Rage-Lady

Here’s the deal.  I just wanted a nap.  I worked hard for a whole two hours of school today and wanted an unwarranted reward for this accomplishment.  As I left the house this morning, I could already hear the rumblings of your bass and feared for the worst upon my return.  As expected, the techno was eminating from just above my bedroom when I got home today.  After lunch and a half hour or so of auditory respite, I figured you must have been finished with your relaxing morning grunts.

I was wrong.

Twenty four minutes into my delicious nap, the familiar beat restarted.  I jolted awake, released the teddy bear from my sweet embrace and threw off my sleep mask – it had begun…again.  I lay there imagining how this bizarre blend of Mortal Kombat and The Party Boy Song could appeal to anyone.  My body filled with a hot rage.  My senses sharpened.  Each sound became more pronounced.  It was fight or flight.

Previously I had chosen to remain silent during you solitary afternoon grunt-and-cough-fests due to some deeply held delusion that your noisy days forgave my auditory sins at night.  But today, today it was on.

Well, after I peed.

You were clearly in your bathroom, still enjoying one minute samples of each vile song.  I decided that yelling at you from my toilet was lacking in dignity, and if there’s one thing that the Kitten PJ’s I was sporting represented, it’s dignity.

Instead, I repeatedly attempted to slam the bathroom door.  Unfortunately, it appears that it is impossible to make a reasonable noise with that door-frame combo.  I moved to the bedroom, the scene of the bass-y crime.  Somehow in the delay from bathroom to bedroom, I became increasingly crazed.  I slammed that motherfucker a solid four times before the adrenaline coursing through my nap-desperate veins tookits full, crazy control.  I stormed into the bedroom, grabbed my full length Wal-Mart mirror and sought my revenge.  Swinging the mirror around like only an irate lady in Kitten PJ’s can, I hit the ceiling.  Then the closet and finally the wall.  Letting out a groan of frustration, I dented that wall in the most embarassingly pitiful manifestation of rage I have ever been witness to.

I half expected a response to this insanity, but was answered only by the same stupid beat.  It was time to wreak some actual havoc.  In a frenzy, I stormed out to the living room and grabbed my ipod.  With little ability to select a suitable song for revenge, I found Fall Out Boy (?!) and cranked it a level that was totally unbearable.  I then spent 20 minutes suffering through music at a volume I could barely stand myself.

The techno has stopped, but my mission has not.  How will the battle take shape from here?  I imagine an army of crazies in standard issue Kitten PJ’s toting Wal-Mart mirrors taking to the streets…