Monday, September 13, 2004

Our upstairs neighbors suck.

For the first week of our marriage nobody lived in the apartment above us. We enjoyed the quiet serenity that situation afforded. Then THEY came.

Flash back 3 weeks or so, Sunday morning 3AM.
BAM! Something large was either thrown or dropped on the space of floor right above our bed.
Ali and I awake simultaneously.

(Muffled)
Brooke: "Brian, GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT OF HERE! DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Brian: "Brooke! (his voice is lower and harder to hear throughout the floor so it kinda sounds like the adults do in Charlie Brown cartoons) BLAH MWa mwa Blah!"
Brooke: "I don't care! I have like 15 to get over and you only have that one guy!"

...and on and on and on in this manner for at least an hour.
After seriously deliberating on whether or not we should phone in a domestic disturbance to the police, Ali and I fall back to sleep.

Flash forward to THE NEXT NIGHT!

I'm awakened by a sound that I can't quite pinpoint. A sound that seems close because our bedroom window is open.
I turn over and Ali is awake.

She asks, "Do you hear that?"
"What? That dog?" I answer.
"I don't think that's a dog," she replies.
Then, it dawns on me. THEY have made up. And for the next 30 minutes we endure CHEAP MOTEL SOUNDS that are worse than the exaggerated ones you hear in movies.

This pattern of fight and make up has continued up until now.

At first this rollercoaster of emotions was kinda fun to experience, like a reality TV soap opera. But as of last night THEIR shenanigans have worn thin on our patience.

Brooke and Brian, if you're reading this, please, please, please, get some counseling or go back to church, or get a divorce. Please just let us sleep. I've got a paintball gun in my closet and I have only slight qualms about letting a coupla rounds go into your yellow Honda accord.

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