About once a month, we're awakened by the amorous activities of our upstairs neighbors. I haven't met them, but judging from their thunderous love, I imagine that she delivers refrigerators without a dolly and he mixes cement with his penis for a living. You know how in Jurassic park people can tell when the T-Rex is approaching because the water in their glasses starts to quiver? Well, that's how we know they're getting down to business time. Then the whole building starts to tremble, and we're transfixed by our undulating ceiling for the next 27 minutes. I don't know where they found a giant, squeaking, spring-loaded metal bed frame, but they did, and I guarantee that they have knocked its traumatized headboard through the plaster and driven its quaking legs at least half an inch into the hardwood. Good for them.
In other news, we had a little bit of wine and a litte bit of rye this evening. Yaymen.