So, imma let you in on a little secret: nobody has any reason to give a shit about your birthday. If you’re over the age of, say, 12, and still expect people to fete your very existence every year, you should also expect to be disappointed. (Yes, I’m the Grinch of birthdays. And don’t even get me started on “birthday weeks.”)
That said, in this case our submitter actually did call her mother on the day of her birth. When Mom didn’t pick up, quick-thinking daughter left her a message. After that, our submitter says, her mother didn’t return her calls for several days — until phoning to say, “Check your e-mail.” While still on the line, our submitter did just that — and found this lovely e-card.
Darin in Chicago came across the note on the side of his neighbor’s garage just as he was throwing his own dog’s crap in the trash can. (This is kinda like getting out the new roll of TP, but then leaving it on the side of the sink to get wet instead of just putting it on the dispenser…except, worse.)
I don’t really understand the logic here either, but perhaps this particular dog owner is still dealing with the scars from dealing with neighbors like this one, from Ottawa:
Janine in Astoria was at a stoplight next to a Q69 bus stop in Queens when she noticed signs reading “TONY Q69″ taped all over the outside and inside of the bus shelter. “I made my boyfriend pull over so I could read it,” she says — and got a photo, so she could share Tony Q69′s shameful story with the rest of the world.
UPDATE: Greg in Astoria has spotted another note to Tony Q69…
I’m probably more than a little biased when it comes to determining whether or not Alan in Seattle — the writer of the note below and self-appointed Lord of the Laundry Room — is, in fact, an ass.
For one, even though I know the scent of fresh laundry is actually thanks to evil chemical compounds and not “mountain breeze” or “spring rain,” I still kinda love it. Of course, I don’t live in an apartment directly above a laundry room. Instead, I live in an apartment surrounded by chain smokers. And while I hardly enjoy the smell of cigarettes, I’ve managed to deal without threatening to confiscate my neighbors’ Marlboros and replace them with bottles of bubble solution. (I also keep my windows shut.)
What say you, troublemakers? Is Alan wrong? Or is he just an asshole?
I never understood the purpose of bleeping out one letter in a swear word. Do people really think that others can't figure out which word it is if a vowel is missing? "I'd like to buy a vowel. I just don't know what that word is!"