A few years ago, before I married and bought a house, I lived in an apartment. My neighbors above me were nice people--very quiet and decent. Then they moved out. In moved another couple. They were pretty quiet, too--except when they were copulating, which seemed to happen more regularly than a Seinfeld rerun. And they moved all over the house during their throes--which made escaping the noise all the more difficult. And, man, could they get LOUD. The chick made Maria Callas look like Marianne Faithfull--she could hit some serious peaks. In an attempt to flee this carnal assault, I would crank my stereo--at the time a Tact Millennium, Accustic Arts transport, and pair of Dunlavy Cantatas--which would inevitably piss off the blue-haired spinster next door. I resorted to my old Stax headphones, until they broke and had to be sent back to the factory. It was then that I faced my darkest days: an hour or two of tantric love mewling per day, EVERY day, for the next two months. Caught like a rat, between Pam and Tommy above me and a cane-wielding old battleax beside me. Finally, after about two months, the sonic love barrage stopped--just like that. I later found out that the couple broke up and the chick moved out. Without his little love bunny, the guy shut up and went back to being a relatively normal neighbor. Oh, and the spinster moved out too--leaving me and my stereo to enjoy many high-decibel nights in peace. Until the next couple moved in. But that's a story for another day. :)
