Of paper walls and second bathrooms

There are two things about the way people live here in America that I have never understood. a) having only one bathroom per home and b) having paper thin walls between apartments. It shows a complete disregard for privacy -- which is odd, given that this is a privacy-obsessed country.

Right now, the thin walls are pissing me off. My neighbors, a pair of high-pitched, nasal, barely post-collegiate chiquitas (how they afford what they refer to as "the penthouse" -- told ya I can hear everything -- is beyond me. Not that it is a penthouse in actuality -- it's just an apartment on the top floor. It's not a penthouse unless there's a private elevator, in my opinion!) are having a cheesy and loud gathering. Cheesy because they're playing a lot of (now defunct) boy bands and Madonna, and singing -- badly -- along. And I can hear it all clearly. It's nothing short of an aural assault. No wonder their dog is a little neurotic.

Now am debating at what point I can go over and tell them to shut the f...ummm, you know, turn it down a notch. I really don't want to be that neighbor. But it's like being in a dorm again, an experience I have no desire whatsoever to relive. Yes, it was fun when I was 18. But I'm over it now and quite enjoy living like a (somewhat) civilized adult.

If only they had remotely acceptable taste in music -- or could actually carry a tune -- I might be able to stand it. Or join in. But they don't and they can't. And the party sounds lame.

Damn these paper walls! Sigh, at least I have that second bathroom (the small comforts of adulthood scare me sometimes!)