The person who lives above me is an elephant on 'riods after one too many Cliff bars. I swear to God, whoever lives up there lifts their furniture over their hulking frame and tosses it around the apartment at all hours of the bloody night. People have suggested that these noises may in fact be the soundtrack to rocking the casbah. For the good of the pelvis of whatever man or woman walks through that door, I sincerely hope this isn't the case. Drawing on my favorite television show (Futurama, duh), I have decided to name and picture my upstairs neighbour-beast The Crushinator. Behold:
The person who lives next to me has the loudest sex in the history of sex. I live in a concrete-construction apartment complex. When this person has sex, every part of my condo moves. I didn't think it physically possible, but this person has actually managed to move concrete with his pelvis. The girl he is sleeping with clearly learned how to have sex from watching porn, as her vocalizing would make a songbird blush. Being in the throwes of passion is one thing, but when I can hear the screaming over my television, dishwasher and vacuum cleaner combined, it's time to call it a day. As if this kind of sex weren't obnoxious enough at night, this couple have now taken to having morning romps. Like...really...really early morning romps. Like...7-7:30 am romps. YOU JUST FINISHED LIKE THREE HOURS AGO. GIVE THE POOR GIRL A REST BEFORE HER VOCAL CORDS (or something else) RUPTURE.
The man who lives one floor above me and one unit over begins extensive and sprawling telephone conversations on his balcony at around 12:30 am. He usually finishes his chats around 3 am. At which point he commences barbecuing. I shit you not. I live kitty-cornered to a nocturnal Bobby Flay. Barbecuing, for the record, is one of the most conspicuous forms of cooking. He's not slowly braising, he's not gently simmering. No. He is out there at 3 am, scraping the carbonized remains of his last meal off the grill, clicking his shitty lighter for what seems like an eternity, and clanking his stupidly massive metal flipper against his stupidly large metal barbecue. At 3 am. Barbecuing. Once more with feeling: Barbecuing at 3 am.
I will not report this to the condominium powers at be. I will seethe quietly, living politely among The Crushinator, the Copulators and the Barbecuing Loud Mouth.
2 comments:
I seriously commend you for making your trials so hilarious. The guy directly upstairs to me shreds metal all day, and knows only one song at that, hurray!
If I couldn't laugh at it (or anonymously blog about it), I'd just go bananas.
I often worry that I'm the annoying musical neighbour. Though to be fair, I know more than one song, and it's certainly not metal. So I think I'm kind of in the clear.
Post a Comment