unctuous\UNK-chuh-wus\
adjective
1a: fatty, oily b: smooth and greasy in texture or appearance
2: insincerely smooth in speech and manner

I officially desire to spoil someone else’s fun. Not in a nanny nanny boo boo kind of way. I just want to stop it. Plain and simple.

I have reason to believe that new people moved into the apartment right below mine, and that they are boys. They are the kind of boys who listen, repeatedly, to bands Dave Matthews Band and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and anomalous smells emanate from behind their door. They are also the kind of boys that have deep voices which painfully reverberate in the pipes of the radiator in my living room – but the voices only start around 10:30pm on the weekends. They usually leave around midnight, and return around 4:00am. Sometimes they throw up on the stairs and leave cans of beer in the corners.

I know they are most likely recent college grads, and I know that, just a few years ago, I was a recent college grad. I have been to plenty of parties like theirs in apartment buildings just like mine, all over the city. In fact, these parties have started at 10:30pm or later. And, normally, I’d like to think that this wouldn’t be a problem; I have/had more of a social agenda than staying in on Friday nights with my cat. However, today I am a recovering flu victim, and sleep is a precious, precious commodity.

I know I should just take a sleeping pill and put the issue to rest. But I don’t have any sleeping pills. And if I knew I wouldn’t be so unctuous in my manner when I visited their apartment to ask/yell/plead for them to stop their galavanting, well, I would have already “been there, done that.” I can’t join them.

Perhaps I could leave a passive aggressive note on the front door – “Dear Tenants who like to have Parties, You SUCK. Signed, Anonymous.” But that wouldn’t be very effective. It might even make them party more. Perhaps I could give them the likely dates that I might be “in for the night” so they could calendar their escapades around mine.

Ugh, maybe it’s time for a bottle of wine… a vintage for my aging spirit.