Becoming "that" person

Thanks to everyone who has participated in NaBloSoFroDraWe (also NaBloSoThaDraWe). It's kinda cool to have several participants this year. And remember, NaBloSoFroDraWe continues all week long. So you still have time...

A couple of weeks ago, around 5:00 on a Monday morning, I was awoken from my midsummer night's slumber by a sort of rumbling noise. As I was coming to consciousness, I sifted through possible causes. Was it thunder? No, I was pretty sure it wasn't. A truck with no muffler? Quite prevalent on my road, but again, no. My stomach? Maybe.

I ventured downstairs where it became evident that the loud, booming noise was coming from next door. It sounded like a Buddy Rich rehearsal was going on over there, except without the cursing. (Not really, but I've been trying to work in a Buddy Rich reference for over a year now and figure this is as close as I'm gonna get.)

At 5:00. On a Monday morning. Seriously?

What could I do? I went back upstairs and tried to get to sleep. And tried. And tried. But all I could hear was this pounding bass that seemed to be growing louder and louder, even though I'm pretty sure it wasn't. I gave it a valiant effort, but finally after about 45 minutes, I gave up. And that is when I officially became that person.

No, not the person who bangs on the wall and hopes they get the hint. And not the person who goes next door and gets into a heated dispute. You know, the kind that ends up on COPS where one or more of the subjects don't have a shirt on. Nope, what I did was even worse.

I called the property manager and complained that the neighbors were too loud.

Yep, that person. (And I'm still cringing as I type this.)

I can't help it. I love sleep. And I need sleep. If I don't get at least six solid hours of sacktime at night--and a two-hour afternoon nap at least three or four days a week--I'm not myself. I'm not Bone.

Finally around 6:30 that morning, the noise stopped and I was able to get back to sleep for a few minutes. Needless to say, I was a walking zombie at work that day. (Is "walking zombie" redundant? And if it was needless to say, why did I say it anyway?)

Thankfully, the next few nights were pretty quiet. Then about a week later, it happened again. This time it was around 2:30 in the morning, again on a school night. So I called for the second time.

That was about a week ago and it's been quiet ever since. I figure if it happens again, I'm just going to have to move. I can't continue being that person.

The other obvious issue now is that my neighbor knows someone has turned him in. And as the townhouses are side-by-side, as townhouses are wont to be, then he doesn't have to be real smart to know that it was either me or the neighbor on the other side. So all I have to do is avoid seeing this one person--who happens to live next to me--for the rest of my life. That shouldn't be too hard.

So far, I've taken a few drastic measures toward this end. These include but are not limited to: peeking through the blinds to make sure no one is in the parking lot anytime I start to leave; making sure I'm on the phone anytime I come home so as to lessen the likelihood of any possible awkward encounters; and... have I mentioned that I tend to be non-confrontational?

The thing is, I've always considered myself a pretty amicable neighbor. In the nearly four years that I've lived here, this is the first time I've complained about anything! I mean, I didn't complain when the previous neighbor set that hideous plastic dog with the solar-powered lantern in its mouth outside the front door. And I never say anything when the lady on the other side of me screams things at her kid that even frighten me a little. (Actually, the Buddy Rich reference would fit better here.)

How did this suddenly turn into the crime of the century? Besides, he's the one who broke the rules. I'm well within my rights. It clearly states on page seven of the voluminous tenant agreement (which I'd never actually read before now): "Any noises in the building or parking lot that are disturbances to other tenants will not be tolerated."

All I want is some peace and quiet, an apology, and for him to be evicted.

"Well, I can't sleep sometimes but I've been told, it's a lonely condition called growing old. Let me stumble sometimes..."

Back with a bang

I had been wondering how I was going to get back into blogging after yet another short hiatus. It came to me around one o'clock this morning as I was lying in bed. For that's when I heard the vaguely familiar sound of a girl moaning, coming from next door thru the apparently-thinner-than-I-realized walls. My immediate thought was that my neighbor had a girl over there.

Almost instinctively, I grabbed a glass and placed it against the wall so that I could hear better. I'm kidding. The glasses were all the way downstairs and I wasn't about to get out of bed to go get one.

Still, what could I do, bang on the wall in some sort of universal shushing signal? I never want to be that person. So as much as I would have liked to drift off to sleep as I normally do--to the soothing sounds of Scott Van Pelt and John Buccigross giving baseball highlights on Sportscenter--I simply couldn't block out the moans.

I laid there and waited, and waited, for what felt like half an hour but in reality was probably closer to five or ten minutes. In situations involving disturbment of the peace, I've found that time tends to crawl when you're not a participant in the noise making activity, whatever it may be.

The moaning went on and on as my mind began to wander. How long could this possibly last? Whatever was going on over there, she seemed to be quite good at it. Maybe a little too good.

And there it was.

As I am prone to do, I began to overanalyze the situation. That was a road I would come to wish I had never ventured down. The moans sounded a bit too perfect to me. Too practiced. Too professional. So I was left to ponder that age old question: is it live or is it Cinemax?

With that thought, horrible and permanently scarring images suddenly appeared, causing me to shudder as if my bare hand had just brushed up against the side of a urinal. And the fact that my neighbor's name is indeed Rocky only seemed to make things fifty times worse. As quickly as I thought it, I tried to erase it from my mind. Eww, make it stop.

Finally, it did.

The only slightly redeeming part of the evening was that I never heard a male voice mixed in with the female moaning. I did hear a guy's voice afterward but couldn't tell if it was live or on TV. I heard what sounded like water running a couple of times, or maybe it was a toilet flushing. Then at last, there was only Sportscenter.

And to think, I always figured the most disturbing thing about my neighbor would be the plastic dog with the solar lantern hanging from its mouth sitting outside his front door.

On a completely unrelated note, my neck is really sore today.

"She bop, he bop, a-we bop. I bop, you bop, a-they bop..."