Friday, March 28, 2008

No Sleep Till Brooklyn


Well, it was a nice 2 hours while it lasted. The sex-tro-nauts next door (I have determined from advanced aural triangulation that they are, in fact, in the apartment below me; I will continue to call them "next-door" anyway because I like the sound better. Poetic license and all that) changed things up a bit last night, and treated me to an entirely new form of loud noise that kept me awake:

A fight!

Oh, and it was a good one, too. There was lots of yelling, and I believe I heard bits about cheating and sex and all that good stuff. Apparently Mrs. Loud-Sex even slapped Mr. Loud-Sex at one point. The score remained tied until Mr. L-S decided to play the classic "well, why don't you leave then?" gambit; this backfired spectacularly when Mrs. L-S did, in fact, storm out the door. This was an intriguing development, and allowed for entirely new loud sounds to keep me awake: slamming doors, heavy footsteps, and the weirdly angry sounding "but I love you!" protests from Mr. L-S. And then it was quiet. Blissfully Serene. I could go to sleep.

2 hours later, I was awakened by the all too-familiar sounds of baby manufacture. Make-Up Sex! Loud stuff, too. Not that there's anything particularly bad about the sound -- it's just that I don't like being lied to. Don't go getting my hopes up just to crush them two hours later, Mr. and Mrs. Sex-Haver. That's just mean.


*I suppose I should feel at least some bit of shame for writing detailed descriptions of my neighbors' sexual adventures and then posting them to the internet for all the world to see. Luckily, I am skilled at rationalizing even the most questionable moral decisions, and I say that it is my right -- nay, my duty -- to broadcast to the world the most intimate details of strangers who happen to live near me. I say this because (1) it's no longer a "private" action when everyone in your building can hear you, and (2) I refuse to be a victim in this. They hump, I blog.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Like Rabbits, They Are

I live in a large apartment complex. I'm not too proud of this fact, but in my defense I'll be moving out in a couple months.

And none too soon. Those of you who have lived in a similar situation no doubt understand that in such apartment complexes, walls are thin and privacy is a relative term. So far, I've been serenaded by such delightful noises as:
-children screaming
-large objects crashing about
-very loud, very bad music
-loud, vacuous conversations*
-heavy-footed people walking outside my door
-heated arguments**

The last one is the worst. Especially when it's loud (they are). Especially when I have to get up early the next morning (I usually do). And especially when my special lady friend is far, far away (she is).

In any case, these constant copulators (serial sexopaths?) are, if nothing else, consistent. In recent times, they've been at it almost nightly. And as someone laying in bed -- alone, in the dark, trying to fall asleep -- as this takes place, I've become something of an unwilling Jane Goodall to their sex-having gorillas in the mist.

My findings thus far:
The preferred sex time is between 11pm and 1am -- usually on weeknights.
The man is rather quiet, though he has been known to get in a grunt or a groan now and then.
The woman is an vocal specimen, providing a constant "oh god, oh god, oh god" commentary. Occasionally she'll try the more advanced cadence of "oh, oh god, oh, oh god" to mix things up. I believe that I've also heard a few "harder"'s and "faster"'s lately, leading me to believe that Mr. Sex-Haver has employed a phallus-enhancing device -- maybe even something battery-powered!
The standard activity builds speed and intensity over the course of the act, although even at the most intense level Mr. and Mrs. Sex-Haver do not cause their furniture to bang against the wall. My theory is that a combination of angle of frequency, amplitude, and angle of attack (combined with a high-quality of construction in the sex-bed) have prevented unwanted headboard-wall banging. This is probably a good thing, as the soundtrack is annoying enough already without the addition of an added bass line.
The standard act lasts around 10 minutes. I'd supply a more accurate number, but I'd rather not spend my nights sitting in bed timing my neighbors' lovemaking with a stopwatch.

I suppose that I could keep a timer by my bed for those unfortunate occasions when I am kept awake my neighbors' bang-time. When awakened, I could start the timer; when they finished, I could note the date, time, and duration of activity on a spreadsheet (along with any notes, such as "female requested that sex be 'harder' at 4:56," or "noticeable ball-slapping sound audible at 3:12").

After a month or so of this, I could print out a copy of the spreadsheet and post it on my neighbors' front door. Maybe I could make a chart of activity duration over time, with notations of significant events ("1:15 -- was something wrong?" or "27:56 -- incredible! You should buy your lube in bulk at Sam's Club").

Though maybe that would be rude.

"Love? What is love? I am merely looking for a female swollen with eggs to accept my genetic material"

-Dr. Zoidberg

*my apartment overlooks the complex pool. When it gets warm out (which is quite often in California), I keep my patio door open. This means that I get to overhear conversations among sunbathers by the pool, even when the conversations are horribly banal. *Especially* when they are horribly banal.

**this happened once, and I have to admit it was one of the more disturbing things I'd ever heard. The walls between apartments muffle sounds enough to make individual words indistinguishable, but the flow and emotion of speech still comes through. For this particular incident, I could hear a man and a woman yelling at each other in (most likely) the apartment next to mine. The anger in the voices was unmistakable -- the only time I have ever heard such rage and fury in someone's voice was my brother, the time when I provoked him to the point where he chased me around the back yard with a baseball bat. These people sounded like they were ready to kill each other. What made it worse was that periodically, the yelling would be interrupted by a terrific crashing sound -- as if a full bookcase had been knocked over. I have no way of knowing for sure (I live in the sort of complex where you can easily live a year in an apartment and never meet your neighbor face-to-face), but I fear that I was hearing some sort of domestic violence next door. The fact that something like that could occur so close to my home -- and the fact that I was effectively powerless to stop it -- was supremely unsettling. I don't like living next to strangers.

Blogspot 2: Electric Boogaloo

Success! On a whim just now, I decided to check if my long-defunct former blog vehicle (the much-coveted "Bears In Cars" address) still exists. And...despite over two years of neglect, my little electronic baby lives!

Those of you who follow my ramblings may recall may recall another "webbed log," on the unfortunately-titled "," that chronicled my adventures across the country from New Hampshire to California during the summer of 2006.

Well...I'm planning another massive road trip this summer, this time running from west coast to east coast via the northern route. Ol' Bearsincars here has the double advantage of (1) being linked to my google account for easy access and (2) having an address that I can be proud to call my own. So from here on out, this will be the site to visit when you're itching for a dose of Dave. I'll also be working on moving my many posts over here to attempt a sort of archive over the course of the next month or so. We'll see how it goes.

"Back up in your ass with the resurrection"

-Samir Nagheenanajar