This week left me left gasping in dismay after learning that our yuppie neighbours actually own their David Jones display home apartment. I can no longer desperately cling to the thin hope that they’ll eventually move out. There’s no longer a distant promise to an end of erupting laughter to constant viewings of Friends repeats, loud screeching accusations over whose turn it is to “do the cocktails”, and being forced to listen to the fag hag neighbour’s sex life by proxy of an endless parade of loud, balding 38 year old men wearing sleeveless lycra tops recounting last night’s Gaydar shag.

After chatting with one of our more reasonable neighbours at the pub, it indeed seems that our neighbours bought their apartment and we’re stuck with them until we move out (which we weren’t really planning on doing any time soon). However, I have a new weapon on my side! It eventuates that our good neighbour is head of the body corporate for our apartments, and hates our yuppie neighbours as much as we do. He casually let slip about how unwittingly easy it can be to, say, discover the location of the power board for all apartments, and say, switch off the power to someone’s apartment. Or even turn off their water supply. Let’s try that next time a new Cafe Del Mar compilation is released, I say.

Adam’s keen to buy a stereo system of our own, and blast the noise back at them. In essence, I like the idea, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to play loud, booming bass-y music through the walls of our neighbours. I mean, we do have a perfectly model neighbour on the other side of our place, and I wouldn’t want to bother him (then again, he is a hot Army guy, and might rape me to teach me a lesson. While I’m still listening to Helmet or something blaring out of the speakers! And he is wearing his uniform! And is all sweaty from a hard day’s work of Army-ing! And then Adam comes home and busts him and beats him up! And can you tell I’m still under doctor’s orders not to jerk off and can lapse into sexual hysteria at the drop of a hat and I’ve never gone for two weeks without jerking off and how am I supposed to survive another week without having another embarassing wet dream like I’m a freaking 14 year old boy?)

So I guess we’ll see how the neighbours handle the music. If they do buzz us and complain, I will kindly remind them that it’s no louder than their constant permaelevatormusic Metrofagual FM soundtrack that I’m submitted to. Either that or I’ll probably chuck a balaclava on, jump the fence, throw a nearby Ikea outdoor ornament through their window and punch on - there’s a lot of sexual frustration going on here (Christ, this week I even kept talking about labia in great detail with a straight mate), and I need some sort of outlet…

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 22nd, 2005 at 11:29 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.