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since I’ve never physically fought anyone before. If I ever do, Mr. Molever will definitely be the first person on my list, especially if he’s wearing silk that day. I took a deep breath.
    “I don’t understand what you’re complaining about,” Mr. Molever blurted.
    “Excuse me?” I asked, stunned by his boldness. I was quickly running out of fists to clench.
    “A couple of attractive young gals talking locker room? Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”
    Every guy’s dream? What guy wants to hear about the latest dieting craze, called “the Tic Tac and edamame diet”? What guy do you know who wants to hear in great detail the cause of “toxic shock syndrome”? Can you find me one, just one, guy who wants thisversion of “Little Bunny Foo Foo” stuck in his head: “Little Bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest, jerking off the field mice and giving lots of head”? You should’ve seen the looks I got at the DMV when I accidentally sang that song out loud.
    Mr. Molever, not surprisingly, was of no help. I was a thousand dollars poorer and my maddening situation was still very much in existence. I reluctantly took his “I’m never getting laid” binder of building incident reports and complaint forms, then headed down the hallway with my tail between my legs. Speaking of tails, I hoped Marvin was protecting his. If Tania was still playing Cupid at my apartment, forcing our dogs to make love to each other, I might possibly have been having the worst day of anyone’s life. Except for maybe poor Marvin’s. “You can always just go knock on their door yourself,” Mr. Molever yelled out after me. What an idiot. The whole point of filing a noise complaint against your neighbor is so that they don’t know which person ratted them out. If I showed my identity to these girls, I’d practically be handing myself over on a silver platter. Up until this point they had been noisy without even trying. Could you imagine the racket these girls would cause if they found out the snitch lived directly below them?
APARTMENT LIFE

Dear Girls Above Me,
I apologize for the Chewbacca greeting in the parking lot, I was eating a banana.

Dear Girls Above Me,
Our building doesn’t have a ghost “trapped in the walls on Thursday and Friday.” It’s just street cleaning.

Dear Girls Above Me,
Sometimes when you’re having sex, I play you in Jenga. Right now I’m winning 3 games to 2.

Dear Girls Above Me,
“I wish my bad date could’ve been in dog years so it ended faster.” I’m so thankful your lease is in human years.

Dear Girls Above Me,
“So, I gave him two options, breakfast in bed or a blow job. Guess what he picked?” Well I didn’t smell burnt toast, so …

Dear Girls Above Me,
I changed my wireless Internet name to “JohnStamosCondo” in hopes that it might confuse and excite you. It did.

Dear Girls Above Me,
“The cleaning lady canceled! Okay, go to YouTube and look for a video on how to use a washing machine.” Remember lots of bleach.

Dear Girls Above Me,
I know you’re going crazy but stop Googling “someone who kills birds, Los Angeles.” Try replacing the battery in your smoke alarm.

Dear Girls Above Me,
“We still have no electricity! Wow, the wind really fucked us last night.” Is “the wind” code for the guy with the French accent?

CHAPTER SIX
    Most people talk themselves into doing something gutsy. I much prefer talking myself out of doing something gutsy. Who needs gutsy? To me, gutsy is ordering double toasted at Quiznos. Unfortunately, before I was able to talk myself out of it, I found myself standing in front of the girls’ front door. I could hear muffled “Valley girl” conversations on the other side, so they were home. All I had to do was knock on their door and politely ask them to never speak again, and I could finally get enough peace and quiet to get my life back in order. But why was I so afraid? I’m sure a therapist would have told me it comes from an