The Stuff I Hear Through My Walls

You know that old saying "if walls could talk?"

Well, mine do.

Or at least, any and every person outside who may be in a 200 yard radius talks. Loudly.

If my walls were a celebrity, they'd be Kate Moss. Or Nichole Richie. Or Perez Hilton after the diet and drugs. Paper. Freaking. Thin. (PFT)

I have a great house location. I can leave my house at 8:53 and make it to my class by 9:00. People would pay tons of money to live in our location. (Oh wait, we already do..thanks Bob).

However, there are some drawbacks.
My PTF walls seem to do the opposite of noise cancellation and instead help outside sounds reverberate around my room. It would seem to be a cool spy technique; if only I were Harriet the Spy and discovered secret meetings in the Chi-O parking lot next to my window where assassins plot a professor's pending murder. Their hushed whispers would be then picked up by my PFT walls, each word of their plan echoing through my room as I furiously transcribe their plot in one of those spotted cow-looking notebooks. I would save the day. People would chant my name. All thanks to my PFT walls.

But instead. All I hear is crap.

The Crap I Learn Through My Walls:

The surrounding frats really do live up to their stereotypes: Who needs Pandora, Spotify or I-tunes when you have fraternities nearby? It must be in their code of brotherhood to blast music outside of their windows for all the surrounding houses to hear. Perhaps its their proverbial way of marking their territory the way dogs pee on bushes. I don't necessary like to play into stereotypes, but the surrounding music choice of the three (yes count them THREE) fraternities fit perfectly into their Greekrank stereotypes. Sig Ep usually has some Rastafarean number blaring while they play frisbee in Kappa's front yard. The sound of country music coming from Beta weekly honestly makes me want to take a line out of one of the songs  and "put a boot in their ass" to make it stop and well, I'm not sure if it is technically music, but the private boys of SAE just listen to the Rush Limbaugh show on the radio while they count their daddy's money. That is almost as bad as Justin Bieber.

Chi-O's really love Phillip Phillips and loud noises: There are only a couple things I can count on daily: the likelihood of my iPhone's autocorrect to make me sound silly and the consistency of the Chi-O's parking lot. Have no fear, every day a certain SUV's car alarm will sound, piercing the sweet sanctuary of my room. We have pinned down the car, now we are just pinning down the reason. Could it be that her car is just a hot commodity for car burglars? Could it be that rather large acorns from the nearby tree are setting it off? Or could it be that she just really has a habit of accidentally hitting her panic button? We may never know.
There is also one Chi O that loves song "Home" by Phillip Phillips. She really does have a wonderful voice as she pulls into the parking lot, blasting it at at least volume 86 and singing her lungs out. I really don't blame her; it's a great song. I just want to know her name so I can refer her to Chi O's Scandals directors and make sure she doesn't slip through the cracks and accidentally make the show.

Kappa must be feeding a small nation in their basement: There is no other explanation than this one for the trash truck to come to Kappa EVERY. DAY. at 7am in the morning to empty out the giant dumpster. Either the basement filled with thousands of hungry village people who consume hundreds of pizzas a day, therefore resulting in hundreds of pizza boxes or Kappa is just punishing me via audio torture because I disregarded the rules and hammered nails in their walls sophomore year.

The outcome of the OU game, before I know the outcome of the OU game: I can't lie. I love watching football from the comfort of my couch. Sure, I will put on my game day attire, attend the tailgates and join the celebration once its over, but when most people are getting out their student IDs and tickets and heading to the stadium early, I like to turn on heel, grab a blanket and yell at my television. However, because my house is so close and my walls are PFT, I highly considered the alternative: paying the money to go uncomfortable stand in the student section next to a dude that smells like whiskey and curses too much.  So you know that big game we just played called "Bedlam"? I was praying for a win just like every other OU Fan. Except they knew 10 seconds before me. You see, television is a little behind live action. There I was, on the edge of (my very comfy) couch seat during overtime, with 10 seconds left. The ball gets snapped. And boom. The cannons from the field and an uproar of voices fill our room. I guess we won. So much for the suspense of the game. But then again, I guess the 10 second delay did save me from biting off my fingernails as I usually do while watching a suspenseful sporting event.

So readers, next time you walk by my house, just whisper a small "hello." Don't worry, I'll hear you through my PFTs.