Apologies in Advance to My Mother.
The week since I got back from PA has been hectic with training for my new job, including a retreat with the rest of the program staff for this year. I am excited to work with ambitious and passionate young organizers and overwhelmed at the work ahead of me.
But what I actually wanted to blog about is an odd occurrence that took place earlier this week. As previously mentioned, I was gone for a few days and, well, Andrew missed me, and I him. So we were doing a little, er, reuniting, when I heard the familiar sound of bedsprings above us. And two voices moaning. Hmm, I thought. Interesting coincidence. Also, *immature snickering*.
Later on that night, when Andrew and I were, ahem, going for a double play, I heard it again while we were still at bat: the knocking of a headboard against a wall and ecstatic noises above us, louder this time. I have a much harder time believing this time that the timing is merely coincidental. What is this? An homage? A competition? Our upstairs neighbors are either high-fiving or trying to one-up us.
The feeling was strange. I was simultaneously weirded out, aroused, and embarrassed. Because our neighbors can clearly hear us below them, and this doesn’t seem to bother them. Rather, it seems to excite them, either on a voyeuristic or competitive level. But the thing is, we have to coexist in the same building in less erotic situations, and, really, how do you act around your neighbors after this sort of thing when you run into each other at the mailbox? I don’t know whether to avert my eyes or wink.
The good news is, after the boring-sounding sex the previous tenants — who insisted when we invited them down once that they never heard a sound from downstairs, though we certainly heard their rapid bed squeaks and an eerie lack of human vocalization on a semi-regular basis — our new neighbors have a much more exciting-sounding repertoire. And if I have to listen in on the show, I’d much rather it was a tour de force. Frankly, our old neighbors just kind of depressed me.
Still, it’s an awkward situation. I now find I’m editing myself, employing pillows or avoiding certain positionsthat lend themselves to headboard knocking in order to baffle our own noise somewhat, because it really is embarrassing to know that our congress is a) audible to our neighbors and b) likely to inspire them to holla back. What would you do in this situation?
(Before writing this entry, I wasn’t sure I could be more embarrassed than I was earlier this week. However, having put this all down for everyone, including my mom to see, I really just pray to every deity in known mythology that she NEVER. EVER. mentions this entry in casual conversation.)