Sleepless in Portland

Hey.

You don’t really know me.  I mean, I met one of you briefly, but I am pretty sure you were…indisposed at the time, so does that really count?  But see, I know a lot about you.

To the best of my knowledge, there are three of you.  Two females and one male.  One of the females we’ve lovingly nicknamed The Laugh, because it sounds like a cross between a dodo bird and a hyena.  And it’s constant.  You know what?  Nothing is that funny.  Unless you’re flying high on life, I suppose.

It seems as though all three of you have some sort of unique locomotion disorder where you’re required to wear lead-soled moon boots at all times – even in the middle of the night.  Of course, it also doesn’t help that the floors/ceilings in this place are creakier than a Disney Haunted Mansion and thinner than the skin of an 80 year old woman.  For that, you get a little bit of slack.  A little.

You all have amazing stamina, what with your alternative sleep schedules.  Quiet one night, up screaming until midnight another night and then up again five hours later to argue about how uncomfortable your moon boots are.  Or there was last night, when you chose to dance around intermittently between the hours of 2 and 4am.  Look, if you’re going to have a dance party, the least you could do is invite us.  It’s only the polite thing to do.  Instead, I was jolted awake and torn apart from my dreamland boyfriend, Jake Gyllenhaal (Bubble Boy had been on Comedy Central that day.  I assure you, he was much hunkier in my dream than he was in Bubble Boy.  Complete with stubble.), and every time I was just about to drift off and rejoin him, your moon boots again met the ceiling directly above my head.

Speaking of parties, do you remember that fateful night we met?  Your dance moves were so synchronized that we watched our ceiling flex inward several inches, and it was then that we knew we had to meet.  I can only guess that your excitement at having visitors was the cause of you fumbling to get your door open to greet us!  Let’s be honest – your glistening eyes gave you away. We totally understood when you didn’t invite us in – I mean, you can only really play Twister with a limited number of people.

We wish that sometime you’ll take the time to get to know us.  For instance, we enjoy sleeping uninterrupted for about 8-9 hours during the night.  Every night.  We also like being able to hear our television at a reasonable volume.  When we can, we pride ourselves on helping others, so please let us know if you need help removing those moon boots.  I know a guy who gets things done.

So please, don’t be strangers.  Or do – we imagine that your progressive and carefree lifestyle will lead you to new and exciting places, and who are we to stand in the way of that?

Sincerely Yours,

Sleepless in Portland

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The Apartment Next Door

Recently our next door neighbors in the apartment complex moved out, and about a week after that we saw somebody new moving furniture in.  We weren’t sure that our new neighbors are actually living next door yet because we haven’t run into them, but two nights ago I figured I had my answer.

Our bedroom wall is shared with these neighbors, and it’s actually the same wall that our heads are right up against as we sleep. That night I woke up with a start and looked at the clock.  1:45 am.  I laid there and listened and I heard nothing, so I rolled over and went back to sleep with the mental note to talk to Brian about switching our bedroom and office, since the office doesn’t share walls with any other tenants.  I was concerned that our apparently noisy new neighbors were going to continue to interrupt my sleep.

Just moments before I looked at the clock, I heard a little boy whimpering and crying for his mom.  After a bit I then heard him ask a question about “what was under there,” and heard his mom mumble something through the wall.  Sounded like a kid getting scared in the middle of the night after moving into a new, strange place.

In the morning, after I slammed my hand onto the snooze button for the second time, I asked Brian if he heard the little boy.

“What little boy?”  He asked.

“…you know, he was crying last night in the apartment next door.  They must have a kid.  You didn’t wake up?”

“Nope.  And I don’t think anyone is living next door.”

“But I heard them!”

“…have you seen them?”

(in my small voice) “…nooo.”

And we still haven’t seen anyone come in or out of the apartment next door.