Hey, my favorite Crack-Dealers-Next-Door!
As much as I've been enjoying that burning chemical smell wafting into the hallway, and as charming as your, ahem, "friends" visiting at 2am are, I think we should have a little sit-down to discuss some things.
I think that maybe -- just maybe! -- when you guys are on the crack, some of the fights you have are less than productive. Like the other day, when you screamed for 3 hours about how neither one of you wanted to go pick up the laundry from the laundromat. Hey, I'm totally with you, laundry is totally annoying, but I don't know that screaming, "I want my cloooooooooooooooooooooooooothes," in an almost-otherworldly howl is going to get you clean panties any faster.
So I'd like to recommend that you take some of your very ample leisure time to watch some Dr. Phil or read one of those Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus books or something. Selling crack to schoolchildren and city vagrants is important, yes, but there is nothing more important than a loving home!
Yours in Christ,
Sarah
Dear Newlyweds,
I know you are nearly twenty years old, obviously totally grown up. I know you are living on your own for the very first time, and you even made it to the Big City (if you are from south-eastern Idaho, this moniker totally includes Boise). I don't want to presume that you are, well, a lot backwards, but I feel I should share some neighborly advice with you.
It isn't okay to presume that your neighbors really want to take care of you in the way that your parents always have. "Neighbor" is not synonymous with grocer, laundress, and housesitter. Especially not all in one week. It also isn't okay to presume that your neighbors are super excited to be your new bff (best friend forever). Sitting on the stoop talking on the phone (because maybe cell reception in a garden apartment might be a little lacking) is not an invitation to strike up a conversation. Also, when your neighbors have company, that probably isn't the best time to pop over and share inane details of your life that no one is interested in but you. Most importantly, I know you wear the special underwear and definitely didn't enjoy each other's carnal pleasures until rings were ceremonially placed on each other's fingers, and yeah, sex is fun. However, you are subletting in a not-very-soundproof apartment building. I'm sure you're very devout, but are you really praying that much with all those, "Oh God, YES"'s?
These are a few things you might want to keep this in mind if you want to keep your interactions with your neighbors neighborly. Perhaps I shouldn't mention how much I'm looking forward to fall (you are returning to Rexburg when classes resume, right?), but it is rapidly becoming my favorite season.
With Regards,
Not Your Mommy
Dear Aboubacar,
If you're going to keep slipping these notes under my door, can you PLEASE fucking stop it with the insertion of an apostrophe in an otherwise plural word? Seriously, man, it's freaking me out. Don't ask me to "please return the knife's you borrowed from me last month" or to "try to lay off the cheeba between the hour's of midnight and six a.m." or even your seeming favorite, "why not try some benzodiazepine's the next time you're up all night?" I just can't fucking hack this insane punctufuckingation of which you are so fond.
Oh yeah, and it's "drawer," not "draw." Get it straight next time, Aboubacar, or you are in for a whole lot of post-garlic-lamb-burger farts wafting through your bathroom vents. Capiche?
xoxo,
Gogol
this note is written to a middle-aged tanorexic woman who spends her time sunbathing or running, always accompanied by a diet coke
Dear Small Black Man,
What is the deal with your dog? I know he's old and sweet and has a limp that rivals the one I've got post-ACL surgery (though mine seems to be getting better, and his seems to be getting worse). I don't mind that he sleeps right in front of my front door, you know, as long as he doesn't mind when I step on him. I don't mind that his little doggy excrement can be found throughout our yard and flower beds. I mean, you do pick it up every month or so. I don't mind that when he goes on a barking frenzy, you seem to never hear. C'mon, it is hysterical when your old and crippled dog tries to take on the young, healthy, and possibly insane lab across the street! What I do mind is when Mr. I'm Old And Tired And Not Moving is taking a nap in the middle of the street and nearly causing traffic accidents. I bet you didn't spy that blue chrysler swerve around him and almost sideswipe me while I was backing out of the driveway this morning, didja? The dog is probably still there, snoozing happily away. Isn't this why we have back yards?
xox
Amy
p.s. I also wonder why you vacuum your front room every night between 10:30 and 11:30. Are there any fibers left in your carpet?
