My mind is too fuzzy-minded and tired to write this today. I was pulled out of a really good sleep this morning by the sounds of a raucous party happening down the street. I don’t care if they party their little hearts out inside the house, but, not this group, no they decided to take their carousing out onto the sidewalk and street. Rose and I were not amused at all. She grumbled her discontent and went downstairs to find a quieter corner to sleep in. I could not face sleeping on the couch with two cats squeezed between me and the back so I stayed where I was. The partygoers shouted to one another about nonsense that was not even interesting enough to lean my head closer to the window to listen to. Then, my favourite of their party tricks, one of them rode his/her skateboard up and down the street to tremendous hoots of appreciation from the drunken crowd. Finally, someone shouted, “We got to leave. We have to be there by 3:15.” There is a god, there is a god, there is a god, I whispered and hoped they hurried on their way. But, before the retreat could begin, two girls were giggling and shouting right down from my window: “I have to pee right here.” Oh, no, I thought, don’t do that. The other said, “Get in the car. We’ll stop at McDonalds,” a very good suggestion. Is there any other reason to go to McDonald’s?They giggled their way into the black car with black windows. I immediately started to be concerned about their safety for the rest of the night.
Is my crabbiness of this street partying a result of my aging body and intolerant spirit? I need my sleep — so does Rose or she’s unbearable to be around the next day. I can put up with a lot of stuff but not noise at 2:30 am. This morning I could feel my discontent — I was going to say anger but it’s such a strong word — building up in my now wide-awake body. I started to practice righteous speeches to deliver to them about the inconsideration of their group and the fact that this is a residential neighbourhood with elderly people and children who like to have their sleep. I also wondered where I had put that number for the not-serious-but-oh-so-irritating-complaints to the police. Needless to say, all I did do was get up and close the window, take a Tylenol and put two pillows over my ears. It didn’t help.
But who am I to be so righteous? I remember once — well more than once — in my youth having parties where we spilled out into the alley behind our house. One party, in particular, was pretty loud. We were very well lubricated and had Zorba the Greek music playing loudly — it was the late 60s and we were somewhat square — and doing Zorba’s dance from one end of the laneway to the other. It was a lot of fun with much laughter and shouting back and forth. Except, obviously, our neighbours on the side and back and in front did not think it was such fun to hear us shouting at 2 am. Not long into our Opas, two men-in-blue showed up, asked who was throwing this party — it was me and my two roommates — and told us to take it inside and not to make any more noise. We were very chagrined by the whole experience and did meekly what the policeman asked us to do. I’m not sure that would have been the case with this group down the street.
I can only hope that perhaps, maybe, Please-God, there won’t be weekly hoopla’s on the street and I’ll get more sleep. In the meantime, I think I better go out and get a really good pair of ear plugs — and a set for Rose too. Nick doesn’t need them. If he had his druthers, he’d be right out there with that skateboard rider zooming down the street beaming to the cheers from the crowd.