An Open Letter to my Neighbor, Ken, Regarding the Status of his Relationship

Dear Ken:

Hey! What's up? Besides, you know, your boyfriend having a difficult time keeping penises that aren't yours, away from his bungee.

Look, I know we haven't really gotten to know each other very well yet (I work a lot!) and haven't really chatted much, besides that time I accidentally opened a check that was mailed to you and put in my mailbox (oops!), but I was wondering if I could offer you a friendly word of advice?

Now, before you accuse me of being an Alice Kravitz, I wanted to let you in on a little secret - lean in, let's not let anyone else hear, kay?

Our walls are paper thin! Now, it's good to know that, becauseI now know I shouldn't have loud sex (not that I usually ever do...) in my place, given that the walls are made of rice paper and my windows are in a perpetual state of half-openness... That means sound travels...to your neighbors...

...like the sounds of you shrieking like a five-year-old child, despite the fact that I peg you at about 43 years old.

Here's the deal, Ken - you and your boyfriend, let's call him "Freduardo" have the same fight every other day. You know the one I'm talking about. The one where you're roaring about how if he ever lets another guy fuck him in the ass again, you're done with, and the one where he sobs, and sobs and cries and cries and shrieks "I DIDN'T DO IT!" and then makes up some unbelievable, and clearly unintelligently fabricated story about how his brother used his phone, and that's why there are random guys calling "Freduardo" at all hours of the night, and the story gradually morphs and changes until there was some party involved, and "Freduardo" only met the guy, but didn't do anything with him, he swears, and yhadda, yhadda, and he cries, and tells you you're his dream man, and calls you babe, and sobs, and sobs, and then there's something about "Freduardo's" brother knowing the address and something unintelligible, and then it dies down, and then more screaming (actual screaming) and pounding, and what can only be described as stomping because it makes my house rattle...and then it dies down and gets loud again, and echoes down the breezeway...

You know that fight, right? The one you have EVERY OTHER DAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 PM to 11:30 PM? THAT ONE?!

Psst. Another secret for you, Ken... This isn't normal. It's not a tempestuous relationship you have; it's not stormy or passionate: you boyfriend is a whore, and you're emotionally abusive, and have severe anger management problems. I wouldn't be in the least surprised if one day you throw poor busy-assed "Freduardo" through my bedroom wall. That wouldn't be cool, Ken. That wouldn't be cool.

You're a handsome guy. You're successful, too - hell, you paid 60K more for your place than I did! I don't imagine it'll be any trouble for you to find a new boyfriend after you've kicked "Freduardo" to the curb. Heck, if you weren't my neighbor, I'd be all over you like white on rice.
Oh, except for that whole I'd think you were going to kill me any time we had a fight thing...

What I'm trying to say, Ken, is this: Is this worth it? Really? Is "Freduardo" so fantastic that you're going to stay with him despite his seeming inability to keep the rim of his butthole from wrapping itself around other men's wangs?

Seriously? Okay, well, if you're going to stay with him despite his penchant for plying his well-used trade around Miami Beach, I have two recommendations for you: 1) ALWAYS USE PROTECTION - your boyfriend is a filthy cumdumpster, and lord only knows what kind of creepy-crawlies are festering around his balloon-knot; and 2) if you're going to stay with him even though he's a lying slut, a little acceptance, huh? Develop a sense of humor about it! "Oh, 'Freduardo!' There you go again, fucking other men! You're such a card! Let's make a Fritatta!"

Laughing it off would be far less stressful for me - I'm convinced an expensive Jonathan Adler decorative ceramic is going to come flying through my bathroom mirror while I'm flossing and thanking God I'm not in your dysfunctional relationship, as the soothing sound of your blood-curdling screeches echoes through my "privy," and let me tell you, if I end up with mirror cuts because you can't keep your tabletop accessories firmly planted on their correct surfaces, I'm going to be mighty agitated. Cheese n' crackers!

Okay. That's enough of a sermon for one day. Go forth, and live your life! And tell "Freduardo" he might want to take an Advil and put a coldpack on his eyes - after doing as much crying as he's done tonight, he's going to feel (and look!) like ass tomorrow morning.

I'll come over soon with a "Hey Neighbor!" bottle of wine... after you've dumped your MySpace hooker boyfriend and I'm convinced the possibility of you bludgeoning him to death with a crisp and gifted Sauvignon Blanc has diminished significantly.

See ya in the Elevator!