Thank You for Sleeping Next to My Neighbor’s Boyfriend

I have a new neighbor.

I’ve never seen her face, but I know she is in L.O.O.O.V.E.

That’s love with a whole lot of oh, oh, oh’s.

She is making me miss the last neighbor, you know, the one with the maniacal hammer. (Thank You for My Neighbor’s Hammer Potential)

Now, it’s not that I have an aversion to folks being in love or anything.

I just don’t want to know about the intimate details when I’m trying to go to sleep on the other side of the wall, in my own apartment.

We have previously established that I am a visualizing kind of gal, and there are some pictures I don’t want dancing around in my head.

My faceless neighbor, naked, in a Santa hat , yelling Oh, Oh, Oh while riding a reindeer is one of those pictures.

It prevents me from appreciating the innocence of Christmas.

And it’s not just the oh, oh, oh’s.

Evidently, her bed is on the other side of the wall, directly lined up with mine in a way that reverberates pillow talk through the three pillows over my own head, here in the sanctuary of my furniture placement challenged abode.

I suppose I could go over and knock on the door, introduce myself, tell her she has a beautiful voice, and politely suggest she get a job with one of those 900 call numbers.

Or maybe I could anonymously slide a note under her door that reads : “I know what you did last summer.” and draw little pictures on it, of bunnies doing what bunnies do.

Perhaps I should fight fire with fire and rent Debbie does Dallas, turn it on full volume, and let her figure out how thin the walls are here, in apartment land.

I don’t know.

There’s probably something for me to learn in this scenario.

But for now, sleeping next to her boyfriend makes me appreciate not having to buy reindeer antlers for one of my own .

~ by leakelley on December 20, 2009.

One Response to “Thank You for Sleeping Next to My Neighbor’s Boyfriend”

  1. Oh come on, you and Karma could get together over a glass of wine and tape a great series of pseudo sex noises, just remember to stop taping when you start uncontrollably laughing! It would be fun!

    That said, we finally tried putting a speaker face down on the floor and blasting the howls of wild wolf pack on my 1970’s downstairs neighbor who insisted on practicing the exact same 5 bars on his baby grand at the crack of dawn, or in the middle of the night over and over again. It was a war, asking politely didn’t work. He started playing louder, missing the exact same note every single time.

    Dave and I went shopping and found an album of the Royal Canadian Marching Bagpipers (or something like that.) At full volume, the creep downstairs caved in on the third night. He was finally able to compromise and negotiate hours. We also thought of taping his own playing (with the regular as clockwork sour note) and playing it back to him when HE was asleep, but it seemed to complicated.

    None of this will help you. Loud sex people have less opportunity to choose their moments of making noise. I don’t get those people anyway. Didn’t their sexual initiation involve having (very quiet) sex while their boyfriend’s mother was doing laundry in the hallway, or their brother was watching Batman across the room? Ummm…I mean, just as an example you know. ;~)

    Maybe it will inspire a painting?

    (FULL moon on New Years! Bringing back memories of a magic circle, bonfire on the beach, crabs dancing under the full moon, a midnight ocean naked plunge, brandy warmed over the fire, and rose wishes.)

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