On my last nerve...

I am counting the days until I move to the other apartment - I am hoping that it will be a lot quieter.  I'd even settle for a little bit quieter!  I've gotten used to Pizza Guy and his coming home at 2:30 in the morning.  Aggie and Monty are even more tolerant of his walking his boxer shortly thereafter.  Everybody's got to work - I can deal with that.  But over the past week, the noise and traffic (I'm by the sidewalk and the back stairwell) has been horrific.  Apparently, the hot chickie upstairs (who incidentally dyed her dog pink - another story) has a new paramour and he drops by anytime between one and five for a - what do you call it? - booty call.  Okay - not my business, but it's the insistent knocking on the door that is making me nuts.  First, there's clump, clump, clump up the stairs.  Then, it's knock knock knock knock knock knock knock on the door.  No answer.  Then again, knock knock knock knock knock knock knock on the door.  Seven knocks - not six, not eight, but seven.  Still no answer.  Seven knocks again.  I don't know if it's some sort of code or what.  Last night this went on for eight cycles.  Fifty-six, count them, fifty-six knocks.  I felt like throwing open my door and yelling, "If she hasn't answered by now, buddy, she's either not in the mood or dead."