FOR the past 10 years I've been living in share houses.
They were the best of times and they were certainly the worst of times but for now they are times that are far behind me.
Since moving back to Brisbane a few months ago I've got my own place.
While it was a shock to realise a lot of the mess I had formerly blamed on other people I lived with had in fact came from me, having my own space has been blissful.
The first day I moved in my neighbours came over to say hi and welcome us to the neighbourhood; it was just like in the movies.
They didn't bring over a sausage casserole or anything like that but I know if we're ever short a cup of a sugar they'd be only too happy to oblige.
So to say things were going well in my new place was putting it mildly - I was loving it.
That was until one set of neighbours came back from wherever they'd been holidaying - I suspect they'd enjoyed two lovely weeks staying at their good mate Lucifer's place in Hell.
So to say they are the worst is putting it mildly - I hate them.
We are days away from a full on A Current Affair-style war and before that happens I want this on public record.
My first clue that they were back from holidays was the unmistakeable sound of Ariana Grande blaring through my lounge room.
Despite the fact you'd find better air ventilation in a panic room than in my unit I decided to suck it up, shut the windows and sweat it out while the neigbourinos enjoyed twerking to Ari.
That was day one.
On day two I had a couple of pals over for a BBQ and a couple of them were smokers.
It's important to note that the only way my unit is connected to theirs is through a small opening between my patio and a small section where they come in and out of their front door.
The opening has a bamboo sheet covering it. Contact is limited. Thankfully.
But when the neighbours got home from wherever they had been they decided to make a big song and dance about the smoke they could smell for the whole two seconds it took them to walk through the door.
"Oh yuck, that stinks, how disgusting," they exclaimed.
Honestly my pals felt just like the Australian Cricket team busted having a sneaky dart during post-match celebrations.
The punishment didn't fit the crime.
"Don't worry about Rude and Ruder," I told them and decided to head over and see if the smoke was genuinely a problem.
I knocked on the door and saw a little beady eye poke through the blinds.
But nobody answered.
"It's the bitch from next door," I hear Rude say.
"Don't answer it," Ruder responds.
After that I decided I didn't care if my friends wanted to go right ahead and smoke on their beds - I'd tried to do the right thing.
Things were quiet in the neighbourhood for the next few days and apart from overhearing mind numbing conversations where very second word was "like" and every third was "literally" we managed to coexist quite peacefully.
Until one of the neighbours' cat started to pay me visits.
He jumps through the small crack between our units and pokes around the place.
This doesn't bother me at all; I don't even mind constantly hosing his pee off my deck.
What bothers me is that now I'm looking after a friend's dog and, Sooty, the very originally named black cat comes over to annoy him.
It's not the fact that the dog gets annoyed it's that Rude and Ruder have started doing their trademark passive aggressive complaining about the dog barking.
But the dog only ever barks when Sooty is scoffing down his bickies!
I wrote them a note to explain that is why the dog is barking and that it would be good if they kept Sooty out of my yard while I'm dog sitting.
I found the note ripped and scrunched up on the ground.
Stick a fork in me because I am officially done.
I just don't know what to do next. In my younger years I was known to egg anyone who crossed me but I don't think I could get a clear shot at them.
I've thought about going to the body corporate but I don't think saying "they're not very nice to me" contravenes any specific bylaws.
I'm at a complete loss as to how to deal with the twits next door.
It'd be great if they read this column but with their vocabulary there's no way they read newspapers or their websites.
If you have any tips on how I could either befriend neighbours or alienate them completely so that they move out I'd love to hear from you.
Jill Poulsen is a senior reporter at the Courier-Mail.
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