Although I am not a basketball fan, tonight it should be noted that the New Orleans Hornets beat the Seattle Hawks 100 to 59.
Why do I mention this? My neighbor who lives on the opposite side of the duplex is a cheerleader for the Hornets. Don't ask me what her name is, I don't know. I say hi to her when she comes and goes, but otherwise my conversations with the members of the living quarters on the opposite side are limited to her informal pet Porch Cat. I can tell you that Porch Cat is definitely the friendliest resident.
Cheerleader has a boyfriend that I had seen once or twice before but had never gotten distinct facial features from. The first time I saw him he was wearing a gold luchador mask and the other time it was the back of his head as they were leaving. I finally got to see his face the other day and he looks like your typical blended Irish. I couldn't help but smile.
The reason for my mirth is that the house I live in, much as I love it, does not have much in the way of sound insulation. As a result a few weeks ago I was privy to various rhythmic bangings, moanings, and groanings coming from next door. Other Brother got the far more of it since his bedroom is opposite hers, but I think the neighbor decided to spice things up a bit by wandering out into the living room.
This recent noise led me to wonder just exactly when it is that they get at it so vigorously. As was proven by the large number of SuperBowl Babies (Drew Brees' family included) winning a game can put you in a good mood. My purely scientific theory is that any time the home team wins, her boyfriend has to let loose some of that winning excitability. I was thus treated to the sounds of some extremely enthusiastic furniture rearranging a few weeks ago, which Cheerleader seemed to enjoy immensely. There was a two to three minute pause and then it started up again.
Now here's the funny bit. Any woman who's ever been married (or even in a serious relationship) can tell you that sometimes you just want to be done. Just like moms can tell what different cries their newborns have, other women can also tell you exactly when the chick is faking it. This is what I got to hear the other night. It amused me because here's this girl who's just gotten home from what is essentially a blue collar job (hard physical labor), probably wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a change out of sweaty clothes and here comes Irish wanting to fool around.
So instead of going right to bed, she figures she's nasty sweaty anyway and may as well get it on so she doesn't have to shower twice (or wake up during a great sleep to be annoyed by a repetitive prodding). Certainly she's grown to expect this over the time of dating Irish and puts aside her needs not for his but for convenience and minimal annoyance. And it's not at all a bad thing because prior to halftime both teams were definitely scoring. Unfortunately, in the second half she loses all momentum and after a few short minutes of hearing what sounds like dubbed porn it's over. And I can guarantee you that during all of it he thought he was MVP.
That's what girls do for you guys, so count your blessings. Whether we're tired, cranky, or just plain not in the mood there are going to be times when we add a little extra noise which nine times out of ten gets taken as proof that yes, you are studmuffin of the universe. We girls know better, and it's probably just as well that most guys can't tell the difference between real and simulated squeakies. It's not that it's not enjoyable either way, it's just sometimes a minute or two of moaning saves you a few hours of irritation on both sides.
The walloping started up a few minutes ago, it's now shortly after midnight.
Wait a minute, tonight's game was an away game.
Oops.
Way to go champ, way to go.
Why do I mention this? My neighbor who lives on the opposite side of the duplex is a cheerleader for the Hornets. Don't ask me what her name is, I don't know. I say hi to her when she comes and goes, but otherwise my conversations with the members of the living quarters on the opposite side are limited to her informal pet Porch Cat. I can tell you that Porch Cat is definitely the friendliest resident.
Cheerleader has a boyfriend that I had seen once or twice before but had never gotten distinct facial features from. The first time I saw him he was wearing a gold luchador mask and the other time it was the back of his head as they were leaving. I finally got to see his face the other day and he looks like your typical blended Irish. I couldn't help but smile.
The reason for my mirth is that the house I live in, much as I love it, does not have much in the way of sound insulation. As a result a few weeks ago I was privy to various rhythmic bangings, moanings, and groanings coming from next door. Other Brother got the far more of it since his bedroom is opposite hers, but I think the neighbor decided to spice things up a bit by wandering out into the living room.
This recent noise led me to wonder just exactly when it is that they get at it so vigorously. As was proven by the large number of SuperBowl Babies (Drew Brees' family included) winning a game can put you in a good mood. My purely scientific theory is that any time the home team wins, her boyfriend has to let loose some of that winning excitability. I was thus treated to the sounds of some extremely enthusiastic furniture rearranging a few weeks ago, which Cheerleader seemed to enjoy immensely. There was a two to three minute pause and then it started up again.
Now here's the funny bit. Any woman who's ever been married (or even in a serious relationship) can tell you that sometimes you just want to be done. Just like moms can tell what different cries their newborns have, other women can also tell you exactly when the chick is faking it. This is what I got to hear the other night. It amused me because here's this girl who's just gotten home from what is essentially a blue collar job (hard physical labor), probably wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a change out of sweaty clothes and here comes Irish wanting to fool around.
So instead of going right to bed, she figures she's nasty sweaty anyway and may as well get it on so she doesn't have to shower twice (or wake up during a great sleep to be annoyed by a repetitive prodding). Certainly she's grown to expect this over the time of dating Irish and puts aside her needs not for his but for convenience and minimal annoyance. And it's not at all a bad thing because prior to halftime both teams were definitely scoring. Unfortunately, in the second half she loses all momentum and after a few short minutes of hearing what sounds like dubbed porn it's over. And I can guarantee you that during all of it he thought he was MVP.
That's what girls do for you guys, so count your blessings. Whether we're tired, cranky, or just plain not in the mood there are going to be times when we add a little extra noise which nine times out of ten gets taken as proof that yes, you are studmuffin of the universe. We girls know better, and it's probably just as well that most guys can't tell the difference between real and simulated squeakies. It's not that it's not enjoyable either way, it's just sometimes a minute or two of moaning saves you a few hours of irritation on both sides.
The walloping started up a few minutes ago, it's now shortly after midnight.
Wait a minute, tonight's game was an away game.
Oops.
Way to go champ, way to go.
Angela says that it is not true. That, therefore, really DOES make me the Studmuffin of the Universe.
ReplyDeleteOMG Heather you are so right and lord knows I have done my fair share of "enthusiastic" moaning even drifting off during the moment to plan what I am doing next lol sad but true hahaha =) you definitely pegged it on this one!
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