Women Overhead
One of the many ways that I am strange, or at least non-standard, is the fact that I like apartment living. Don't get me wrong, I've lived in houses and have liked it just fine, but I also enjoy have people in apartments around me. I enjoy hearing the occasional creak or bump, don't know why.
When I lived at Nob Hills Apartments, the walls were painfully thin. I had a neighbor who would periodically blare his stereo. Fortunately, he would only do this for one or two CDs and then go about his business. And double fortunately, we had a surprisingly compatible CD collection. So more likely than not, the CDs he was blaring were mine. I was very pleased to find that we shared a love of Prince.
Not that we talked about it, though. That's the joy of neighbors. They can be there; they can be around, but you don't actually have to pay attention to them if you don't want to.
So the walls in my current place are pretty good. Well, I should say the ceilings/floors. I'm in a great slot. I've got no one to the sides of me, a shop below me (so it's always silent at night) and one person above me. That apartment has changed hands a couple of times while I've been here. There was John. He was a wineshop regular. He was pretty non-existant except for the occasional loud "Thump!" I never asked him what that was. Charlotte was also a quiet one I never noticed until she asked me if her sewing bothered her. It was only after she mentioned it that I realized there was a particular humming and shaking of the ceiling that must have been her machine. However, my current neighbor is the noisiest by far ... and the most fascinating!
We're not talking about your run of the mill apartment sounds: TVs, radios, telephone conversations ... *yawn*! Boring! No, these are weird and interesting. First off ... no fear that I'm ever going to bother her. She seems to have as wacky a schedule as I do. Four in the morning, I can hear her moving around. I was doing some hammering one midnight. I know, I know. That's way too late, but it was really important hammering! Anyway, I was scared it would bother her. I heard her come in at 1:30 a.m. Score! But time is just the gravy! The real benefit is type.
A while back, it started -- the thundering herd. I mean it. I'm sitting, probably perparing for class or somewhat, when this pounding comes from my ceiling. It's like someone is running or stomping around up there. And this is loud, louder than John's thump; my light fixtures are shaking. And I've seen this woman; she's a teeny thing, so how can she be making all this noise? I wonder, is it raucous sex? (I always hope the best for other people, you see.) If so, it's some type of rolling around, crazy, pushing furniture, breaking grandma's vases, stunt sex! I mean, good on ya if you can get it, but I didn't think that was it. It just didn't have the rhythm of boisterous banging.
Finally, one day recently I ran across Mike (or is it David?), who lives across from her. I asked him about the noise.
"What is she doing, rollerskating?"
"No. Salsa dancing."
"Salsa dancing?"
"Yeah, she salsa dances. Every Wednesday at the Outback or someplace. She asked me if I wanted to go with her, but ... that's not really my thing."
Salsa dancing. So I can't hear the music, but I can hear the steps. She's salsa dancing on my head. How cool is that?
... Unless it's not really cool ... unless it's creey ... creepy that I care, that is. I mean, it's her business what she does, why am I so curious? Maybe I'm a freak. Maybe this is all like ... aural stalking or something. I'm sitting here listening to this innocent person all the time like a troll under a bridge.
Okay, great. Now it's not fascinating. Now I'm a shit. Fantastic. Wonderful. I'm gonna go nap.
When I lived at Nob Hills Apartments, the walls were painfully thin. I had a neighbor who would periodically blare his stereo. Fortunately, he would only do this for one or two CDs and then go about his business. And double fortunately, we had a surprisingly compatible CD collection. So more likely than not, the CDs he was blaring were mine. I was very pleased to find that we shared a love of Prince.
Not that we talked about it, though. That's the joy of neighbors. They can be there; they can be around, but you don't actually have to pay attention to them if you don't want to.
So the walls in my current place are pretty good. Well, I should say the ceilings/floors. I'm in a great slot. I've got no one to the sides of me, a shop below me (so it's always silent at night) and one person above me. That apartment has changed hands a couple of times while I've been here. There was John. He was a wineshop regular. He was pretty non-existant except for the occasional loud "Thump!" I never asked him what that was. Charlotte was also a quiet one I never noticed until she asked me if her sewing bothered her. It was only after she mentioned it that I realized there was a particular humming and shaking of the ceiling that must have been her machine. However, my current neighbor is the noisiest by far ... and the most fascinating!
We're not talking about your run of the mill apartment sounds: TVs, radios, telephone conversations ... *yawn*! Boring! No, these are weird and interesting. First off ... no fear that I'm ever going to bother her. She seems to have as wacky a schedule as I do. Four in the morning, I can hear her moving around. I was doing some hammering one midnight. I know, I know. That's way too late, but it was really important hammering! Anyway, I was scared it would bother her. I heard her come in at 1:30 a.m. Score! But time is just the gravy! The real benefit is type.
A while back, it started -- the thundering herd. I mean it. I'm sitting, probably perparing for class or somewhat, when this pounding comes from my ceiling. It's like someone is running or stomping around up there. And this is loud, louder than John's thump; my light fixtures are shaking. And I've seen this woman; she's a teeny thing, so how can she be making all this noise? I wonder, is it raucous sex? (I always hope the best for other people, you see.) If so, it's some type of rolling around, crazy, pushing furniture, breaking grandma's vases, stunt sex! I mean, good on ya if you can get it, but I didn't think that was it. It just didn't have the rhythm of boisterous banging.
Finally, one day recently I ran across Mike (or is it David?), who lives across from her. I asked him about the noise.
"What is she doing, rollerskating?"
"No. Salsa dancing."
"Salsa dancing?"
"Yeah, she salsa dances. Every Wednesday at the Outback or someplace. She asked me if I wanted to go with her, but ... that's not really my thing."
Salsa dancing. So I can't hear the music, but I can hear the steps. She's salsa dancing on my head. How cool is that?
... Unless it's not really cool ... unless it's creey ... creepy that I care, that is. I mean, it's her business what she does, why am I so curious? Maybe I'm a freak. Maybe this is all like ... aural stalking or something. I'm sitting here listening to this innocent person all the time like a troll under a bridge.
Okay, great. Now it's not fascinating. Now I'm a shit. Fantastic. Wonderful. I'm gonna go nap.
posted by - caj at 1:06 PM
2 Comments:
"Hey, Mike told me you like Salsa dancing. Is that true?"
"Where can one salsa dance near here?"
lol,
:)lee
I'm just thrilled you found it was her dancing... we've noticed that the cats often sound like a herd of elephants running amuck (no pussy-footin' 'round our place!) Maybe she's wearing headphones so you can't hear the music? I also appreciate hearing our neighbors most of the time... tho listening to the neighbors watching the Saints game on their porch is a little *ahem* voyeuristic.
-nif
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