A new year, a new attitude. I have not gone on an Entitlement rant in quite a bit…seems forever because I find them to be as beneficial as a Beyonce cleanse or a high colonic.

So, fasten your seat belts because I am about to blow. And, action.

The past 3 nights our delightful, apartment dwelling Living In Santa Monica Entitlementors have decided to party, commencing at 3 am. The scenario is always the same. The door slams in a drunken rage. The music and/or TV is cranked and pre and post-coital giggling ensues.

Monday at 3am, the female cow (heifer because I assume she hasn’t given birth) decided to have a full on discussion on her balcony. Upon awaking me, I gave her a 10 minute reprieve to quiet down. Finally, I opened the window and asked, “Please be quiet” and she lovingly screamed in a whisky soaked voice, “Shut the f*** up.”

Priceless. I know her address and am going to send her a charming Valentine. Do they have, “Be Mine, you self-involved douche” cards? That is today’s mission to locate. Perhaps Esty makes them. I look forward to my retail exploration.

Last week, the man who also lives there pontificated on the balcony, screaming into his cell for hours. When I went to walk the dogs I caught a glimpse of the unfit, shirtless Bieber wanna be with pants jailin’ and hat on backwards. He needs to work his abs rather than his lips. That behavior continued for a week. Perhaps he finally found employment, selling scams to senior citizens.

The first week they moved in, they started ravin’ early (4am) on a Sunday morning and, from the sound of things, held a great house warming party. Sorry we were not invited. Perhaps they are vampires because the time before dawn seems to entice them to action. Boy, would I like to get my fangs into them.

We need to move. I am not ready for the deathly quiet and serenity of a senior home, but I enjoy sleeping too much to hang out with the under 35 self involved, selfie taking, inconsiderate Entitlementors anymore.

Have a great day.