At some point last year, I was lying blissfully asleep in LT's apartment, when his upstairs neigbors came home. It was after 2 AM. You could hear them talking and laughing...which was OK. Then you could hear them plugging in their guitars and amps and beginning a jam session. With a full drum kit and amps up to LOUD. I endured this for about two minutes before I realized I was just no longer fighting with myself about it. Upstairs I went, clad only in sweats and PJ pants.

When the kid upstairs opened the door, I just looked at him. And he just said "...Sorry." I went back downstairs and all was quiet after that.

It was at that moment that I accepted the mantle of OLD.

It was at that moment that I accepted the mantle of OLD.

I've had the exact same situation at least 20 times in my life so far, only horizontally instead of vertically.

And all I have is this stupid mantle of COLLEGE STUDENT.

Glad to know things might not change even after I graduate :P.

I just limped out on the porch and looked in the windows. There's a pretty serious wingding happening. they got lights on and throb-throb-throb dance music going. If it wasn't colder than Nanook's Nutsack outside, i'd go out on the porch and blare old butt-rock or polka or shit-kicking country just to drive them away. With any luck, our oft-heralded octogenarian Greek landlady will get at them soon. I'd pay to see that. I heard they're 'actors' these people. Figures. Act like respectful neighbors, then.

I may hold a glass to the wall to eavesdrop on them or something. Maybe one of them will get lucky and I'll have some entertainment. Of course, I shouldn't complain I guess, this is as close to a social occasion as I've experienced in a month.

Funny how you phrase it..like they're being to loud but you have to strain to hear them. Reminds me of "the food at this place is awful! And such small portions!"

But I find that I've entered the age of being grouchy at people having more fun than me. Last year our neighbour's teenage daughter had friends over in their backyard one sunny summer afternoon while our kids were playing in our backyard. Bunch of teenage girls on cellphones, swearing like crazy, wafts of hash coming over through the fence (they were doing bottle tokes! Downtown Toronto semi-detached house, very close together) and it all just seemed really trashy to me and I was going to say something until my wife reminded me of all the shit we did at our parents' homes when we were that age. So I guess it's some kind of Karma but it still sucks.

heard they're 'actors' these people. Figures. Act like respectful neighbors, then.


HA.

I say crash the party. Everyone tomorrow will be like "who was the crazy cast guy? With the beer cans? What was up with that dude?"

It's really weird that I can hear them best when I'm on the toilet. Makes me feel like they're mingling around me as I make dooty.

I eavesdropped with a beer glass. All i could make out was giggles and a lot of "Omigod!" which is the International sign for imbecile, I believe.

I say start making monster noises or just start crying or laughing really, really loud.

I was worried before we moved in to our house that we'd hear stuff from the apartment building next door since the we're attached to that building but we've never heard a thing. It's actually pretty quiet here in the inner city.

Y'know, there was a MeFi meetup in Manhattan tonight. Maybe they heard that I couldn't attend because of my injury, decided to bring it out here to me and went to the wrong house by mistake.

I bought a house specifically to get away from loud fuckers in apartment buildings. Only to move next door to six barky-ass dogs who reside eight feet from my bedroom window.

mct: were in a row house (rear view from my back porch). these people are in the row house next door. Some wing ding. From the sound of things they've moved onto the dancing or light carpentry.

If you can hear them, they can hear you. I recommend loud farting noises.

jonmc, your apartment must have been built in the late 1970s by planners from the Polish People's Republic because the acoustics of our bathroom are pretty much as much of a secret listening post as yours is...

I'm not sure if this is an "old" thing or a "cranky New Yorker" thing but when some guy tried to pull the "My credit card machine is busted" trick on me, I Tweeted his medallion number. If I weren't about to have dinner with a male friend at an authentic Sardinian restaurant, I would have called 311 on the spot to report him at the end of my ride.

And then there was the cabbie who insisted that taking the Williamsburg Bridge to Nostrand Ave. was faster getting home around 10 am to Bed-Heights/Crown-Stuy. Oh really? Because Google tells me taking the Manhattan Bridge is 3 min. faster. (Then again, maybe it felt slower to me because I've never taken that route before.)