Archive | July, 2011

Adventures in Passive Aggression

21 Jul

I’m a note leaver. I don’t like making eye contact and I can be meaner in writing than I am capable of verbally. Just kidding! I’m mean all the time. I left my college suite mate a note that read, “You’re only a slut if you feel like a slut. And if everyone says you are.” She cried, and I still don’t feel bad.

I’ve recently embarked on a passive aggressive note exchange with my upstairs neighbor who, while not bad looking, has a contraband dog that is stinking up the joint. I can’t be having that. So, after much Febreezing on my part, I leave the following missive:


Dear Neighbor,

I get that you’re a dog person. I prefer cats myself. I’m a cat person. Here’s the thing, though – and I hate to say this, since you seem very nice – but your dog smells crazy bad. The front and back foyers reek of rotten dog. I’ve Febreezed, lit candles, etc. If you could…I don’t know, actually. Just make it go away? Please? I know that we would all appreciate it.

He responded with:

Dear Neighbor,

I don’t own a dog. I’m guessing this building stinks because

1. It’s crazy humid

2. The landlords never clean it.

3. It’s old.

And I’m a cat person. I have a polydactyl cat named Wednesday. She’s awesome.

Nice try, sir. Try to distract me with a cute story about your cat with the cute name. Luckily, I have this superpower I like to call VISION and I’ve fucking SEEN your dog. I’ve seen him. With you. And what are the landlords going to clean in the foyer? The mailboxes? The banister? I know those two things really TRAP odors. I call shenanigans.

And so I respond:

Okay, look. I don’t want to fight about this. But I’ve seen a dog both enter and leave this building with you. Is he your cousin? An old college roommate?

The seldom-cleaned foyer rots because of a dog – I won’t even attribute said dog to you – but I think if we all agree to remain cat people and not let old college roommates spend the weekend, that would be nice. Even if  the “roommate” belongs to your girlfriend. For instance.

I don’t imagine that this will end well. But then, does anything?


Things I Have Heard Yelled Outside My Apartment

20 Jul

Fuck! Julie! Julie! Julie! Fuck! Julie!

Thoughts I have had while hearing this:

Am I going to die?

Is this how it ends?

Why is he announcing himself like that?

Should I throw a cat at him?

Conversation with the Little Sister

19 Jul

Little sister: You know what freaks me out about rompers?

Me: You have to get naked to pee.

Little sister: GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

My Father, the Hero

18 Jul

I know what you think this is:

You think, oh sure. Why don’t you get a mustache tattooed on your finger. You probably like deer, too, don’t you?

No, I don’t like deer, thank you very much. And I would never get a finger tattoo, they last six months tops and what am I, a resident of Philadelphia? Please. That is my impression of my father. My father, who looks roughly like this:

I’d post an actual picture but the poor man has suffered enough. I mean, I’m his daughter.

ANYWAY, you can see how the whole finger / mustache thing came about. The man has a mustache and, as far as I can tell, he’s had it since he was about five years old. He shaved it off once and my older sister wouldn’t talk to him til it grew back. So for about 24 hours. For years, my sisters and I have been doing (loving) impressions of Dad via the finger mustache. And it has since been co-opted by hipster grifters who are ironic but don’t know the definition of irony. Fuck you guys, and go apologize to your mothers. I’ll wait.

Moved by the Spirit

15 Jul

Got home with a face full of beer last night and I had to tell this story. Then I made some chocolate milk obviously. P.S. the best part is Cash in the background near the end.

Just So You Know

14 Jul

From now on, I’m telling everyone my first husband died in a fire started by a popcorn machine. So tragic.

Text from My Little Sister

13 Jul

I just caught [redacted] trying to get Quincy to hold a drink umbrella while wearing a shawl. He was playing Island of Dr. Moreau with Quincy and Preston.* Logically, Quincy was the doctor and Preston was the beast. Just so you know. Also, I think I smell like dishwater.


*Quincy and Preston are cats. Obviously.