We’ve All Been There: Sexual Serenade
You just spent 7 hours hunched over a laptop churning out a 12-page midterm paper. Your eyes are dry, your butt is aching from those wooden slabs they call chairs at your school, and the only thing you have on your schedule for this Thursday evening is catching up on some How I Met Your Mother on your DVR and a large bowl of Pad Thai. You slip into some sweats and curl up under a fleece blanket on the couch with a roommate and let the night of nothingness begin.
Two hours and a package of Soft N’ Chewy cookies later, your other roommate stumbles home with her boyfriend. They plop down on the couch next to you and start telling you about their night. Somewhere between their first beer and the tale of how her pizza fell on the ground, they start getting a little handsy. Soon, he’s running his hands through her hair and nibbling on her ear.
You roll your eyes at the other roommate and pray they’ll head back to her room soon so you can get back to Barney’s antics.
Finally, once Mr. Boyfriend’s hands start moving up your roommate’s skirt, she stands up and drags him to her room. When the door slams behind them, you breathe a sigh of relief that they are finally going to pass out, fire up the DVR and resume your regularly scheduled evening.
All is going well until you start fast-forwarding through some commercials. In the silence you hear laughter coming from the bedroom. It stops for a moment and then the Kings of Leon start flooding out from under the door. You brace yourself for what is sure to come next and turn the show back on, hoping it will drown out the sounds. But it only gets worse.
First it’s a moan.
Then some thumping.
You turn up the volume on the TV but it can’t cover the rhythmic sounds of your roommate’s bed squeaking behind the wall. You’re trying to ignore the screams (seriously, this girl is loud!) and focus all of your attention on Alyson Hannigan, but it’s no use. Your roommate is having a grand old time in the next room and has apparently invited you along for the ride.
“He’s drunk,” your other roommate reasons. “They’ll be done in a minute.” You decide to pump the volume up one more time and wait it out. Only it doesn’t end. And it only gets more uncomfortable.
A loud slap (knowing your roommate’s propensity for spanking) and a squeal send you over the edge. You give up, throw off the blanket, and stomp off to your room. Somehow you can still hear the love birds going – hell, somehow they still are going – so you find your iPod, turn up the volume and fall asleep to the gentle sounds of Kelly Clarkson.
Yeah, we’ve all been there.
Many a-nights (and the entire Dave Matthews collection) have been ruined for us. Such is life with a college roommate.