The Clompy Chronicles, Part 3

It seems the power of positive thinking thing worked. Except on the wrong neighbor. The one three doors down moved out. Clompy and her boyfriend, Boomer, remain. Sigh.

Boomer has taken up the bass. I haven't heard the hint of natural talent yet. Just awkward thudding that travels from their living room through their bedroom through my living room to my bedroom. He puts in a couple hours a day. Including some time around midnight. Last night, it was going on well after one ayem. Yes, I have thought about knocking on their door and blowing an air horn at them. But, after I've washed my face, brushed my teeth and peeled out my contacts, I don't really want to get dressed, go out, buy an air horn and knock on their door. I can be lazy. Or masochistic.

They've also created a nice resting area in their front yard, replete with two, plastic pink flamingos and a self-standing hammock, strategically placed right next to my living room window. Boomer likes to go out there and hear himself talk.

Is marching in one's apartment, back and forth and back and forth, the new trend in at-home exercise? Did I miss that memo or infomercial? Still trying to find a reasonable reason for the stomping Clompy does. He joins in, too. When he's not on his bass.

I'll keep trying to think positive thoughts, wish them to a better home that isn't adjoined to mine. Wonder who'll move next?