Nike-A-Go-Go
I consider myself a good neighbor - I'm quiet, I keep to myself (but am still friendly in the halls, or when the fire alarm goes off and we all traipse outside). The perfect sort of neighbor for an apartment building really. I am my own ideal neighbor. Yet somehow I always seem to end up with the wacky neighbors -- for instance:
1. The girls across the hall in college who were obsessed with Mariah Carey - listening to her cds on repeat constantly;
2. the girl in the dorm who made her own kimchi (kimchi = very good, but not when someone is actually *pickling* it in the dorm);
3. the guy next door whose love life I could track by the songs he sang ("Who Can It Be Now" after he'd been dumped, "Freebird" when he was ready to get back out there, and - horror of horrors - "Let's Get It On" when-- well, you know. I refuse to speak of the night he and his girl-of-the-moment sang Let's Get It On *together* as it remains one of the most horrifying nights of my life.)
This is only a small sampling of Emily's Crazy Neighbor stories!* Throughout it all I have remained calm, cool, collected and never, not-fucking-once, felt the need to call the cops or knock on someone's door to ask them shut up. It's always been relatively easy for me to ignore - irritating but still ignorable.
BUT! BUT BUT BUT. These two next door - these two are working my very last nerve. They're hammering - they've *been* hammering for nigh on six months now. At first I thought they were redecorating - hanging some new pictures perhaps. Then I thought they might be building a bookcase or something but at the rate they've been going, they'd have built enough furniture to fill their apartment from floor to ceiling three months ago. My new theory (as I listen to them hammering and hammering and hammering) is that it's some sort of sex game. Perhaps he puts on tool belt every night and hammers shit until she jumps him. Perhaps it's the other way 'round - maybe girls with hammers turn him on. I don't know. I don't care. I just want it to stop.
*I've left out the girl next door in second year dorms who refused to wear clothes at home (aka, the dorm). The newly-engaged couple who had bouncy sex on a worn out mattress every morning at 5:00AM. The sixty-five year old man who wanted to date me and many, many others.
1. The girls across the hall in college who were obsessed with Mariah Carey - listening to her cds on repeat constantly;
2. the girl in the dorm who made her own kimchi (kimchi = very good, but not when someone is actually *pickling* it in the dorm);
3. the guy next door whose love life I could track by the songs he sang ("Who Can It Be Now" after he'd been dumped, "Freebird" when he was ready to get back out there, and - horror of horrors - "Let's Get It On" when-- well, you know. I refuse to speak of the night he and his girl-of-the-moment sang Let's Get It On *together* as it remains one of the most horrifying nights of my life.)
This is only a small sampling of Emily's Crazy Neighbor stories!* Throughout it all I have remained calm, cool, collected and never, not-fucking-once, felt the need to call the cops or knock on someone's door to ask them shut up. It's always been relatively easy for me to ignore - irritating but still ignorable.
BUT! BUT BUT BUT. These two next door - these two are working my very last nerve. They're hammering - they've *been* hammering for nigh on six months now. At first I thought they were redecorating - hanging some new pictures perhaps. Then I thought they might be building a bookcase or something but at the rate they've been going, they'd have built enough furniture to fill their apartment from floor to ceiling three months ago. My new theory (as I listen to them hammering and hammering and hammering) is that it's some sort of sex game. Perhaps he puts on tool belt every night and hammers shit until she jumps him. Perhaps it's the other way 'round - maybe girls with hammers turn him on. I don't know. I don't care. I just want it to stop.
*I've left out the girl next door in second year dorms who refused to wear clothes at home (aka, the dorm). The newly-engaged couple who had bouncy sex on a worn out mattress every morning at 5:00AM. The sixty-five year old man who wanted to date me and many, many others.