I’ve come to accept that there are things in life I can’t control:
- People actin’ a fool towards me
- MTV playing reruns of the MTV Movie Awards for 6 straight months after it airs
- My bladder
While driving today, I came up with a great concept for today’s blog. I was going to talk about my family, love, friendship and all that other crap you’re supposed to be thankful for around the holidays. I was going to win awards with this post. The Nobel Prize committee might as well have been polishing my medal (they give medals, right?)
I got all cozy in bed, fired up the laptop, and was ready to type up my masterpiece. Then I heard it. The squeaking. The moaning. The banging on the wall. Crazy jungle sex from my neighbor upstairs.
Look, sex is a normal part of life. I think the world would be a much better place is people got laid more often. I’m not a prude, and I’m genuinely happy for people who get a little slap and tickle on a regular basis. My issue isn’t with sex itself.
My issue is with their sex.
As some background, they are not a couple. I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to listen to that hot mess on a regular basis. He’s a wannabe player in his late 20’s, and she’s a cougar who looks like she snorted one too many lines of coke at Studio 54. They just get together on occasion and do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.
He calls her up, she comes over, and they hang out in his room for awhile. I can hear them mumbling and laughing for a good hour before they start getting their freak on. I imagine during this time they’re drinking Bud Light (or something equally offensive) and listening to the smooth sounds of Ginuwine.
Then they move into the Bow Chicka Wow phase of the night. Fine, ruin your mattress. Put things in questionable places. Give yourself a yeast infection by letting him pour chocolate syrup on your Lady Bird Johnson.
DO NOT do these things:
- Scream “you smell better than a bucket of KFC” unless you’re talking to an In-N-Out burger
- Shout “put your back into it” unless you’re talking to someone helping you lift a couch up seven flights of stairs
- Call someone “daddy” unless you’re five and the person you’re talking to is actually your father
- Keep saying “oooh oooh oooh” over and over again unless you’re practicing to be an extra in a “Planet of the Apes” reboot
- Take a phone call in the middle of your sexy time
They’ve finally stopped doing the vertical tango, but now it’s too late. No flowery post about my hippie love for all the wonderful things in my life. All you’re left with is this post, and all I’m left with is the kind of memory that will haunt my dreams for years to come.
Today’s challenge is to tell me about a craptastic neighbor you’ve had. Anyone who has ever lived in an apartment (or “flat” for you fancy European bastards) has had one. I want to hear it all.
You know who probably doesn’t suck as a neighbor? Today’s winner! Congrats to Saradraws! E-mail me at Sipsofjenandtonic.com, yo.
Now it’s time for me to get some sleep…if I can.