It’s bad enough that Wendi’s downstairs neighbor fancies himself a musician and feels compelled to practice his guitarwork (sometimes with accompaniment) all hours of the night. (Dude, here’s a clue: If you were any good, you’d be doing actual paying gigs on Saturday nights instead of engaging in six-string masturbation in your crappy apartment.)

But tonight, I came home (at 1am) to… a huge boistrous party going on in the townhouse adjoining ours. Did I mention that the balcony everyone’s crowded onto is right outside my window? Oh, but it’s okay, because apparently they warned us first and even extended an invitation. (I wasn’t here for this. If I’d known this was happening, I’d have sought refuge elsewhere.)

Great. So it’s 1:30 in the Ay Em, and I’m not likely to get anything resembling sleep for… what? Two more hours? Three? And I have places to go and work to do, tomorrow. Frelling lovely.

I guess I’ll get some work done on that livingroom PC I’ve been (re)building (again)…