Ah, FUCKING Hell.
The neighbors who just moved in next door have obtained a giant barking dog.
The same neighbors who said they didn't plan on getting a dog.
I am hoping it's a temporary lodger or something, but my hopes are slim considering these same neighbors decided it would be a fine idea to invite all their friends over to sit around in their front yard and listen to the car stereo at high volume.
They turned it down when I sent Sargon out. They aren't nasty people (so far), just . . . apparently, they're stupid and inconsiderate. And when it comes to their dogs, stereos, and children making ungodly amounts of noise, people are incredibly fucking unreasonable. Otherwise normal folks will turn into raging fucking assholes.
I called the police, which, you know, I completely hate doing, but the guy was so nice about it (we actually talked for a while, and he laughed at my "island of suck in a sea of tranquility" joke when I described the neighborhood) even though I suspect he was lying when he said there's not much they can really do unless I am willing to press charges (which I completely am, but not before I've asked them to keep it down a couple of times). He is sending someone out to drive around. If the dog is still barking at that point, the policeman -- woman -- person -- thing -- will knock on the door and tell them to stow it. I don't imagine it will be barking, because that is not how dogs are. This one appears to have quieted down for the moment, but my guts are still ratcheted up around my adenoids.
Why am I not going over there myself? Because I am so tired of this shit that I cannot trust myself not to swear a blue streak at them, which would only make things worse. I'd argue with the police over there being, you know, a fucking noise ordinance that I have printed out and can read off for them, but again, I don't trust myself to swear a blue streak, which would only make things worse again. I'd wake Sargon up, but dude, he's exhausted and needs his fucking sleep.
It's hard to explain to anyone what the sound of a loudly barking dog right next door at oh-God-thirty does to me now. It reaches into my guts and squeezes a greasy fist around my innards, causes my stomach to ball up and cram itself against my heart, makes my blood race and my hands shake, and fills me with the urge to . . . best not to say. Best not to say. Anyway, it's hard to explain just how unpleasant it is without resorting to vomiting on someone's shoes.
I am so pissed off right now.
We looked at two houses tonight, neither of which is suitable, and one of which was genuinely horrific. More on that later, because I have a funny video of it.
My great fear is that we will eventually find a place that is really nice, but by the time we do I will be so desperate to get out of here that I won't be able to take the time to fix it up properly, and I'll be stuck in yet another house someone else decorated that doesn't look like me or feel comfortable to me. There are things I want to do that I have always wanted to do, I have plans for this next house. Beautiful interior colors, some murals on the walls -- including a classic exploration-era map of the world painted on one wall, with imaginary names written in on all the continents and oceans.
I am afraid that by the time we are ready to move, I will be so beaten down by the effort it takes not to go next door and . . . best not to say . . . that I won't be able to work at all, and won't get my paintings done.
I have never lived in a house that I decorated. We always got skullfucked into moving before I could manage even that basic feat. Last time it was my mother's fault, and I'm still pissed off at her about that, you fucking bet your ass I am. If it happens again because of a neighbor's dog . . . well . . . best not to say.
I really, really hate this. I hate it so much, you guys, I am not even kidding. Ceiling Cat, if you are listening, get me the fuck out of here. PLEASE.
The same neighbors who said they didn't plan on getting a dog.
I am hoping it's a temporary lodger or something, but my hopes are slim considering these same neighbors decided it would be a fine idea to invite all their friends over to sit around in their front yard and listen to the car stereo at high volume.
They turned it down when I sent Sargon out. They aren't nasty people (so far), just . . . apparently, they're stupid and inconsiderate. And when it comes to their dogs, stereos, and children making ungodly amounts of noise, people are incredibly fucking unreasonable. Otherwise normal folks will turn into raging fucking assholes.
I called the police, which, you know, I completely hate doing, but the guy was so nice about it (we actually talked for a while, and he laughed at my "island of suck in a sea of tranquility" joke when I described the neighborhood) even though I suspect he was lying when he said there's not much they can really do unless I am willing to press charges (which I completely am, but not before I've asked them to keep it down a couple of times). He is sending someone out to drive around. If the dog is still barking at that point, the policeman -- woman -- person -- thing -- will knock on the door and tell them to stow it. I don't imagine it will be barking, because that is not how dogs are. This one appears to have quieted down for the moment, but my guts are still ratcheted up around my adenoids.
Why am I not going over there myself? Because I am so tired of this shit that I cannot trust myself not to swear a blue streak at them, which would only make things worse. I'd argue with the police over there being, you know, a fucking noise ordinance that I have printed out and can read off for them, but again, I don't trust myself to swear a blue streak, which would only make things worse again. I'd wake Sargon up, but dude, he's exhausted and needs his fucking sleep.
It's hard to explain to anyone what the sound of a loudly barking dog right next door at oh-God-thirty does to me now. It reaches into my guts and squeezes a greasy fist around my innards, causes my stomach to ball up and cram itself against my heart, makes my blood race and my hands shake, and fills me with the urge to . . . best not to say. Best not to say. Anyway, it's hard to explain just how unpleasant it is without resorting to vomiting on someone's shoes.
I am so pissed off right now.
We looked at two houses tonight, neither of which is suitable, and one of which was genuinely horrific. More on that later, because I have a funny video of it.
My great fear is that we will eventually find a place that is really nice, but by the time we do I will be so desperate to get out of here that I won't be able to take the time to fix it up properly, and I'll be stuck in yet another house someone else decorated that doesn't look like me or feel comfortable to me. There are things I want to do that I have always wanted to do, I have plans for this next house. Beautiful interior colors, some murals on the walls -- including a classic exploration-era map of the world painted on one wall, with imaginary names written in on all the continents and oceans.
I am afraid that by the time we are ready to move, I will be so beaten down by the effort it takes not to go next door and . . . best not to say . . . that I won't be able to work at all, and won't get my paintings done.
I have never lived in a house that I decorated. We always got skullfucked into moving before I could manage even that basic feat. Last time it was my mother's fault, and I'm still pissed off at her about that, you fucking bet your ass I am. If it happens again because of a neighbor's dog . . . well . . . best not to say.
I really, really hate this. I hate it so much, you guys, I am not even kidding. Ceiling Cat, if you are listening, get me the fuck out of here. PLEASE.