Neighbors
I've told stories about upstairs neighbors before. We've had new upstairs neighbors for some time now, which is nice. I'm hoping we don't have to worry about anymore odd poultry defrosting accidents.
Yet the folks who live upstairs now have a band. A full band, complete with a full sound system as well. Fortunately, they are not like the horrible wanna-be indie rockers I lived downstairs from while in Boston. Those guys were horrible, and we let them know. I had a roommate who would regularly knock on their door when they started their usual 10pm rehearsal times and say things like, "Hey, could you guys stop playing shitty music? It's late, and you suck." And things like that.
Our new upstairs band is a full blues band. They play loud enough to sound like they are in our living room. I've gone upstairs before to tell them to keep it down, but they were playing so loud they didn't hear me banging on the door. And then one time when I went upstairs to bang on the door, the music stopped and there was shuffling around inside, but no one answered the door. Am I really supposed to believe that no one's there? Come on, folks. That's like that old thing we gals did to our parents when having a loud sleep-over where mom would come knocking on the giggly girls' door, open it, and then we'd all pretend to be sleeping. You know, suddenly every single 10-year-old girl in the place snored while they slept, just to prove we were sleeping. Rrrrright.
In any case, the Upstairs Blues Band has not been playing much together recently. Maybe their was an inner-band rift. Maybe one of the guys got all pretentious and alienated the others. Maybe the harmonica player's heroin addiction got out of hand. Maybe the bass player slept with the drummer's girl (thus defying the order of band hook-ups). Whatever it is, they aren't playing much anymore. Fine by me.
What our upstairs neighbors have started upon recently is a trend of very loud, middle-of-the-night sex. This is disconcerting to wake up to because when you're half asleep it takes some time to figure out that the people upstairs are not rhythymically hitting a puppy.
No, I'm not a prude. Enjoy yourselves people. Seriously, have a good time. Love is nice. I just thought that the move from the Upstairs Blues Band to the all-night nookie club was an interesting switch. I think we need thicker ceilings.
I've decided that if they wake me up again with the *wink, wink, nod, nod, knowhutimean*, I'll just clap very loudly when everything is finished. You know, like I've just listened to a stunning operatic piece.
"BRAVO! BRAVO! Amazing! Marvelous!!"
If I knew either of their names', maybe we could cheer them on like at a sports' event. Or, we could harass one of them, like how fans used to chant "Daaaa-rryl, Daaaaa-rryl" at Darryl Strawberry at baseball games.
Or maybe I'll just wear earplugs.
Anyone else ever been an unwanted listener to neighbors or roommates?
I've told stories about upstairs neighbors before. We've had new upstairs neighbors for some time now, which is nice. I'm hoping we don't have to worry about anymore odd poultry defrosting accidents.
Yet the folks who live upstairs now have a band. A full band, complete with a full sound system as well. Fortunately, they are not like the horrible wanna-be indie rockers I lived downstairs from while in Boston. Those guys were horrible, and we let them know. I had a roommate who would regularly knock on their door when they started their usual 10pm rehearsal times and say things like, "Hey, could you guys stop playing shitty music? It's late, and you suck." And things like that.
Our new upstairs band is a full blues band. They play loud enough to sound like they are in our living room. I've gone upstairs before to tell them to keep it down, but they were playing so loud they didn't hear me banging on the door. And then one time when I went upstairs to bang on the door, the music stopped and there was shuffling around inside, but no one answered the door. Am I really supposed to believe that no one's there? Come on, folks. That's like that old thing we gals did to our parents when having a loud sleep-over where mom would come knocking on the giggly girls' door, open it, and then we'd all pretend to be sleeping. You know, suddenly every single 10-year-old girl in the place snored while they slept, just to prove we were sleeping. Rrrrright.
In any case, the Upstairs Blues Band has not been playing much together recently. Maybe their was an inner-band rift. Maybe one of the guys got all pretentious and alienated the others. Maybe the harmonica player's heroin addiction got out of hand. Maybe the bass player slept with the drummer's girl (thus defying the order of band hook-ups). Whatever it is, they aren't playing much anymore. Fine by me.
What our upstairs neighbors have started upon recently is a trend of very loud, middle-of-the-night sex. This is disconcerting to wake up to because when you're half asleep it takes some time to figure out that the people upstairs are not rhythymically hitting a puppy.
No, I'm not a prude. Enjoy yourselves people. Seriously, have a good time. Love is nice. I just thought that the move from the Upstairs Blues Band to the all-night nookie club was an interesting switch. I think we need thicker ceilings.
I've decided that if they wake me up again with the *wink, wink, nod, nod, knowhutimean*, I'll just clap very loudly when everything is finished. You know, like I've just listened to a stunning operatic piece.
"BRAVO! BRAVO! Amazing! Marvelous!!"
If I knew either of their names', maybe we could cheer them on like at a sports' event. Or, we could harass one of them, like how fans used to chant "Daaaa-rryl, Daaaaa-rryl" at Darryl Strawberry at baseball games.
Or maybe I'll just wear earplugs.
Anyone else ever been an unwanted listener to neighbors or roommates?
posted by H at
1:54 PM
6 Comments:
Haha – funny stuff. I feel your pain. I have a neighbor just like that – he plays his music wicked loud on the weekend. At times he lets a CD skip for minutes at a time. He constantly tosses his cigarette butts in front of my door. I have considered kindly asking him to turn his music down, but after a few beers he regularly stands on the balcony waiting for people to walk by, and when I do he suggests I come up for a drink. Due to this, I am a bit frightened to go to his door, so I use the next obvious method, bang on the ceiling with my broom – mature I know, I try.
Now onto his bedroom, unfortunately I have also heard his late-night…romp. Something you just have to deal with (I have tried earplugs – but then I can hear my heart beat, and I can’t help but sign songs to the rhythm of the beat – still the better option.) Last December I had 4 third grade girls overnight for a Christmas party. All was well until…yes, the neighbor guy starts up. The girls and I are trying to sleep. In her innocence one of the girls pipes up “Angela, what is that?” I reply, “The guy upstairs is just moving furniture.” She replies, “I can’t sleep, how long do you think he will be moving furniture?” I reply truthfully, “5 or 6 minutes, just ignore it.”
There was the horse in tap shoes. Then the bowling ball lane. Then the Olympic sex which almost came crashing down into my room. Then Mr. John Tesh at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. I definitely think you should clap and cheer. I'm not kidding. That would be hysterical!
Heard my girlfriend and her husband go at it when I spent a few nights over there once. Thought the bed was going to drill right through the wall into my room. Actually the worst part was when it was over and I heard him say "Whew!!!!" That was just...wrong.
I live in a house, with a retired professor living in the basement apartment, so I don't hear too much noise from them. However, I do have a problem because no matter where I go, San Diego or DC, I attract couples who decide that outside my window is an excellent place to stage an all-out blow-by-blow screaming match breakup. Oh, and always in the middle of the night. This has happened to me three times in three different houses! It would probably be funnier if (a) it weren't the middle of the night and (b) it were comedy troupe, rather than real live people experiencing a major personal trauma.
Tara--
You should probably stop getting apartments at street level!
We had a couple wild arguments outside one of our apartments in Cambridge, but the best was hearing the garbage men there. It would be 7:30 in the morning (early for a student, okay?) and you'd hear them yelling things like:
"Did you see the size of that rat?"
Or, after our upstairs neighbors had moved out, throwing all their unwanted furniture off the porch and directly onto the street:
"What--are you trying to kill us?"
Here's a rant from CL on the same theme.
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