Neighbors.

Growing up on farm land where everyone generally goes to bed at ten o'clock, you get very accustom to the peace and quiet. A lake and a forest separated us from our closest neighbors. I played by myself a lot as a kid. My sister didn't care for Barbies much, so I would usually play alone in my room or explore the enchanted woods with my faithful old dog. Since none of my friends were within walking distance, I found other ways to entertain myself, like catching tad-poles or reading in trees.

Eventually my wild streak took a hold of me and I began to crave more social attention. At 21, I decided to move into an apartment across from the dance studio with my friend's girlfriend. As much fun as my new found freedom was, it took a long time for me to get used to all the elements of living on my own; especially having neighbors.

For the first few months, every time a car would pull up in the parking lot, I would run to the window to see who it was. Sometimes I could hear their conversations...and their domestic disputes. Most of the people in my building had between 4-6 kids by a couple of different dads, so they let their filthy little rug rats run around outside while they worked. The kids got home from school around three, so my naps were few and far between.

All in all it wasn't so bad. I had more trouble getting use to my night owl roommates. Even if they were just watching a movie in the living room I couldn't sleep. Because I'm such a light sleeper I started to wear ear plugs. The problem was I would leave them in all night and sleep through my alarm.

A few nights a week I would be awoken by a drunken brawl out in the parking lot. I didn't mind these so much either. It was like watching COPS Live. A few times I even got to talk to the police as a witness. I saw the cops break up several parties (including my roommate's) I saw my neighbor cheating on her boyfriend, countless arrests, and once I saw this guy get run over by a truck. (Don't worry, he's fine now.) I would be really tired the next day, but the stories I got to tell my cubical mates were totally worth it.

The summer before I got married I moved into my grandparent's vacant house to save money. They lived in a subdivision where everyone was collecting social security and went to bed by eight. With no roommates and boring neighbors, I would have slept great, if it weren't for the spiders lurking around ever corner....

Then I came to Rexburg. Good ol' Rexburg. I figured since everyone in my apartment complex was married and sober, I wouldn't have any problems sleeping. I've never been more wrong.

I understand it's not my fault if I hear them talking or watching T.V., but I shouldn't have to listen to their exciting game of Pictionary after midnight on a Friday when I am forced to get up before dawn. It also doesn't help that our bedroom window faces the street where the rebellious teenagers run up and down yelling and screaming like escaped chimps from the zoo. They like to park at the school down the street and get high. Maybe I'm being a whiney baby, but I don't think any hard working person should have to endure that.

I have my own way of dealing with these people. In Missouri, I found it was best to be polite when making complaints, and act grateful and appreciative when they promise to keep it down. This usually works until the next night. After your first complaint, the neighbors will probably invite you in for a beer. But once you explain you have an office job where you have to get up early, they usually either get the picture or are so stunned someone chooses to work during the daylight they don't ask anymore questions.

This polite method works in Missouri because most people are so used to being yelled and cussed at they find a friendly demeanor out of the ordinary and refreshing. Most people are more friendly and open to suggestion when they are drunk anyway. Unless they are drinking Jagger or whiskey, but that's another White Trash Ethics lesson.

If however, a popped collar, vintage polo wearing tard responds to my first approach negatively, reacting with slurred curse words, I simply insult his limited vocabulary until he his so confused he either passes out or swaggers off somewhere to puke.

People in Rexburg are different though. For one, most of them are sober. Second, they ARE friendly. So they are immune to politeness and reason. (Believe me, I've already tried.) You have to resort to a more "creative" arsenal against them.

I don't like cussing. I really don't. But it certainly gets the point across to someone who's never uttered a potty word.

Cussing is my last resort. When annoying, bellowing laughter, or gallivanting in the street arises, I first asses the situation. Is it after 11? If not, I wait until then to take action. (I'm not an old fogey, after all.) Is it continuous or just a moment of spontaneous noise? Where is it comming from? The farther away it is, the angrier I get. If you're in the building across from me, I shouldn't hear you.

After taking all of these aspects in to consideration, I take action. With a crossed brow and an harsh tone I will stick my head out the window or the door and sternly remind them that it is after eleven and they need to *please* be quiet for the sake of us who actually have jobs. Most of the time this works. But when I get snottily back talked, they leave me no choice.

Saying the word "hell" usually gets the point across. Making slightly violent threats will most of the time shut them up. But the "f" word leaves them stunned. On rare instances, I have gone to bed with a guilty conscience, but that's the sacrifice you have to make around here sometimes to get a peaceful night's rest :)