I was going to write this post a few days ago, but then Drunk Monday happened.
I live in an apartment building. I live in an apartment building with very thin walls. This results in my ear being up against the wall quite frequently trying to hear what the neighbors are fighting about, because I’m a nosy little bitch.
That is, until the other day, when I began to wonder what our life sounds like to those people on the other side of the wall.
Do they roll their eyes and laugh when they hear my Rockstar’s Daughter saying, “I’m the queen, and you have to do what I say.”
Do they wiggle their hips when they repeatedly hear the musical non-talents of Motley Crue, which my Rockstar insists on listening to?
Do they wonder at the silence that permeates throughout our apartment when I’m here by myself? And then are they relieved or disgusted when they hear the opening “Da dum dumdumdumdum DUM” of Law and Order SVU and realize that I am, in fact, not dead and am masturbating to Chris Meloni’s lovely face?
This led me to wonder…
Can they hear when my Rockstar and I are engaging in Naked Fun Time? Do they wish they could listen more often or are they thinking in their mind, “Fuckin’ A, give it a rest already.”
Do they ever wonder (as I do) why farting makes the Daughter break out in peels of uncontrollable laughter?
Do they ever wonder if my Rockstar is ever going to actually admit that he loves me, or is he going to continue to stoically remain silent when I tell him, “Love me, dammit!”
Now about Drunk Monday.
I wonder if the neighbors were as surprised as I was when Evan Williams made my Rockstar completely paranoid and had him calling me a “lying cheating cunt”?
Did they cheer when they heard his face make contact with the stove fan he was standing in front of when I smashed my hand into the back of his head when he called me a cunt?
Could they hear my intake of breath when I wondered if I had damaged his perfect nose afterward?
Did they consider calling the popo and reporting a domestic disturbance when he yelled, “Bring it on, Bitch!”
Did the neighbors want to come give her a hug when they heard Sparklebumps sobbing while insisting she wasn’t cheating?
Did they hear how a drunk Sparklebumps got on her own side of the bed after falling asleep on the opposite side? (Because I certainly don’t know how that happened.)
Could they hear the gears in my head working all day yesterday wondering why the hell my Rockstar thought I was cheating on him, and what I could do to prove otherwise?
Did they hear the text message tones of two sober people trying to figure out their future last night?
Were they as relieved as I to hear the bed creak when Rockstar sat down to hold me this morning before he went to work?
( I think I’ll skip the Evan Williams the next time I visit the liquor store.)
P.S. No Sparklebumps was harmed in the making of this post. She has proven to her Rockstar that he was being a drunken dumbshit. His sore face is proof of the corporal punishment he has justly received for calling his girlfriend the “C” word.