The apartments where I live are your typical community of strangers all living in close proximity and trying to tolerate each other.

I say tolerate because everyone has his or her own quirks, and we all have to cope with each other's annoying habits.

My neighbors are typical, because they have their own behavior idiosyncrasies, as do I.

But perhaps since we live in such an abnormal apartment building, I've learned to love them like family.

We're literally so close to each other that we don't have much of a choice, though.

The neighbors to the right of me love movies, music and video games. That's nothing new; most people like those things.

But these people like the volume to be turned up loud, whatever they are doing.

On top of that, the thin sheetrock that passes for walls in our apartments lets sounds through with ease.

I've lost track of the number of times I've woken up in the middle of the night to my picture frames rattling when they turn on a subwoofer or a guitar amp.

And yet it's strangely not annoying to me. Instead, it's comforting.

The noise coming from their apartment reminds me of when I was little, and my parents would do the dishes or watch television after I was in bed.

Then I knew someone would hear me if I called out for help, and now I take comfort in the same thing.

Not to mention it's always nice when you sneeze and someone yells, "Bless you," through the wall.

To the left of my apartment are the neighbors I affectionately call "The Duck Callers."

Obviously they have a duck call. They have several, in fact, if I'm not mistaken. For awhile they used the duck call every night right at 10 p.m.

I never figured out if "Sportscenter" came on at that time or if it was just some magical hour for them, but it became routine for me.

The night they stopped doing it, the apartment felt strangely lonely to me. I've never had a brother, but when the duck calls ended it felt like my older brother had gone to college and left me alone with my parents.

So a few weeks later when I heard a quacking phone ring, I had to smile to myself. God bless the inventor of quacking phones.

Finally there are the neighbors in the apartment farthest to the left of me. They're the mysterious neighbors. They remind me of the guy in the movie "Real Genius" who came and went through the closet door in the dorm. He never spoke to anyone, and no one spoke to him.

I know nothing about these neighbors because we don't share a wall, and I thus don't hear any of their comings and goings. The only thing I know about them is that they throw great parties.

Or at least they look great when I come home at night and see their windows lit up with candles and hear people laughing through the front door.

Their apartment is the warm one that makes me remember I have friends who love me, too.

So this has been my ode to my neighbors. I wanted them to know I adore them. I wanted them to know I'm sorry I blow dry my hair at 2 a.m., and I know it's annoying when I laugh too loud at the TV.

I'm sure now they'll let me know all the other weird things I, too, do and don't realize.

But maybe those things are just as endearing to them as their habits are to me.

And if not, then at least they'll smile and tell me otherwise.

Michelle Hudgens is a senior journalism major from Pineville and serves as associate editor for The Tech Talk.