That's it. I'm buying a house.

I think most normal people "get" that living in an apartment complex means that occasionally you'll have to put up with some noise. Particularly on weekend nights or during major party-worthy events, like, oh, let's say, the Super Bowl.

So yesterday, I hosted a Super Bowl party in my apartment. Even though the game itself sucked, my party was quite awesome. It'll take me a good month or so to clean up my apartment, but it was worth it. I had fun and my guests were happy, so it was a good party.

Except for one thing.

The game ends around 7ish, and my friends decide to play some DDR, as I had invited them to do. They're having great fun and I'm loving the fact that my different friend-groups are getting along so well. Hooray for me helping to forge new connections! Call me self-absorbed, but there's something wholly satisfying about throwing a good party. And I threw a *good* party. Up until the game was over, that is. My friends get to playing DDR at a completely reasonable hour and within fifteen minutes, I shit you not, I get a phone call from my landlord.

Apparently my whiny downstairs neighbor can't take the "dancing" (even though it's only two people at a time. Two whole people, imagine that!). Which makes me especially pissed off considering that I just bought an extra dance pad so that people could have a dance-off. Now, I can understand being upset if there's waaay too much noise at a late hour. I myself have put up with such irritation, to my great chagrin. But this was seven-freaking-thirty, on freaking SUPER BOWL SUNDAY. My landlord, poor beleaguered soul, had taken this whiner's call *in the hospital*, where he was tending to his *sick wife*. Oh, gee, he must feel so bad for her and her problems. He apologized for calling me and worried that she might get mad, so maybe I should go apologize.

I walk back into the living room, first to apologize to my guests, because in my mind they're the ones being put out by all this. I mean, seriously, how are they supposed to sober up if they can't sweat it off? If anyone got in an accident last night I'm blaming Ms. Whiny McWhinerson. Then I go downstairs to apologize to Crazy Lady herself.

I put on my nicest, sweetest face and apologize, explaining that we were playing a dancing game on the Playstation and we'll stop playing it now. I even invite her up for some beer and super bowl food. She declines and tries to explain herself away by saying that the dancing makes her bathroom door shake.

That's right.

She doesn't have migraines.

She doesn't have cats that go crazy and tear up her curtains when there's noise upstairs.

She doesn't have a chandelier that's about to fall from the ceiling.

Her. Fucking. Bathroom. Door. Makes. A little. Noise.

On FUCKING SUPER BOWL SUNDAY she can't even give me an inch.

I cannot WAIT to get away from crazy people like this. Apparently now I won't be able to have a legitimately fun party DURING THE DAY ON THE WEEKENDS because it might not be whisper-soft enough for the Whiniest Neighbor On The Planet.

GOD, I so need to get my own place.