3 Things My Boyfriend’s Neighbors Taught Me




He has a beautiful new apartment that he is so incredibly proud of, and of which he is more than deserving. After about seven years of working hard and voluntarily living like the kid who crawls out of the toilet in “Slumdog Millionaire,” my boyfriend now single-handedly composes his own print sports section and is the co-owner of a growing sports news site. Which means, in short, he can live like a quasi-human now.

His neighbors, apparently, cannot.

Five demons live in the apartment next door; three small ones (I guess, I’ve only seen the tiny light-up shoes stomp past the front door) and two big ones.

And here’s what I’ve learned from them so far…

1. Patience is a must, not only as a parent, but as the neighbor of one. No matter how many bodies you hear throwing themselves at the other side of your wall at all hours of the day and night, no matter how much fake-crying, war cries, sacrificial ceremonies or exorcisms you hide under the covers from– breathe. At least you only have to experience it second-hand. Being the one who spawned the clan of devil-clowns means your patience has to be prescribed or bought from a Russian nanny named Hilda. Considering all that, I’m perfectly fine remaining on the other side of the wall, in terror.

Image2. I am not having children until I can house them properly… or in the middle of Siberia. An apartment complex is basically a cheaper dorm room, with thinner walls. And storing your offspring in one is like putting a cocker spaniel in a closet with a dead body. I want my future children to be normal, rowdy kids. That means giving them the environment to finger-paint on the walls out of your field of vision, or plot your demise while making shivs in their tree house.


3. My babysitting format WILL NOT WORK as my parenting format. “Let’s play ‘Movie Theater!’ Okay, make your movie ticket on this piece of paper, take your tiny bowl of popcorn and watch ‘Finding Nemo’ quietly.” No. After hearing what goes on next door to my boyfriend, I’m going to need a Wii Fit and a bouncy house to get my spawn into bed at a decent time each night. My children will be praying for nap time, and I’ll be the most toned, hottest mom on the block.


Thank you, awful, terrifying neighbors! Not only am I waiting ten more years to reproduce, but I also have a new appreciation for my own chaotic living quarters!

And honey, thank you for making me more patient at your house by being patient yourself and making me grilled cheeses.