Left: a rave. Right: my party.
Left: a rave. Right: my party.
Benjamin Leatherman / someone who likes dogs a lot

An Open Letter to My Neighbors: My Party Was Not a Rave

Dear neighbors,

I hate you. Your haircuts suck and your yard is ugly. To make matters worse, you called my landlord and then the cops on me because I was having a party you described as a "rave."

This could have been worse. My landlord could have actually answered the phone. The cops could have actually approached my door instead of driving off laughing at my pathetic party. You are the same idiots that don't understand how to remove your trashcans from the curb. (Seriously, they are there every single day of the week. I hope you get fined, you fuckers.) So I understand that you don't know what a doorbell is (why didn't you just ask me to turn the music down, you fuckers?) and I also understand you have no clue what a rave is. You fuckers.

Yes, we were playing electronic music. Yes, we had glo-sticks from the dollar store. Yes, we had some pretty large speakers, but they weren't turned up all that high. That still does not make it "a rave."

Were there kids sucking on flashing pacifiers? No. Were there teenage girls in lingerie rubbing their asses against drug dealers twice their age? No. Were we playing Skrillex? No. Were there any illicit drugs? Not unless you count PBR. Was anyone rubbing Vick's Vapor Rub® on their upper lips? I hope not. Ick.

Besides a few colored light bulbs, there were no laser light shows, no smoke machines, no foam was sprayed throughout my kitchen and no one found enlightenment about their shitty lives thanks to MDMA. Maybe you should take some Molly -- it might cheer you the fuck up, you curmudgeons.

I hope we didn't keep you up, neighbors. I can imagine that the pounding bass from the LCD Soundsystem remixes my friends and I were dancing to might have made you feel left out. Lying in your bed, staring into the ceiling, wondering why you're not shit-faced on a Saturday night and instead you're going to die alone with your stupid haircuts and never put the trashcans back and your dog will never stop barking at me whenever I open my backdoor. Thanks for nothing. My landlord has subtly threatened to evict me if I ever get a police report for a noise complaint. She asked me if I knew what a "rave" was. She didn't know either.

Just listen. It's this:

Not this:

Neighbors, if you hadn't made me feel on edge, paranoid or fearful of becoming homeless, maybe I'd invite you the next "rave." In all honesty, I apologize for annoying you and don't really hate you. Sigh. You're just like a big, dumb animal -- you don't know any better.

The next time I have a party, if ever again, I hope we can reach an understanding short of threats and police interaction. And maybe, just maybe, for the love of God, you will remove your trashcans from the sidewalk.

Yours, T. "Raving Lunatic" Farah

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