I'm really a 96 year old cranky pants in disguise

Saturday. I waste a day volunteering for a large sneaker corporation. Actually, I didn't do anything for them. It was the dumbass PR team they'd hired that I'm pissed off at. Any hoodle. I chilled out all day doing "make work" projects. Lotsa fun. Like having burning spears inserted into my eyes.

At least I got free shit. Yay. And a wasted day. Double yay.

Got home around 11.30pm and decided to head to the local bar. Had a few drinks, decided that I was old and tired and needed to sleep.

I'm walking down the hall to my yuppie scum loft when I can hear the loud strains of top 40 vomit, erm, music. I look out the window and there are like 100 people "dancing" to some shite DJ out on the courtyard. I almost burst into tears. Now, don't get me wrong, but yeah, I'm a raging racist and fuck me if all you white folk don't dance the same fuckin' way. Geezus. Kidding. I dance like I'm having a seizure. Really. But I digress.

Right. So I get into my cozy little place and I can feel the music. Not in some flaky granola way. I mean I can feel it. And it's fucking up my breathing. I figure I can sleep through this cause y'know, I'm really tired. So I crawl into bed, make sure the cats are on either side of me (they make great sound barriers) and turn off the lights. At that EXACT moment, Mr. DJ cranks up the Sean Paul. Now don't get me wrong, I like Sean Paul. But not when he's screaming in my ear and making stuff vibrate on the walls. A moment later the "whoo" girls kick in. I've prayed for death many a time, but this night I meant it.

I actually had to fight the urge to call the cops about the noise.
WTF?!?!?!?

I'm only 28! Why am I thinking about ending someone else's party? When did this happen?!?!?!?!
Arrrrrgh.
Send help. And a 2-4 of beer. NOW!