I am offically old

Really, I'm a nice girl. I'm polite. I'm respectful. I even hold my tongue more than my temper would like me too. (Although, considering I have the temper to go along with my red hair, that's not saying a whole lot. I have lots of opportunity to hold my tongue.)

Last night, however, I had enough.

The neighbors - the ones that live behind us - put a pool in two years ago. Although our hill seems to end where our house finally sits, it picks up again in the yard behind us. They're property sits a good two feet higher than ours. That makes their pool often feel a lot closer than perhaps it is. Frankly, though, that's a minor point of no consequence.

The real problem is their college aged son. He likes to entertain pool side -- late at night. With music. With loud drunk friends. Late. At. Night.

Last summer it was every weekend - either Friday or Saturday night. The beat of the bass would dig deep into your core and eat away at your sleep. This summer they have been relatively quite. Except last night. And, then last night bled into this morning.

I fell asleep oblivious to their frivolity. Megan woke up just after midnight. She was frantic to find missing socks. Truth be told, I never put them on her feet last night and that is not a wise move when you've got a toddler nursing a sock obsession. After putting whatever pair I could match up in the dark on her small feet, I returned to my bed.

The bass was pumping loud.

The laughs were louder.

Then the talking.

"I think they've got the music up," I whispered in the dark without knowing if anyone would hear it.

"Yup," said my husband and then he added a nice little adjective to describe our neighbors.

Moments passed. I asked the time. 12:30. More laughter. More music. At 12:45 my husband went in the backyard - big, blinding spotlight on. He yelled over something or other about trying to sleep.

It was met with a confused "Huh?"

I had enough. I was tired. I had to be up in just a few short hours to get ready for work. I was feeling very much like letting my temper fly free easy. I located my shoes. I headed out back.

The old chain link fence in our yard is still up. It butts up nicely to their wooden 8 foot stockade. I climbed our chain link. I appeared over the top of their wooden fortress. I scared a drunk girl who screamed and leapt from her seat. There were four college students living it up around the outdoor fire pit. . .including the scared one.

"Excuse me," I said, calling upon my 'very pissed off adult' voice. "Do you think you could turn down the music and talk a bit quieter while you're at it."

One of the boys headed inside to abide. The other said, "Oh, is it bothering you?"

"Well, you know, it is one o'clock in the morning. Just because you want to be up all hours of the night does not mean the entire neighborhood does." Really. I get rather snippy when I'm over tired.

"No problem. You just have to tell us," he said, his voice betraying his plan to start up the attitude.

What I wanted to say was "Look you twit, don't mess with me. I'm older than you little boy." Instead I said, "Ahh, what does it look like I'm doing."

I climbed down. The music was low now. The voices were hushed.

When I returned to the house, I made note to Bruce that the neighbors to our left were also out in their pool.

"What's her face and the new boyfriend?" he asked.

"No. The kids," I said referring to the four hellions ranging in age from 7 to 12.

We both ignored the question we wanted to ask -- why are children that age in the pool at that hour. Instead Bruce decided to be funny.

"Did you yell at them too?" he asked me.

"No," I said after shooting a few eye daggers his way. "The chain link isn't up on that side any more. I couldn't get up over the fence."

The irony, of course, is that I opted to block out the remaining traces of both neighbors' noise with my iPod.