Dear gaggle of 20-something neighbors,
You have a very nice house. I’m kind of jealous of your house with its pool and whatnot, but just how many of you live there? I walked by once and the curtain was open and the lights were on revealing at least eight bunk beds in the front room. I’m very confused as to why so many of you live there. There is no college anywhere near us and we’re at least a mile from the metro. It’s not very convenient if you don’t have a car, which it seems none of you do. I’d like to know how many of you live there and why. Are you a cult?
Also, you’re annoying. You do realized that, with the pool in the backyard, we can hear everything you say outside, right? Water carries sound. You think you know everything, but you don’t even know that water carries sound.
I’m here to tell you that you don’t know everything. In fact, you know very little. You’re in school (possibly) because you know so little. You’ve been legal adults for, what, at least two years? You don’t know jack diddly-squat. Please, stop acting like you know everything. You don’t. It’s actually scary how much you don’t know. Perhaps that fear is why you act like you know everything about everything. I’m way older than you and I still don’t know a damn thing.
P.S. No one is impressed by how good a time you seem to be having. You can stop laughing and talking at a ridiculous volume. It’s not cute. This goes doubly for the girl with the annoying squeal laugh.
Dear conservative Christians all up in my politics,
I don’t care what you believe. Really, I don’t. If you want to waste a perfectly good Sunday morning in church, you go right on ahead. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, I couldn’t give two craps. But for fuck’s sake, stop trying to church up my government. There is, and should be, a firm separation between church and state in this country, yet you keep trying to breach it.
That wall exist for everyone’s benefit, even yours. Imagine for a second that Christianity wasn’t the majority religion; instead it was Scientology. Would you want Xenu-lovin’ Tom Cruise determining what you could or couldn’t do? Of course not. So, stop trying to do that to me. Keep religion out of politics, please.
Dear new people at the dog park,
It’s puppy season and you’ve been coming in with adorableness that makes me go squee. Your puppies are damn cute. All puppies are damn cute though. Just so you know, the dog park has a few rules. Most of them are posted on the gate, but some of them aren’t. Here’s a helpful guide to new dog owners:
- Don’t bring a puppy that isn’t old enough to have all of its shots to the dog park. You’re playing Russian roulette with your adorable puppy’s life. You have no idea what they could catch there and they are unprotected. Wait until they’ve gotten a rabies shot to bring them to the dog park, please. I don’t want to see your adorable puppy die of distemper/rabies/canine AIDS because you brought them to the park unprotected.
- You’re not allowed to bring unfixed dogs to the dog park. It creates havoc. Get your dog fixed, please, and then bring them.
- Clean up your dog’s poop. You got a puppy, you clean up after it. There is no poop fairy that turns turds into flowers. Your dog–your mess.
- Don’t bring personal dog toys to the dog park unless you have no problem leaving them there. Most dog fights at the park are over toys and who owns them.
- Don’t let your dog hump everything in sight. They’re still young enough that you can teach them not to do that.
- Clean up your dog’s poop.
- Keep an eye on your dog. If your dog starts a fight, it’s an unwritten rule that, after you check to make sure the victim is okay, you have to leave, not the other way around.
- Dog parks are public places. You’re welcome, but so is everyone else. Don’t leave trash lying around. It’s everyone’s park.
- Poop. Clean it up.
Good luck surviving puppydom and welcome.
Dear people who park on the streets of Los Angeles,
Parking in LA sucks. Even though I have a garage now (ah, sweet, sweet garage), I’ve had to park on the street for most of the fifteen years I’ve lived in LA. Noticing street parking is ingrained in me. You people park like assholes.
In front of my house, there is room for three cars. Three of them. And I don’t mean tiny cars. I mean three regular-sized sedans or even pickup trucks. This morning, I walked my dog, and in front of my house, there were two cars and they weren’t even big cars. The white sedan parked about five feet back from the driveway in front and the black sedan did the same from the driveway behind it. In between your two cars, there was enough room for a car parked sideways. Seriously? I imagine that you parked your car, got out, looked at how much space you left on both sides and said, “Pffft. Fuck it. Let’s go sacrifice some baby kitties,” because you are assholes. YOU ARE SELFISH ASSHOLES.
Because of your fuckery, someone had to park farther from their house. Knock it off and park right. It would serve you right if you got your cars keyed.
Dear people in line ahead of me paying with change,
You got there before me, you lucky bastards. It’s your right to go ahead of me, but it is not your right to hog up my precious time with your ridiculousness. If you were behind me in line, you might notice that I already have my method of payment out and ready.
I’ve had to pay for things with change, too. I know how that feels. Every time I’ve had to pay for something with pocket change, to make the embarrassment less acute, I’ve had my change counted out in dollar increments, so I can just hand them to the cashier, they can verify that it is a dollar and everyone can get on with their day. Do not walk up to the counter and dump a bunch of change, paperclips and pocket lint, expecting the cashier to count it for you. It’s bad enough you’re paying for a scratch off ticket or a giant beer with change, but must you make it take forever, too?