Open letter to our downstairs neighbors, in anticipation of the Super Bowl

Dear neighbors:

By and large you are a lovely couple to live above. I remain grateful that you tolerate my child's occasional bouts of "dancing" (repeatedly throwing himself on the floor) and that you seem to be happy, well-adjusted, and not abusing each other. Sure, you like throwing parties, but as long as the racket is celebratory and does not leave us wondering if we should call the police, we say: carry on with your crazy young lives!  

But once football season fell upon us, I have grown increasingly puzzled by your behavior during games. (Matches? Bouts? What are these things called, again?) I must admit that my husband and I, as well as our son, are not exactly "les amateurs de sports," as the French would say. Oh, sure, we enjoy the occasional game of catch-the-ball, and sometimes we play toss-the-frisbee-and-then-CRINGE-AND- DUCK-when-it-is-returned-because-those-things-hurt. But when it comes to watching any activities wherein people fling themselves into other people and try to make their way in one direction or another on a given field, we know little or nothing. Oh, sure, we've attended Super Bowl parties, but that was only for the queso dip. Who can say no when queso dip is involved? And then we've fallen asleep near the queso dip until the host has asked us to leave. Which we have. (After we got the rest of the queso dip into the tupperware container we brought with us in case there was any queso dip left.)

At any rate, as I said, we have some questions, and as we are anticipating that our puzzlement will only increase this Sunday, we'd like to approach the day with some measure of understanding.

First of all, you're going to scream a lot, aren't you. Don't answer that. I didn't even put a question mark on it. We both know the answer is yes. You're going to scream a whooole bunch. Is "bunch" a unit of screams? Don't answer that either. Conserve your energy for the real questions.

Now: While I'm sure it feels good to cheer on your team, you know the players cannot hear you, yes? I'm just making sure. Do you think that if you yell loudly enough you might be helping in some way? This worries me. I'm worried for you.

Also: you do realize it's not you who's playing, right? Because I must tell you, the waves of euphoria shimmering up through our floorboards while you whoop it up seems to indicate that you believe that you are somehow responsible for your team's goal-making. Do you believe that you're remotely projecting yourself onto the field and invisibly whisking your heroes toward their objective? Again: just curious. Also concerned.

And if you're so happy, why is there so much cursing? I can understand the hooting and hollering (sort of), I even get why maybe you might feel the need to stomp on the floorboards until the building shakes (not really), but why must you then cry out "HOLY FUCKING FUCK THE MOTHERFUCKING BITCH FUCK ME OH MY FUCK"?! (I am paraphrasing.) You seem to be fairly even-keeled otherwise, so what is it about SPORTS! that makes you lose your mind and also educate my child even more than he gets educated around here whenever I step on the cat?

Hey, did you hear during that last game, how I was upstairs shouting, "Sports! SPOOOORTS!"? Scott was annoyed me for doing that, but I was highly amused by my joke and wanted you to be as well. I really don't mind that you love your sporting things. I am pretty sure you're insane, but whatever. You're not murdering each other, and this is all I care about.

Finally: will there be queso dip?

Love,
Alice

Now she's writing to a month. Oh dear me.

Dear March,

I'm just going to come right out and say it: you annoy me. You're sort of cold but not really cold but not warm enough to not wear a jacket but not the heavy jacket. Take a stand, March! Figure out what you want to be! You want to be winter, fine; I won't like it but at least I'd respect your choice. Or how about spring? You could be spring! Think of how much everyone would like you then! You'd be stealing the glory from April, but then, we all know what April can be like. Frankly I like her only a little more than I care for you. At least with April we get some flowers. Some budding on the trees. Something. What do we do have to look forward to from March? Shamrock Shakes? You can do better than that. Work on it, March!

I'm just looking out for you,

Alice

Hey Alice,

DANG, that is harsh. I guess you're right, though. I am super super lame. Dang. (Did I say that already? Duh, March, there it is.)

I want to make me better for you but I don't want to mess things up, you know? I was thinking, maybe I should warm up, like you said, but then I thought, uh, is that a good idea? Because of like global warming and stuff? See, I can't tell! I need like an advice-or or something like that. Someone who gives me advice? Advicor? That’s the word? I don't even know. I should have a dictionary or read a dictionary.

I wish I had never been created. By those Romans or whatever. Everyone's all talking trash about me, wishing I was April or May or even February. At least then you get chocolate.

But hey, I do have the first day of spring, even if I can't get it as warm as a princess like you would like. And what about Easter, which I got this year? That's chocolate-bunny day! Because Christ was born and he gave the Wise Men bunnies, and the bunnies turned to chocolate! Was that the story? Yeah! And don't knock St. Patrick's Day which is pretty much the Number One Holy Day for the Irish. You're going to piss off a whole race with your Shamrock-Shake talk. I got things going for me! Now that I think about it!

Suck on that!



--MARCH!

Six is easier, right? Don't tell me it's not.

Dear Five and a few months:

I love you, but you're too much. Can you tone it down a little?

Curious,

Your Mother

---

Dear Mom,

I can smell it down a little. In my butt. I can butt it down a buttle.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Buttle! Butt smell! My butt smells, get it? Like there's a nose on it? Get it? Did you hear that?

Nose butt. Butt nose. Fart fart nose butt smell stink.

Love,

Five and a few months

---

Dear Five and a few months,

I think you lost track of my original request. If you'll recall, I asked you to tone it—

---

Hey Mom! Hey!

TRANSFORMERS! TRAAAANS-FORM-ERRRRRS! Pshhhew pshhhew phssshew! Why don't transformers have butts? Butts that smell? Ha ha ha transformer butts. Know what? I have a new Transformer that I just now made up, and you know what? Do you know what? Know what? His name is Butt-tron! No, wait, FARTRONIC.

Ha ha ha haahaaaaaaaaaaaiiiighhhhaaaahahahaha—

Love,

Five and a few months

----

Dear Five, etc.:

I don't know how you managed to interrupt me while I was writing a letter, but it appears you have the power to do so. You have many powers. Including the power to drive me up a wall. And yet you can be so charming! Truly, you are an enigma.

Cautiously,

Your mother

---

Dear mom:

So you love me, but sometimes I make you annoyed? That's complicated.

Love,

Five and a few months.

---

Dear Five-ish:

See? Like that! All of a sudden you're all thoughtful and calm, like that! Okay! Now maybe we can talk about—

---

Hey Mom!

Remember that time we went to the pool with the sprinkler ? And that boy was there? Remember that boy? That boy whose shorts were blue, he kind of looked like Tyler, in my class, who I like but I'm not friends with or, like, not best friends , because he plays Power Rangers and I don't play Power Rangers, I only play Star Wars at school with my other friends, well, sometimes Tyler plays Star Wars but still he's not really my friend, and you know what? The, uh, the boy, not Tyler but the, uh, the other boy, the boy from the uh, the pool, remember that pool? Well he told me he had this kind of… toy, I can't remember what it's … called, but I think it's like Legos, but not really the same…I don't know. So he has it at his house and could we go there, maybe?

Could we go there now? I think we should go there now.

Five and a few months.

---

Dear son:

We cannot go there now, because I am going to bed. Wake me when Six shows up.

Love,

Mom

I feel so violated.

Dear cat:

I'm sorry we forgot to get you spayed. The good news is it's happening tomorrow. Meanwhile, don't look at me like that. I like you, but not in that way.

Fondly,

Your owner (but not lover)

Dear sexy, sexy human:

You are one hot number, did you know that? You don't have sleek fur covering your weird body, and you can't even cleanse your hindquarters with your probably un-barbed tongue, but… I don't know. There's something about you. I never noticed before today. But now I have these feelings, and I can't ignore them.

I will waggle my hindquarters in the air, and let nature take its course.

Patiently, your cat,

Izzy

Dear Izzy,

Shall I lock you in the basement overnight?

Love,

Alice

Dear Charlie,

Aw, yeah. I don't care how much of a non-cat you are, you are working this dog thing, and me likes. Do you know what you're doing to me, with that tail, and those eyes, and the way you stand there, paralyzed in terror, whenever I come around? Don't be afraid, baby. I got needs, and you're the closest thing to perfect within these four walls. You know where to find me.

Rowr,

Izzy

Cat-Thing--

Hey! What! I don't undersand when you talk about this and with the cat-butt in the air and what! It, you know, it's scary enough when you swat and hiss and poke and hiss and swat! Hey! But now I have to say I can't really handle this! Wow! I sure am very very very nervous! Where are my beloveds! My giant pink beloveds! Save me from cat-beast! SAVE!

Running,

Charlie

Hey baby,

You're the only one left, and time is running out. Tomorrow they take out my feelings, my hot cat needs, but tonight, tonight is for you and me. The dog, that coward, is hiding with the other non-cats, and I can't get at him. But you, you don't run away. You stand tall and strong, and I like that. Now MOUNT ME.

Thank you,

Your kitty cat.

ANIMAL:

No understand, me. Is confuse! Why you writhe and shimmy against I? What have you reason for chirruping? Cannot act. Cannot help! Want to, would like, but no working I is parts for moving. Am non-moving, but not non-feeling. So sorry.

Love,

COFFEE TABLE

Dear Alice,

Where are you going with this? Yes, we get it, the cat's in heat, you're getting her spayed. Better late then never, although some of us think spaying is evil and your cat should mate with wolves or whatever. We can't help it, some of us are kooks. Do you have any plans to wrap this up?

Love,

The Internet

Dear Internet,

No, I don't have any ideas, I'm sorry. I didn't think this through.

Yours,

Alice

Hey, Internet,

As long as you're here, HELP A CAT OUT GODDAMMIT.

Hugs 'n' stuff,

Izzy.