Squeaking

I used to live on a cul-de-sac wherein the houses were small, on 1/3-acre lots, and far enough apart that you couldn't really hear when the neighbors' kids got an F on their report card or came home drunk. Now we live in one of those "master-planned communities," which is shorthand for, "How many houses can we fit into a square foot of space without it looking like these are apartment buildings?"

As such, we can now hear everything. Behind us and two houses down, the dad is never happy with his kid (or maybe the kid really is just a little shit, I don't know). Across the street, the little girl likes to call her mom a bitch (I can't help but giggle - I kind of agree with her). And two doors down, they have sex every Thursday night around 11p.m. See, when I'm up reading my book or my blogs late on a schoolnight, I tend to leave my windows open. I like the cool breeze, and I prefer the cold in general (I live in the Northwest for a reason, and it ain't the Space Needle). But every Thursday around 11p.m., I hear: squeak-eak-squeak-eak-squeak-eak, squeak-eak, squeak-eak, squeak...eak, squeak...eak...squeeeeak...squick. We all know what that sound is, and we all know that no one is running on the treadmill at 11 at night or Windexing windows or polishing tires or whatever the hell people do that makes squeaking noises. Bitches be fuckin'.

 Now, far be it from me to judge. DH and I have certainly done our share of open-windowed squeaking. This post is simply commentary on the different TYPES of squeaking that occurs outside of your own relationship. There's camping-squeaking. This is the kind where you hear, amongst the crickets, nightbirds, and silence of the great outdoors: "Oh yeah...oh yeah...uh...uh...YES!" And you have to resist the overwhelming urge to applaud.

There's neighbor-squeaking: Wherein you don't actually hear anything, but happen to notice your neighbor's naked ass smushed up against their window when you happen to look out yours.

There's car-squeaking: when the car next to yours in the back of the Costco parking lot is suspiciously devoid of people in the front seat but is rhythmically rocking back and forth anyway.

There's airplane-bathroom squeaking: when you don't really hear anything (damn planes are LOUD) but two people manage to squeeze themselves out of the bathroom.

I know there are more, I just haven't had the pleasure (ahem) of experiencing them. Now if you'll excuse me, DH and I have some squeaking to do. (With the DOG toys, you sick bastards. Playing fetch. What the hell did you think I meant?)