Say “Hola” to the Valencian Curmudgeon. That’s my new nickname courtesy of my bleary eyed husband. I guess stomping through the city’s main street at 6:41 am with crazy lady hair (rockin’ a ripped T-shirt and men’s boxers) is something you don’t do?
Let’s get one thing straight though, it was their fault. I didn’t want to jump out of bed before sunrise, press my ear to every door in the building and troll the streets to find out WTF was going on. They made me do it!
You see, I’m kinda sensitive to noise. If I had known that Spain is the #2 noisiest country in the world, maybe I woudn’t have moved there (FACK). Yeah yeah, I know you can’t live in absolute silence but bitch please. If the rule is you can’t start construction before 8:00 am, you’d better believe I’m gonna screech at you in A2 level Spanish that you need to “stop drilling or start dying.” The choice is yours.
You might think that my reaction is over the top but you’re stupid. I’m done after years of:
- mind-numbing renovation drilling every summer (12 years straight)
- old lady TVs blaring at 2:00 am
- upstairs neighbor’s high heels clacking on my ceiling all day and night
- adjoining bathroom walls so paper-thin I can say, “WOW, that was a wet one.”
- a Yorkie next door named Godzilla that barks nonstop
So now come the questions that expats dread. Do we move? Should we continue to rent or pull the ripcord and buy? Is buying a house here a good investment? The answer to all of these questions being, “Shit, I dunno.”
PS- 2 new apartment renovations started today in my building (blurgh).
PSS-Yes, that’s me in the photo.
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