Sunday Confessions: Never Again

The other day, I decided to check out my Facebook timeline from a few years back.  Usually, I find something that sparks a fond memory when I do this.  This Facebook creeping on myself incident did not exactly bring up a fond memory, but it certainly did bring up a weird one.  

December 16, 2009:  Dear Drunk Neighbors, Shut the hell up!!!!!

Considering the fact that almost 4.5 years have passed and I have lived in various locations (same town but different locations), I had to think for a second after reading my typed words before realizing exactly which neighbors I was talking about.  After just a few seconds of pondering, it came to me.  It was those douche bags that lived directly above me when I lived in that creepy A-frame apartment building.  

The aforementioned apartment was my the first apartment I had in college.  Sure, the building was a little bit odd looking, but I didn't care because I was living with my good friend Hillary, and I knew we would have a blast.  What we didn't know is how big of idiots our neighbors would be.

A week or so passed before I had my first interaction with one of these neighbors.  It was sometime in the afternoon.  My fiance was over at my apartment that day.  He looked out the window of my kitchen and saw a shirtless man sprawled out on the ground of the gravel parking lot.  Yes, gravel.  My fiance pointed out the window and said something like, "There's a shirtless guy laying in the parking lot.  Do you think he's okay?"  We decided it would be best that we checked on the guy.  

If finding this dude laying in the gravel was weird, what happened next was even more bazaar.  My fiance walked outside, said something like, "Hey, Man.  Are you okay?"  I swear to God, the guy stood up as quickly as a clown in a jack-in-the-box toy, walked toward my fiance, shook his hand, and introduced himself.  It was as if he was trying to convince us that he wasn't shit-faced and enjoying an afternoon siesta in the middle of a gravel parking lot.

As I watched this interaction unfold, I thought to myself, That's really creepy.  I hope that guy doesn't live here.  He then proceeded to inform us that he lives directly upstairs with his roommates and that we are totally welcome to party with them sometime.  At that moment, I knew that I was totally screwed. 

Throughout the school year, the neighbors invited Hillary and I to party with them a couple of times--all of which we declined.  We never went to one of their so-called parties, but that doesn't change the fact that we could always hear their parties.  Thank you, paper thin walls, for not blocking out any sounds whatsoever.  

I'm convinced that these guys really had zero friends, because I rarely saw very many cars in the parking lot on their "party" nights.  From what we could hear, most of the time it was just a handful of drunk dudes listening to really crappy music turned up at full blast.  Party on, neighbors.  Party on.

Having reminisced on that year of sharing a building with those guys, I'm really glad that I stumbled upon that old Facebook status of mine.  It reminded me of how far I've come--well, at least in the sense of living situations.  Thank God I don't have to live below those assholes anymore, or in any college apartment for that matter.  Never again.