was asleep before 9:30. I have the social life of a nun.

I get it. Apartment living can be a little noisy. I hear the new guy down the hall all the time. He whistles and hums every single time he comes and goes. It’s annoying AS ALL HELL and somehow I’ve yet to call in law enforcement. Go figure. It is possible to hear noise and not consider it an imminent threat to your survival.

You might be too busy worrying about the footsteps you hear overhead to know this, but your dogs bark at everything. E-Ver-EEEEE-THING! They bark when the lawn people come around. They bark when the neighborhood kids are leaving for school in the morning and when they come home in the afternoon. They bark when the wind blows. I shit you not, they are barking as I type this. And, they fight! They’re like a couple of yorkie gladiators, rolling around and growling. I could swear the other day I heard one of them shout “This is Sparta!” before throwing the other one over your porch railing.

You should know that I’m going to have to change a few things now that you’ve twice ratted us out for no good reason. See, what you’ve been dealing with that caused you so much strife was me doing my best to be a quiet and considerate neighbor. Since we have wood floors, we bought a couple of rugs to muffle the noise. I don’t ever talk on the phone when I’m sitting outside on the porch. I’ve even been making sure I don’t slam the front door when I come and go.

NOT ANYMORE, MOTHERFUCKER. From now on, I will no longer be able to bring myself to give even half a fuck about your comfort. Rugs are gone, throwing them over the railing and hoping they land on your barking dogs. I will now wear my husband’s steel toe work boots in the house 24/7. I’m doing Zumba and I’m cranking the volume up. It goes to 11.

From this point forward, every single phone conversation I have will be conducted on the porch with the phone on speaker. You are now going to hear both sides of any insipid conversation I have with my sister about The Real Housewives franchise.

My son will be getting private music lessons at home, tuba and cymbal, possibly xylophone. I will set an alarm for random times in the middle of the night, get up, and shoot bottle rockets out my bedroom window. I’m buying the cat a damn tap shoe for every one of her four paws.

I’m going to start fermenting things.

On the porch.

In the summer heat.

I hear kimchi is tasty.

Even though I cannot tolerate dairy I will develop an affinity for smelly cheeses. The more armpitty, the better. I will eat those cheeses in the stairwell outside your front door while simultaneously clipping my toenails and practicing my yodeling.

I’m going to find a Gregorian Monks CD in the clearance bin at Goodwill and blare it while I’m cooking dinner every night. Better yet, I will play that screaming goat video on repeat for all eternity! No! Dubstep. Fucking dubstep. You’re going to love dubstep.

I will find out what kind of communicable disease causes anal pustules and I’ll pray you get it. I will continue to shoot your door the bird every time I come and go. I’d put you on the Trump/Pence mailing list, but you probably voted for them. Bernie Sanders it is! And Planned Parenthood!

So, good luck, neighborino. It’s going to be a long, smelly, and noisy ride.