Anyway, the last occupants of the overhead apartment would let their child run in shoes through the apartment at all hours of the night. I mainly wondered how they could stand having a child who never seemed to sleep.
The Part Where I Complain
I would rather have Tap Dogs living upstairs than the guitarist and groupie wife that moved in a couple of weeks ago. They are the worst kind of people. Between last night and today, Mr. Upstairs spent no less than 24 consecutive hours playing ONE SONG on his guitar. The good news is that he went from sounding like a cellotarist (someone who tilts a cello sideways on his lap and strums it) to sounding like a wannabe guitarist.Apparently the encore to his incredibly long performance was his rendition of a song he wrote himself. Hooray. And while he's busting a tonsil trying to sound like Dashboard over the kitchen, Mrs. Upstairs is in the bedroom jumping on the bed—yes, jumping on the bed—like a twelve-year-old at a slumber party screaming along to a cover of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. The screaming of lyrics has yet to stop.
The Horrible Singing
It wouldn't be so bad if this were a one-time thing. Oh how I wish that were the case. Groupie girl makes a habit of blasting [insert name of current talentless girl band] and shouting along as she does her hair in the morning. It's spurred me on more than one occasion to forgo blowdrying and flee to work earlier than usual. No offense to my former roommates, but one of the perks of getting married was not having to hear pop music ever again.She sings as if nobody can hear her, but I can. I'm sure it would mortify her if I walked up there, knocked on her door, and said, "Hey overgrown tween groupie! I just wanted to let you know that when you're screeching along to the tunes of Lillix, I can hear every brain-pulverizing note. And yes, you really sing terribly. It's so bad I feel like buying a gun so I can put it in my mouth and let the last sounds I ever hear be the double click of a cock and a really loud bang rather than your talentless singing."
Was that too far? I think the gun thing was too far.
My first snack is extremely simple—easy enough to make at work, for a fast but wholesome breakfast, or when you're craving something sweet but not too sugary. Take some Just Bunches (you know, the newish cereal that's like Honey Bunches of Oats but with no flakes)—make sure they're not caramel flavored. Yuck. Anyway, use a little less than you would eat with milk, and pour a few spoonfuls of Stonyfield Farm Fat Free Organic Yogurt (French Vanilla flavor is the best) over the top. Mix it up to coat the bunches, and TADAH!
You've got a darn good snack with calcium that WON'T make you sick if you're lactose intolerant, soy intolerant, too poor to buy almond milk, and a staunch hater of rice milk. In fact, it's better than cereal and milk. I know I'm not the first person to think of putting granola in yogurt, but I thought I'd remind you all how wonderful it really is. Also, the Paradise Bakery and Cafe makes an excellent strawberry yogurt and granola parfait, but theirs did make my lactose intolerant tummy rumble quite a bit.
My second delicious snack works well as an hors d'oeuvre. In the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you now it's not healthy at all. All you need is a package of Boursin cheese (if you've never had Boursin, eating this tasty morsel is one mouth-watering experience you can't live without), six strips of your favorite bacon, a green bell pepper, and a can of crescent rolls. Cook up the bacon and break it into one-inch pieces. Cut the bell pepper into strips about 1/4 inch wide and one inch long. Open up the can of crescent rolls, rip each triangular piece of dough roughly in half, and place one piece of bacon, one slice of bell pepper, and a half-teaspoon or so (hey, go nuts, it's your expensive cheese) in the middle of each piece of dough. Wrap each pile up in the dough, put them on a baking sheet, and follow the baking instructions on the can of crescent rolls.