I'd give them points for honesty.

Fake customer service really cracks me up. Sometimes I wish they'd just fess up and admit they suck at doing whatever it is they're claiming to do. For instance, if you try to call the clinic for an appointment here, you'd better be prepared to wait 10 minutes on hold before ever talking to a real person--and that's on a good day. Sometimes they'll never answer at all. Are they on another line for half an hour straight? Out to lunch? Left work early? Who knows! But while you're waiting the horrible elevator music will occasionally be interrupted by a cheery recorded voice proclaiming, "Thank you for your patience! Your call is important to us; please stay on the line and a representative will be with you shortly." Personally I think I'd appreciate a little honesty in this circumstance. Maybe something like this...

"Thank you for holding. As if you have much of a choice."

"Your call is an annoyance to us. Please hang up now and save us both the trouble."

"While you're waiting, please feel free to calculate exactly how much this call is costing you."

My favorite is when you've been trying on and off all day to get through to the operator and make an appointment, only to have them FINALLY answer the line, and then they transfer you for a bogus reason to another line--which of course isn't answered, and suddenly you're right back where you began, dazed at how close you came to reaching your goal, only to have your hopes and dreams dashed.

I'm not bitter, though.

Thanks, but no thanks

Oh those crazy Germans...

Okay, to follow up on last post; I took Evelyn in to the clinic yesterday to try and have her seen by a nurse. We were able to be seen, but the nurse wasn't much help. She basically wasn't willing to say that Evie didn't have jaundice (she said it didn't look like it to her)--she said we should be seen by a doctor. Sigh. She recommended that we go up to the patient liason office and go to the krankenhaus (German hospital) here in Baumholder. So we went.

I could make this a waaaay longer story than it needs to be, but I'll try to keep it relatively short. Just to give you a sense of the experience though, as I was in the moment I couldn't help but think to myself that I was experiencing a sensation I hadn't since I was a VERY small child--the sense of being herded around having people talk over you and not fully understanding what's going on. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all, especially because I was trying to make an informed decision about the health of our child. Anyway, here's what happened:

The doctor looked like a cross between a German Colonel Sanders and the actor Michael York. He was dressed in snugly fitted white clothes from head to foot, including his shoes and belt; even hair was white. His English was certainly better than my German, but that's not saying much. He was VERY difficult to understand, and gave short, sharp directions like, "take her clothes off!" He had like, negative bedside manner. Evie was being brave, but he wasn't doing anything to try and keep her calm. When at one point she began to look as if she might cry, he shoved a woven basket full of candy at her. I'm talking little plastic packages (choking hazard) of sugar coated (!!!!) root beer flavored gummy candy (CHOKING HAZARD) at my nine month old infant. And I'm supposed to take his medical opinion seriously? He was losing points quickly. Evie stared at him teary eyed as if to say, "Dude, don't you know I'm a BABY? I don't eat candy..."

He asked me, "What's wrong with her?"
"Ummm, nothing really is wrong. She's just, kind of, orange. I wanted to make sure it's not jaundice and that everything's okay."
He looked at her, poked and podded a bit and said, "It's not jaundice."
Then he followed with, (I'm translating here, because his english was not this clear) "We will do blood work and ultrasound."

What?

She doesn't have jaundice, so you're going to do bloodwork and an ultrasound...I was seriously confused and thought I must have misunderstood him. I tried to clarify, but all I could get out of him was that he thought she needed extra testing. I couldn't understand why, but I'm not a doctor, and it's a bit daunting to decline when a doctor tells you you should have a test run on your child. I was NOT pleased that Evie would have to be put through extra stress, but we wandered up stairs to have the blood work done.

Did I say I was going to try and keep this brief? Ooops...

Neither the blood work lady or the ultrasound technician spoke english. At all. The lady babbled on and ON in German to Evelyn, obviously smitten with her, and Evie didn't seem to mind. I have to say, it kind of creeped me out though; she was a bit scary. The ultrasound guy understood me when I said "orange." I'm not sure he fully understood why we were getting an ultrasound either. He showed me her stomach, her kidneys, her liver--all were present and accounted for, and looked normal (surprise, surprise...). But wait! Where's her gallbladder? Hmmmm

He couldn't find it. DoctorColonelMichaelYorkSanderstein was called in to try and find it. Why are we even looking for her gallbladder??? The doctor found it, but exclaimed that it was contracted because she had a full tummy. (She hadn't eaten in about 4 hours.) He tells me, "Come back tomorrow at 9 in the morning. Don't feed her." Oh, and at this point he also says, "Do you feed her....(he turns to try and find the word from his non-english speaking assistant)...carrots?"

"Yes," I replied, "That's what I sort of thought it was from the beginning..."

"Stop feeding her carrots. Don't do that anymore."

...

He was already walking out of the room when I protested the summons to come back the next day. "She wakes between 5 and 7 and is HUNGRY. Why does she need to be seen again? What is the problem? Can we be seen earlier if it's necessary?"

"No, we don't come in until 9. Don't feed her." He leaves.

I was totally frustrated, confused, and at a loss. Why was I even doing all of this? THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH EVELYN, except that she sort of looks like she's eaten too many Oompa Loompas.

I called the patient liason office when we got home and tried to explain my frustration and ask for help. They said they'd call over and see what the doctor was concerned about and if it was necessary for me to go in again.

They called back to tell me he'd already gone home. They said he's probably just checking to make sure she doesn't have any other problems and that it should be alright to let her eat a little when she first wakes up before we go in. Sigh. In the back of my head I KNEW that it was just SILLY to go in again, but he'd made it seem so important to see her gallbladder, I couldn't help but have this fear--what if there IS something wrong with her gallbladder and I don't have her checked and something happens to her? So we went this morning and had a SECOND ultrasound.

When I first saw the doc this morning he looks at me as if he'd never seen us before and asked, "So what's wrong with her?"

I stared at him for a minute, like, "you're kidding, right?"

"Ummmmm....Nothing's wrong with her...she's orange. You said to come back so you could check her gallbladder..."

"Of course nothing's wrong with her. Of course I remember. Take off her clothes."

He poked her some more and said, "It's just orange here in her face."

"Ummmm..." I said, "I see it all over, really."

"Yes of course."

?!?!?!?!

(Have I mentioned lately how much I can't wait to get back to America?)

Ok, now this officially isn't just not brief, it's probably much longer than most regular posts...

So during 9 month old infant's SECOND ultrasound, he finds her gallbladder, and SURPRISE! it's totally normal. He sees her stomach full of liquid on the monitor and says, "You fed her."

"You caught me," I said, loathing him.

"She has a full bladder. Let's do a urine test."

WHAT?!?!?!!?!?! WHY?

"Why?"

"To check."

"Wait, do you think anything is wrong with her or are you just doing this because you think I want you to? If it's not jaundice and everything looks okay, I'm fine. She acts normally. She's happy and healthy. She's just orange. Her urine looks normal. Her poop is normal. Why do you need to get a urine sample?"

"Come to my office. To check." He walked out of the room.

I dressed Evelyn and told her we were leaving. I poked my head in the room and told him, "You know, I think we're just going to go. I don't think she needs a urine test." (How do you get a 9 month old girl to pee in a cup anyway?? It's hard enough when I have to do it...) He looked at me all concerned and confused with the little platic cup in his hand and was like, "But the urine test!"

"Yeah, I feel comfortable that she's okay. Thanks, though."

"Why don't you take it with you. Take it with you and when you get the chance, have her go in it and then you can bring it back."

I am not even kidding you.

I nearly refused, but I thought it would just be simpler to take the cup and go. Plus, I thought, I can take a picture of the urine sample cup we're NOT going to pee in and post it on tomatobear.




So, Evelyn is apparently fine. Just a little orange.

We're having a bad day today

When things are going bad, I have the tendency to want them to stay that way. "What?!?" you ask, "Michele, that makes no sense! Don't you want things to get better?" The real answer is, of course I do. The answer when I'm in the depths of my pity party (You're not invited, thanks, it's a party for one. I like feeling alone. And miserable. Go away, I have no friends.) is No. Life sucks. And then you die. The world is out to get me. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms.

Today just started off on the wrong foot. I was up really late last night finishing my homework for class--I'd put it off until the last minute and HAD to get it done last night. Evelyn was cranky when she woke up. She didn't want to take her nap this morning. I somehow feel a little dizzy and keep bumping into things today. I've hit my head twice already. Ouch. I haven't showered in a day. (I should be showering now, but it feels better when you're miserable to be dirty too. Don't want to do anything that might accidentally make me feel better.) The weather is super crappy and cold. We went out to run errands and of course no one was friendly. I felt fat and dirty and blech. We came home and I called the Nurse's hotline--I've been meaning to for a week now; Evie has a bit of an orangey tint to her skin that comes and goes. I don't think it's jaundice; her eyes are perfectly white and she doesn't have the other symptoms listed online for jaundice. I think it's much more likely that it's something like carotenemia but I want to make sure of course that she's okay and I'm not brushing off something serious.

Well, the nurse on the hotline said I should have her seen within 3 days. Now I feel kinda guilty because I've noticed this orangey-ness for a while now and haven't been compelled to spring into action on it. It seems to come and go and she acts normal and healthy. But I called in to get an appointment, and of course, they don't have any appointments. My options are 1)the emergency room 2)call non-stop and be on hold for the next 5 hours of my life to see if they have an opening that becomes available. I freaked out on the woman on the phone, pushed to the point of tears as Evelyn spat apricots at me and I stared blankly out the window at the gray. She gave me the number for the nurses line here in Baumholder; the other line was apparently stateside.

On top of it all, I can't help but have these huge nagging paranoid doubts about my ability to be a human being, let alone a mother. I haven't been eating that well--nothing sounds good, and I worry that Evelyn's diet isn't up to snuff or that maybe my breastmilk isn't giving her all of what she needs. I'm afraid that my lifelong food issues are going to be passed on to her.

I know it isn't as bleak as it feels right now. Thankfully, Evie has settled down for a nap, and will most likely be in a better mood when she wakes. I probably just need some more sleep myself and to go take a shower (and workout--which I haven't done in over a week!).

On a completely unrelated note, here are some pictures of Evelyn being adorable with my growing afghan:

In which I nearly cry in public

The New Parent Support group on post organizes an annual car safety check event. I remember last year I wanted to go, but we didn't yet have our car seat, so I just obsessively researched how to install it myself. For some reason it was one of those things I was REALLY stressing about. It was probably all of the statistics floating out there..."7 out of 10 car seats are installed incorrectly! Is YOUR child safe?" I had this mental block that the installation was going to be close to brain surgery and was dreading it. I read the manual. I looked online at videos. I fretted. And finally, I installed the seat. It was so quick and easy, I sat there staring at it thinking 'I must be missing something.' After double checking all latches, hooks, buckles, levers, and reclining angles multiple times, I finally came to the conclusion that I felt comfortable and satisfied with the job I'd done. Score one for me. I think I'd been stressing more about the car seat installation that labor.

Fast forward until December...or was it January...whenever we got Evie's new convertable car seat. I was so excited to get it and have it installed, because in my mind it was going to make certain aspects of our errand running much more smooth, but that's another story...

Anyway, I wasn't too stressed this time around about the installation because the infant seat installation had gone so smoothly and I considered myself something of an expert. I was unpleasantly surprised that it was NOT as intuitive for me as the first seat, and after a couple of failed attempts where I really had just guessed how things were supposed to go (the manual and pictures being of VERY little use) I came inside and did further research online. Now, as an art history major in college, I know something about references and the difference between a good and bad source of information. I didn't just YouTube videos on how to install a random car seat from the 80s; I went to the manufacturer's website, looked up my specific make and model of the seat, including the seat's manufacture date and found a very useful resource documenting clearly how to ensure proper installation.

I KNOW I did this, but me being me, I always doubt and question myself, and with today being the Car Seat Installation Check Day I thought I should go and have an "expert" take a look at it too. So here's where it gets fun...

I pull into the parking lot and am waved over into a spot. It's more crowded than I thought it would be, but I didn't have to wait in line, and a woman came over quickly with a clip board. I needed to fill out the form and sign a waiver (always comforting) and the woman offered to hold Evie while I did so. The first thing she said upon taking her was, "Brrrr! I bet you're cold!" Criticizing the weather appropriateness of my child's attire: Strike One. Evie wasn't too pleased being held by a stranger and I scrambled to get the form filled as quickly as I could. I got Evie back, self-consciously bundling her a little tighter in her blanket, and the woman began the inspection.

"Good, this is really snug..."
"Nice, this isn't twisted..."
"Perfect..."
"Looks really good..."
"Excellent..."
"Exactly..."
"Now, where do these straps fall on her--above her shoulders?"

"No, no, they're just below," I replied, the studious car seat installer I am.

"Good. And the buckle on her front?"

"Right at arm pit level," I shoot back. Do I get a sticker?

And then it happens. She looks behind the rear facing seat, between the seat and the passenger's chair where I have the car seat tethered to the floor board via the metal anchor of the front chair. She starts laughing. At first, I'm thinking to myself, Oh, I'm so good, she can hardly believe it, but then she says

"Oh wow. Hahahahaahaha. I've never seen this before. Well, maybe in photos. Of what NOT to do. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Mary, come here, you've got to see this! We should get a picture of this!"

I AM NOT KIDDING YOU.

I'm sitting there, holding our child, whose safety means more than anything to me--I'm there trying to be a responsible parent, making sure I'm doing the right thing, looking for support and encouragement, and SHE'S LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AT MY "MISTAKE." Me being me, my eyes began to fill with tears.

This is the point when I acutally am sort of proud of myself, because where usually I might completely dissolve into sobs and kind of be incomprehensible for a few minutes, I held back my tears and said in a choked voice, "Just so you know, I take great offense at your reaction. I take my child's safety very seriously and you've made me feel really bad. I think that was a horrible thing to do."

She stopped laughing. Of course she hadn't meant to be mean, but it was a very insensitive thing to do to someone--well, at least someone like me. I am so much more sensitive to things like this, and somehow the universe knows this and throws people at me who push my buttons. I need to get a shirt that says, "WATCH OUT! You may be the straw that breaks the camel's back!" She apologized profusely and I could tell she felt genuinely sorry for her reaction, which had been innapropriate. She went on to explain that this isn't typically done in cars like ours--that usually there is a center fastener meant specifically for this type of tether. "Okay," I replied numbly, still trying to get my eyes to reabsorb the liquid that was brimming there. It's not as if I'd tried to secure the thing with bubble gum, rubber bands, staples, and hot glue. I was being thorough. I remembered specifically thinking that that extra tether seemed to be a bit over the top to me, but I remembered seeing it in a video and thought I should do it. In the meantime, another car seat checker came over and quietly said to my woman, "That woman over there got her car seat out of the dumpster...What do I tell her?" Funny, they weren't laughing hysterically at that woman.

Anyway, I pulled it together and she finished the check and was super extra polite to me the rest of the time. She installed the seat again, then I installed it again, and then the check was complete and we were free to go.

I came home and went online to try and find the video I'd seen. As I thought, it's on the manufacturer's website--check it out for yourself if you'd like! If you want to see just what I'm talking about, go to the third tab, "Installation Instructions" then click on the 13th slide, "Versa-Tether Installation." Hmmm, I don't know about you, but it sure seems to me that THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'D DONE. Suddenly I don't look so crazy afterall...

I'm totally sending the link to the woman.

And then I'm done. For real. For now...

I'm in a listy mood.

First of all, thanks to all of you guys who sent encouragement and happy thougts my way after my little meltdown earlier this week. I try to keep things in perspective--I know that I am INCREDIBLY lucky and blessed and really do not have the right to complain. I know sometimes it must seem, well, really annoying. "Oh, poor Michele. Stuck living in Europe. Waaaaaa." I think I've become increasingly negative about certain aspects of life here over the past few years, and that is not the person I want to be. I have more thoughts on this subject, but will save them for another post, as this one is already getting pretty long and it's quite late.

That being said, I still do have stuff to complain about, and I'd like to get it off my chest. Just because I don't like the way I feel doesn't stop me from feeling that way.

***Disclaimer: Not all of these things are Germany's fault. Some of them are Army specific, living on post specific, and all of them are me specific. I'd like to reiterate, despite my "I hate Baumholder" diatribes, it's not a terrible place--I'm just tired of living here. For me, Europe is for vacations not life. The list is in no particular order. Without further ado...

THINGS I WON'T MISS ABOUT LIVING IN GERMANY:

1. THE WEATHER.
2. Many of the people--albeit here I am mostly referring to Americans (Ahem, for instance, Rude Mail Room Guy, Grouchy Car Inspection Dude, Nasty Neighbor Woman, Passive Agressive Mystery Neighbor Person, I could go on and on and on...)
3. The general attitude and atmosphere. NEG-A-TIVE. (I know, I know. Look at me not helping, right?)
4. The toilet paper holders.
5. The toilet flushing mechanisms.
6. Having to pay to use a public toilet.
7. Having to pay inside at the gas station.
8. Messing with currency exchange.
9. The crappy exchange rate.
10. VAT forms.
11. DEUTSCHTELECOM (TKS).
12. Not speaking the language.
13. The laughable idea of "customer service."
14. The 6/7 hour time difference between here and friends and family.
15. Having to pay "International direct dialing rates" for 800 numbers.
16. Having to convert to the metric system. I know it makes more sense, but my mind just doesn't think in those terms.
17. Living on post.
18. Living in an apartment.
19. Not having any studs into which things can be nailed. There's about a half inch of plaster before you hit solid concrete, or something equally impervious. It's been a royal pain trying to hang things.
20. The fishbowl feel of the community--the fact that EVERYONE knows your buisness...what you order online, what you buy for groceries, how often your dog poops and when you leave the house...
21. Not having screens on the windows. I've become accustomed to not having air conditioning and actually like having fresh air circulate. Not having screens is a problem, though. Once I heard a girl convey a story about asking a German why they don't have window screens. His earnest reply? "But with screens...how would the bugs get out?"
22. The radiators in our apartment. They have a mind of their own. The temperature can be constant outside and the dial set to the same place yet one day the setting is fine, the next we're burning up. The dial ranges from "snowflake" (a symbol) to 0-5. What the hell does "snowflake" mean???
23. AFN (Armed Forces Network--the American television programming available here). We don't even watch TV here, but I miss "real" commercials.
24. The mailroom. The idea that a mail man might actually deliver my mail TO ME at our place of residence is so magical, I can't even begin to describe it to you.
25. The commissary.
26. Having to drive 45 minutes to get to ANYTHING.
27. Not being able to use FedEx or UPS. I can't tell you how many times I've been disappointed by "Sorry, no shipment to APOs."
28. German pastries and cakes. I want my sweets to be...well, sweet. Theirs aren't.
29. Having to be in constant "vacation mode." Do you know that feeling when you're in unfamiliar territory? The extra effort you have to put forward to finding things, always having everything be new and unexplored? It's exhausting to be in "vacation mode" for 3.5 years. When we take trips here, I sometimes feel like I'm vacationing while on a vacation--like I'm taking the life raft I live on in my river out onto the ocean.
30. European sized things. Everything is small, from the dishwasher to furniture to parking spaces and roads. I will not miss "two lane" roads that, in fact, are actually not even big enough to be one full lane.
31. How often I am denied access to things online (like streaming media and certain downloads) because I'm "Outside the U.S."
32. Randomly having web pages I frequent switch everything to German language defaults.

I may think of more and tack them on in subsequent posts.

And, in fairness, I would also like to list...

THINGS I WILL MISS ABOUT LIVING IN GERMANY:

1. The autobahn. Although I have gotten two speeding tickets (yes, you read that right), I do love the laid back feel and general not-traffic-y-ness of the autobahn.
2. Ordering out from Portofino's. Especially their pizzas and Jagerschnitzel.
3. Being so close to Belgium. I love Belgium.
4. The proximity to so much art, history, culture and architecture. Just wow.
5. The "tilt" option on the (screenless-boo) windows.
6. The deli sandwiches from the commissary.
7. The cheese streudel muffins from the commissary.
8. Super cheap, delicious, and ubiquitous local wines.
9. The yellow flowers that cover the countryside in summer.
10. This specific lone tree on a hill top as you approach Baumholder from the east.
11. Julia's Mickey Mouse tree.
12. Christmas markets.
13. Bernkastel Kues. I love that town.
14. This specific view of a valley off to the left as you cross a bridge going towards Kaiserslautern. Breathtaking.
15. The windmills.
16. The really awesome people I have met here.

Again, I will add to this list as well as things occur to me.

As promised...

Here's a quick mock up of the banner hanging outside the commissary:

I laughed hysterically the first time I saw this. "It's Worth the Trip"??? I have this mental imagine of someone trying to give away crap on the side of the street, their banner exclaiming "You Get What You Paid For!" The commissary is maybe 3 minutes away from anywhere on post, so it being "worth the trip" doesn't say much.

I started thinking that if this was the winning slogan, what might the alternatives have been? Hmmmm...

In which I am sad without specific reason

355 days. In other words, 11 months and 22 sunrises since Justin deployed. April 2nd is the one year mark. It feels like forever.

Most days I try not to think about it too much. Just keep my nose to the ground, work hard, and try to stay busy. Most days, despite my complaining about Baumholder, I am happy. Insanely happy actually, because even though he's not here right now, I know what I have, and what I have is once in a life time.

But then there are times--and they tend to sneak up on me, when I can actually feel an empty place in my guts. It's a dull ache, a physical longing that involuntarily makes my eyes well up with tears. I choke them back with a smile, knowing they don't do any good. See, it's happening even now as I type...

Today I went to the commissary. They actually have a banner made up that hangs outside declaring, "The Commissary: It's Worth the Trip!" (have I posted about this before? I can't remember...I know I've laughed about it with Julia...) I have decided I'm going to come up with a mock presentation of the other banner options that were rejected for this stellar advertising campaign. Anyway, like I said, it came upon me out of nowhere. There I was, circling the dingy unflatteringly yellow-lit isles and somewhere about the frozen food section I was nearly overcome with tears. I am just so tired. So tired of eating the same foods week after week, of going to the same places day after day. Tired of the same crappy weather (in fairness, we've just come off of a week of GLORIOUS sunny beautiful weather, but it's back to grey and rainy and cold today--I'm sure it doesn't help my mood). I'm tired of living my life alone when I should be sharing it with my husband. I'm tired of being the only one here to marvel at our beautiful child. Just in case you had any doubts--DEPLOYMENTS SUCK.

I'm not looking for pity. This is our life. I'm so proud of Justin. I know he aches to be here every bit as much as I want him here. I haven't let a tear fall today, and I don't think I will. I'll go put away the tomato sauce and chili beans, the baby food and diapers and cross off one more day on the calendar.

P.S. I love you, Justin.

Passive aggressive much?

Someone in my apartment building apparently hates me. Or my dog. Or my baby. It's unclear which of us is the object of loathing because the only tip off I've gotten is a framed note on my doormat "politely" warning about the dangers of noise in the stairwell.

I find this really hilarious for several reasons. First of which is that I just had a conversation the other day with two of my neighbors about said framed notice, which mysteriously appeared at floor level on the landing between my apartment and the one across the hall from us. The two other women both have dogs. One woman is the one that lives directly above us; I've previously referenced them here. She apologized if her dog, Leo, ever disturbs Evie. It was a very nice gesture and--even though sometimes I curse Leo for all the noise he does make, I'm not about to give the woman a hard time about it, especially because she's nice and sensitive to the fact that I have a baby. They have a right to live too. These are just crappy apartments with thin walls. What are you going to do? Anyway, I apologized in turn if Choky ever bothers them, and they both replied that she's not a problem. They actually said, "we never hear her." They're obviously just being polite--sometimes they must hear her. They both wondered aloud about the mysterious appearance of the sign and we all guessed as to who might have placed it there.

Our apartment is on the first floor, so I didn't take the sign's placement personally--although after this morning, I guess I should have. When I opened my door to take Choky out this morning, right smack in the middle of my doormat, there was the sign. I suppose when the Mystery Person's brilliantly subtle tactic didn't work they decided they needed to step it up a notch to make sure I know it's ME they're trying to send a message to. This leads me to the second reason I find this hilarious:

We aren't that noisy. Honestly. Really. I mean, I have a baby and a dog, and yes, they sometimes make noise. Sue me. Evelyn doesn't cry that often, and never really in the middle of the night where it would keep someone awake, and Chokydar only barks when she hears someone else making noise loud enough to be heard in the hallway. I keep her partitioned off with us in the living room (away from the part of the apartment that faces the street) all day so that she's less likely to hear people coming and going. If anything, I get annoyed at people making noise in the stairwell because more often than not, their noise will set Choky off, which in turn threatens to wake MY sleeping baby. Can anyone else see the irony in this???

The notice doesn't even specifically mention dogs at all, which is funny, because Choky is the loudest one in our family for sure. Loud footsteps? Hello, I've just lost 50 lbs, thanks, no loud footsteps here. Metal doors slamming? I take special care to NOT slam my door. Voices? And who exactly am I supposed to be carrying on with in the hallway?

I hate living in an apartment. Most of all, I just wish Mystery Person had balls enough to knock on my door and talk to me about it if they have a problem with me. I'm just trying to get by here.