an open letter to the BC boys downstairs

Dear BC Boys,

We need to talk. About the bass coming out of your subwoofer. Now I love bass. I always have. But there is a time and a place for booming bass lines. When you foolishly decide that the time and place is ALWAYS and IN THE SAME HOUSE WHERE I LIVE, you violate the order of things, and ruin the bass line experience for the rest of us. So here are some things you need to know:

1. The songs you're listening to are terrible. All I hear is repetitive, unimaginative garbage. Get some taste. Expand your musical horizons. And for the love of GOD, if you're going to listen to a song on repeat while salivating over how wonderful the bass sounds, PONY BY GINUWINE IS THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE CHOICE.

2. It's currently 12:15 p.m. on a Saturday. Outside it is snowing. Our street, despite being the craziest BC party street in this area, is silent. All the other BC juniors are still sleeping off their hangovers. No one else will be awake until at least 2 p.m. to begin the process of rehydration and scrubbing Sharpie genitalia off their faces. WHAT ARE YOU DOING shaking our house with bass at this hour? Gatorade will rehydrate you. Nail polish remover will rub the Sharpie off your face. You would know these things if you'd spent the night partying like a normal undergrad instead of sitting alone in the living room being proud of the bass coming out of your subwoofer. And while you're at it, buy some blinds or curtains so the whole neighborhood can't see you all the time. It's weird that you wave at me every time I walk inside from parking my car.

3. You're scaring the crap out of my kitten. The wood floors vibrate through her little white paws, and she looks at me like the world is ending and will I please save her. Despite being a cat, not a lot scares my kitten. She's the kind to walk up to a brand new person, snatch an ice cube out of his drink, and proceed to play hockey with it for 10 minutes. DON'T SCARE HER.

4. Do not play anything by Florida Georgia Line. That's strictly girl music, and it's weird when you try to appropriate it into your world.

5. Some of us have jobs. Some of us have class. But all of us have things that we need to do on a semiregular basis that start at specific times, which means we have to go to bed at certain times in order to be conscious. I'm not asking for you to go to bed at 10 pm because my roommate does. I'm just asking you to turn to bass down so she can put on headphones at 10 pm and not still be kept awake BY THE FACT THAT HER BED IS SHAKING FROM YOUR BASS.

6. We've knocked on the door and asked you to turn down the bass, and you've been quite receptive to this (when you can hear us knocking, which is rarely, given the bass). But I think you're missing the point. Your bass should never be up that high. Your stereo should never be up that loudly. It's unnecessary. My roommate has a super nice subwoofer, and when she blasts music, it sounds LOUD and INCREDIBLE, and I can feel the floors vibrating... IN HER ROOM. On the second floor of this house. When I go upstairs to my room on the third floor, I can't hear it or feel it. If I can hear and feel your music from 2 floors away, you have it on so loud that YOU can't even really hear it because the bass is rattling all your dishes and the melody is reduced to a whine at a frequency only some animals can hear. That is completely unnecessary. Who are you trying to impress, playing music so loudly that you yourself can't enjoy it? You're missing the point. We shouldn't have to ask you to turn it down. You should be checking with us before turning it up for the occasional party, because COLLEGE. We went to it. We get it.

7. You're probably going deaf by this point. Get it checked out.

8. You now have the bass on in the house, as well as in your jeep, which is parked in the driveway. Now my ears are melting at the double assault of this unintentional mash-up of epic douche proportions. CUT. THE. SHIT. And watch Pitch Perfect, so you know how to do a mash-up correctly.

I hope this helps educate you on the acceptable way to enjoy bass. You just put on a Guns'n'Roses song, so perhaps all hope is not lost.

XOXO- Your upstairs neighbor

Gym Pet Peeves: Judgmental Treadmill Ladies

Judgmental ladies on zero resistance piss me off. You know what I mean. I didn’t specify what area of the gym because you find these ladies everywhere, but there is an epidemic of them in the cardio room, so that’s the example I’ll use.

Picture this: You’re on the treadmill, stationary bike or elliptical, they are right next to you. You’re hauling ass on some insanely high level of resistance, and to the outside world, you appear to be trudging through a mixture of mud, quicksand and molasses. Sometimes it looks like you’re barely moving. Sweat pours down your face. You look like you’ve had the crap kicked out of you. The lady next to you is going buck wild, flying along at a dizzying pace on level .0001. There is nothing wrong with this. To each her own.

But then she leans over and looks at you in her judgy-faced glory, eyes narrowed, lip curled, eyebrows raised, thought bubble above her head containing the words, “Wow, I’m going soooo much faster than you.” You had to go there, didn’t you? Now that you have my attention, I can look at the numbers on your machine and see that I’m working 79,000 times harder than you because I’m 79,000 times stronger, yet you judge me? You somehow think you’re better? Guess what? You’re not pushing yourself. Know how I can tell? You have NO resistance on the machine, and you have enough mental and physical energy to give me the stink-eye. Crank it up a notch and mind your own business.

The worst thing is, it is impossible to ignore these ladies. I’m not talking about the ones who glance over at your machine occasionally. I’m talking about the obnoxious ones who lean over too far and won’t give it up. You can look at my machine all you want if it makes you happy. The issue is that they don’t give it up. If you ignore them, they get bolder. They lean closer towards your machine. I make a big show of looking at the TV in the opposite direction, checking my watch, drinking my water, yet they won’t let up until I make eye contact just to get them out of my personal space.

I have experienced some success with the following reaction. Be warned, this is not for the faint of heart. This is for dealing with a first class obnoxious bitch who really won’t leave you alone. Allow her to give you the condescending eye. Wait 10 seconds. Then look at the numbers on her machine. Don’t glance. Turn your entire face, partially turn your shoulders, and stare at the digital display on her machine for at least 6 seconds. Then, do the same thing with your own machine. Look at her legs, pretending to gauge the pace. Look down at your own legs. Look at some spot in between both sets of legs, so you appear to be comparing the respective paces. Look back at her numbers. Look at your own. Raise your eyebrows, curl your lips into a hint of a smile, and nod slightly.

If you follow my instructions perfectly, the following thought bubble will appear over your head:

“Hmm… No wonder your legs are moving so much faster than mine… You have your machine set at the easiest level. Well, good for you, joining a gym for the first time. We all had to start somewhere.” 

What is up with cilantro?

What is up with cilantro? Can we just take a minute to discuss how thoroughly obnoxious cilantro is? It stays fresh for roughly 2.4452 seconds before devolving into a pea-green mushtastic situation that leaks all over the rest of the vegetables in the crisper and renders them unusable. What the hell, cilantro? I wouldn't have as big a problem with it if cilantro were more consistent, but no. Cilantro has an agenda. If I buy cilantro on Monday, and intend to use it on Wednesday, the cilantro mushifies by Tuesday. If I buy it on Monday and intend to use it on Tuesday, it mushifies by Tuesday morning. If I buy it on Monday and intend to use it on Friday (why I'd ever do this I don't know, but hey, stupider things have happened), IT STAYS FRESH UNTIL THURSDAY NIGHT and then... nuclear mushsplosion. What's your problem, cilantro? Do you have it out for me? What did I ever do to you? My brother has a vendetta against you, but I've always stood up for you. This is how you repay me? If I didn't love guacamole so much I'd dump your mushy ass so fast...

I hate being a grown-up.

I hate taxes, bills, and the way I have to tip-toe around life for fear my financial situation will collapse even further.

I hate stretch marks, freckles, and the fact that I can no longer have 5 drinks, 2 slices of pizza, and half a bag of Sour Patch Kids with minimal consequences.

I hate being hit on by obnoxious 22 year-old guys, yet somehow, they are magnetically drawn to me. Like mosquitos.

I hate the way the dust never seems to go away completely because by the time I'm finished cleaning one part of the room, new dust has appeared in the part I cleaned five minutes ago.

I hate loans, APR, carbohydrates, and that the only consistent thing I can count on my body to do is become less efficient with age.

I hate that when things make me so angry I could punch through a window, I can't do anything about them because I'm a grown-up, and it's not okay to punish people who double park, cut you off in traffic, cut in at the last second when you've been waiting in the long line of cars for 20 minutes, and are generally incompetent useless fools as you see fit.

I hate being a grown-up.