In general, I don't complain about noise in my apartment. I bought my ticket moving to the LES...I knew what I was getting into. I don't want to be the whiny jackass complaining about noise when I'm living in party central. Also, my roommate falls asleep to the sounds of diesel trucks, so whining from me is particularly absurd.
The domestic partner's room faces the street. My room is on an airshaft. There is pretty much never any natural light in my room, or, as I like to call it: The Bat Cave. I'm thinking of getting those lightbulbs that stimulate sunlight to ward off SAD, my favorite imaginary disease.
Life on an airshaft is interesting. You learn all sorts of things about people you never see. There is a gentlemen that struggles so with a perpetually runny nose and hacking cough, and if I could discover what building and apartment number he was, I would surely go over with a lovely cup of hot tea so that I could stop falling asleep to the sounds of his hacking.
This morning I woke up to the sounds of a female having a very pleasant time. Thing is, she happened to fall into that category of women who orgasm like they're dying. In my beverage-induced sleep, I thought death was imminent, and was reaching for my cellphone to call 911 when I finally realized this was no emergency at all. Airshaft love is great for some people (3 times for the dying orgasmer!) and although I don't know who she is, I think I do know what she's thankful for.