A Love Letter

To the gals next door,

Listen- I've been drunk a time or two in my life- so you can't say I "just don't get it." I understand that inebriation can spawn the desire to dance, to sing, to hide Camembert cheese under a friends notebook (it happened, I was the victim) . What I cannot understand is it spawning the desire to SCREAM AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS. Repeatedly? Out the window? Before falling into piles of giggles. I've witnessed the slumber parties of my 10 year old sister, and I can tell you that her and her friends conduct themselves with more maturity than you do. You can't use the excuse of this being a one-time occurance either. Perhaps you don't realize it, but this is what you do every time you have one of your little dorm-parties. I'm usually out on Friday and Saturday nights, but whenever I'm in- it's probably because I want to sleep or study. Thank you for making that impossible.

But what now? Dead silence? I guess the hate vibes have sealed your mouths shut.

Just a little note, ladies: the next time you have one of your scream-a-thons I am going to invite all of my friends over spontaneously to stand in my room and make kookaburra noises with me for as long as it takes you to get the point. Chances are, some of you are Australian. Consider this a lil' reminder of home :-D

What I am really trying to say, ladies (the condescension is so thick it can hardly get down my throat) is that while you may be in France to scream, I actually came here with the intention of learning the language. Which sometimes involves writing long papers on boring subjects- like death in Baroque art. It is very annoying to hear you having so much fun, while I sit here slaving away at the computer.

So shut up already!