Dear Neighbors,

I spent tonight giving myself a mani-pedi, papaya enzyme facial, touching up my hair dye and tweezing my out of control sasquatch eyebrows. (Not to mention blogging and watching Cujo- alone.) Suffice to say, I am pretty darn pathetic tonight.

Now, you know and I know that our building has airshafts. I'm sure you heard me chatting on the phone earlier while I was in the bathroom applying my facial or tweezing, talking to a girlfriend about how badly I need the different beauty treatments I was in the process of applying, or about how difficult it is to tell what the guy you're interested in is really thinking about you. Did you notice how I left the room to finish chatting as it got late at night? I'm polite like that.

Here's my problem, and it's twofold: I am a pathetic loser tonight, and I can hear you two going at it through the airshaft. I thought it was terribly cute how you were chasing your girlfriend around the apartment and spanking her as she squealed. I was enthralled, really. And when you guys playfully fell into bed and started mattress dancing, I was enraptured. When I closed my airshaft and bathroom door so that I wouldn't hear you anymore and I could still hear moaning interspersed with screaming and profanities, well, I can barely begin to describe how ecstatic I was.

Do you really have to rub it in that I am a lonely, single girl who spent a Friday night in a beautiful city with a bustling nightlife painting and repainting her toenails? Would it be possible to, oh I don't know, close your airshaft and bathroom door? I know I'm talking crazy here. Who wants to take the time to create a little privacy when the mood strikes? It's more exciting and naughty when everyone can hear! Open your windows and let the sound echo back and forth across the alley so all of our neighbors can hear it. I mean, if you have something to say, please, tell the whole class!


I'll just be sitting on my bed, adjusting my nerdy glasses and turning up the volume on Cujo as high as it will go without waking my daughter. I'll be bunking down under the covers trying to focus intently on the movie so I forget that sex is, in fact, something people actually engage in. Please, don't tone it down on my account.

With admiration (for what seems to be an ability for never-ending porn star sex),
Lauren