If I am jarred awake by Indian music one more time, the girl in apartment 11 is dead. Four times now, I've been yanked out of my peaceful slumber by loud, excruciatingly painful Indian music. The bass hopping, the awful singer crooning in his high, off-key nasal voice. First, I left a note. Then I found out where it was coming from. I knocked on the door. An unmistakably Indian-looking girl opened the door and proceeded to blatantly lie about her Indian music practices. "I don't play music in the morning...it wasn't me. I've never heard any music." Yeah, fucking right. I live upstairs, and I can hear it. Not only that, but you can hear the music blasting on her floor. "It must be your next-door neighbor." Uh huh. Liar, liar, pants on fire. It's not so much being woken up by Indian music that pisses me off; it's the fact that this dumbass lied to me about it. Does she think I'm stupid? If you're going to have the gall to play loud, God-awful music early in the morning, you should at least have the balls to own up to it. Don't lie to my face, especially when you're as bad a liar as this girl is. Just fucking admit it. If it wakes me up one more time, she's going to be pulling shards of glass out of her ass.