Handsome Paddy VS. The Angry Boyfriend: A True Cautionary Tale

Those who know me could probably guess I was bound to write a blog with this title eventually. I'm no saint. I've been known to cross other couples' relationship boundaries on more than one occasion. Maybe I have low self-esteem, maybe I don't respect other men as much as I should, or maybe I think if your girlfriend is interested in me, then that's a sign that your relationship is already over and I'm just the herald of its demise. But that's all irrelevant because that's not what happened this time.

It was late last Friday and I was casually flirting via text message with an aquaintance I hadn't seen in months and who I no longer lived within three states of. I had been a gentleman (this time) and explicitly asked if she was involved with anyone before the whole thing started. She insisted she was single and was actually a little offended I felt the need to ask. And when I say flirting, I mean this is a conversation I would have while gauging if someone was interested in me. We're talking PG-13 content at the very most. After awhile she stopped replying and I got bored. That's when, at 11:13pm, I received a text from a number I didn't recognize, but not just any text. It was the text that every bored smartass lives for:

"So who is this"

What followed was one of the most surreal conversations I have yet to have with a stranger, and I once talked about orchestras with a homeless man as he bathed himself in a drinking fountain at 2am. Sadly, I did not have the forethought to transcribe that conversation, but I did save this one. Below is, verbatim, the actual conversation I had over text message with an irate man I have never met, complete with color commentary by me and a few lessons to take from my experience. For the purposes of clarity, I will call the person in question Mystery Angry Boyfriend or MAB for short. Enjoy.

Mystery Angry Boyfriend: "So who is this"

Handsome Paddy: "This is Paddy, who's this?"

I'm not ashamed of who I am.

MAB: "U a guy or a girl there patty"

HP: "A guy. And it's Paddy."

Seriously, you literally just read how my name is spelled, how do you fuck that up?

MAB: "Hhmmmm txtin my girl all kids of sexual shit huh ima fuk u up"

This is pretty much exactly where I expected this conversation to be heading based on the previous two texts, so his threat lacked the gravitas he had perhaps hoped for.

HP: "I don't know who you are, but your manners need work. Also your spelling is atrocious."

Hey, he's already going to "fuk" me up, I might as well give him some harsh criticism while we're at it.

MAB: "Ya u dont kno me but soon u will il find ya ya my girl is asleep idgaf what u say but ive seen the txts"

HP: "Well tell her I said goodnight. And goodnight to you as well, stranger."

This guy's a prick who can't spell, if I wanted to deal with that I'd play Xbox Live, but there's no reason not to end things on a polite note. Or so I thought.

MAB: "Were kool if u dont try to hook up with my girl"

HP: "Well I can't really promise anything since I don't know who you are."

Remember, at this point MAB had neither told me who he was or who the girl he kept referring to was, and while I could have guessed, I'm not going to do his detective work for him. I don't work for free.

MAB: "It dosent matter r u n kingman"

HP: "You sure you wouldn't rather talk out some of these anger issues? Have some share time? Maybe a hug?"

MAB: "Na i wana kno what is goin on r u n kingman"

HP: "Why? Do you want to beat me up? Will that make you feel better?"

MAB: "I just wana kno what my girl is up to talkin about sex with another dude man thats all just b strait up with me"

HP: "I'm trying, but your texts are like, indecipherable."

MAB: "Then tell me dude r u n kingman and what is going on"

HP: "Oh, man! You were so close to a properly formatted sentence. A for effort though."

MAB: "Hmmmm im just forget her #"

For a split second I thought I had actually mocked this man into a massive psychological breakthrough and he'd decided to move on and figure his life out. But it turned out he's just really bad at typing.

MAB: "U just forget her #"

HP: "I'm not going to do that, but I'll tell you I will if it will make you feel better, if you promise to stop going through your ladyfriend's texts and allow her privacy. healthy relationships are built on trust dude."

This was the beginning of me trying to diffuse the situation by digging into my years of professional experience giving relationship advice and offering this man legitimately beneficial tips on his love life.

MAB: "True true u got a point just do me a favor and don't talk about sex to her she goes thru mine i dont go thru hers she had me put it on the charger and i seen a text from u its kool il talk to her n the mornin when she wakes up n my arms"

HP: "That sounds like a solid plan, sir."

See, it's totally cool that he's threatening someone he's never met after reading texts from her phone because she asked him to put it on the charger and she goes through his texts all the time! Clearly I have dared to jeopardize an otherwise healthy and happy relationship.

MAB: "She is the only woman ive ever loved and dont wana loose her thats y im tryin to stay calm bro"

MAB: "U sound polite tho sorry if i got the wrong impression just worried about sum shit"

HP: "I'm a worrier too. You want to talk about it?"

MAB: "Just tell me how u guys started talkin man idw to talk about her and i i just wana kno whats up man thats all i do tust her i just dont trust guys if ya kno what i mean guys r scandelous so just b honest with me im not tryin to threatin u i just wana kno thats all"

He almost spelled "scandalous" right! I had to fight the urge to tell him I was proud of him.

At this point it was now midnight. This conversation was now entering its second goddamn day and MAB had yet to use a single character of punctuation.

HP: "You make some good points, unfortunately I still don't know who you are, so I can't really give you much information."

MAB: "It dosent matter who i am bro im not sextin ur girl i just wana kno y u r with mine lets not play games lets just hear the truth thats all i ask"

HP: "I apologize. Perhaps I've been unclear. I don't know who you are, therefore I don't know who your 'girl' is, so I can't tell you anything about me and her. Also did you just say 'sexting' who are you Nancy Grace?"

I seriously hate the term "sexting." It's so trite. I prefer to call it "explicit free verse in 160 characters or less."

MAB: "Ya u do because u txted her back after i sent u a message bro"

This confirmed my suspicions that this guy was angry about the girl I had been flirting with just prior. After his first couple messages I had texted her and told her what was going on.

MAB: "U know what u aint worth my time il get to the bottom of it"

This is the first of many texts where MAB insists this conversation is beneath him, then immediately fires off another text when I don't respond.

MAB: "U obviously aint a man just a boy i guess"

This guy wants to have a stupid fight. I'm not going to have his fight. I'm going to have my fight, because my fight is awesome. So, instead of getting into his petty insults, I come clean and admit that I was apparently flirting with his girlfriend.

HP: "Well why didn't you just say so in the first place? Yeah, that's none of your business. I wish you the best, but this is really something you need to sort out with her. Maybe step back and look at why you want to be with her if it means having to have conversations like these with strangers."

Again, if you're playing along at home, this is actually me trying to give this poor, inarticulate man(?) some useful relationship advice. I've attempted to play fetch with cats and had more successful results.

MAB: "U coulda just been a man about it but u wana play games so im done here"

Alright, he got in one last zinger about me being a "man" but he's finally finished with his tantrum and is moving o--

MAB: "I thought ud b kool but hey i was wrong"

Fuck, he's still going. I'm not exactly sure what made him think I'd be "kool" since before this conversation all he knew about me was that I was flirting with his girlfriend. Maybe he just thinks really highly of her taste in men.

HP: "Which part would have made me a man, violating my friend's trust or pretending to know what you were talking about while you texted me gibberish mixed with idle threats?"

At this point I'm getting frustrated with this guy's pathetic attempts to be a dick to me, so I've gone back to chastising him for butchering the English language with every one of his keystrokes. Bizarrely, this actually had the opposite effect I'd expected.

MAB: "Hey if shes a friend then its all good and il b a man and say sorry but if u have a woman u love and u seen sumthin like that how would u react if i was wrong im sorry shes the love of my life man and about the threats my bad i was pissed at first im calmed down now but like i said if im wrong im sorry"

Mind you, I have yet to deny anything he's accused me of and have actually openly mocked him more than once. And he's already seen the texts of me flirting with his girlfriend, but by calling her a friend he is now totally cool with everything that has happened so far and actually apologizes not once, but four times (if you count the phrase "my bad" as a form of apology). I'm now beginning to suspect that I'm talking to a very strange breed of bipolar sufferer who rather than having manic and depressed moods, instead alternates wildly between rage and deep remorse.

HP: "I accept your apology. if situations were reversed, I would question whether my heart was leading me down the wrong path and I would ask myself whether it's good for me, as a person, to be with someone who I don't trust."

Again, this is real advice I would give to a friend in this situation.

MAB: "O i trust her i havent had a reason not to n over 2 months that we have been together just thought id ask u but u just wana play games il forget this ever happened"

To recap:

• She is the first woman he has ever loved.
• She is the love of his life.
• They have been together for two fucking months.

It's at this point that I begin to worry that I am in fact talking to a mad man who might do something to harm himself or others based on my words. So I stop goading him and just try to get him to step away from the ledge a bit.

HP: "While I don't think that's the healthiest approach, I hope it works out for you."

MAB: "I didnt go thru her phone it poped up when i plugged it n"

HP: "You mentioned that, and it could be true. It's kind of a non-issue at this point."

MAB: "Im still gona question her but il forget i ever talked to u is what i meant u wont get any threats or nuthin anymore"

HP: "Well that is healthy, except for the "questioning" your girlfriend part. That makes it sound like you plan to interrogate her. Just talk with her. Open and honest communication is usually the best route."

MAB: "Well thanks for that ya as i said if im wrong if im right this wont last but il ask her about it when the time is right"

I doubt he meant it that way, but he kind of wrote a pretty good rap lyric there.

HP: "Best of luck to you. Have a goodnight."

MAB: "Hey thank u and same to u"

That's right, the conversation that began "ima fuk u up" has ended an hour and a half later with a polite thank you and a goodnight, without me ever apologizing or admitting any wrongdoing on my part. Either MAB just needed to get his frustrations out or I actually calmed down a possessive boyfriend to the point that he behaved with civility to someone he knows was flirting with his girlfriend mere hours ago. I'm like a douche-whisperer.

Unfunny Side Note:

Despite my jocularity while writing this, as I typed this post I was truly concerned for my friend's well-being. Maybe her boyfriend is harmless. Maybe he's a raging psycho. Maybe he's actually her little brother fucking with me. But before this post goes live I will do my best to make sure that she is, in fact, safe. Because as I will address more below, people do die over this shit and there's nothing funny about that.

Edit: Just heard from my friend. She's fine.

That said, there are several important lessons to be learned from this strange encounter.

First, if you spell like an idiot people will treat you as one.

Second, kill them with kindness can be a useful motto. Sure I gave MAB a hard time about his spelling and sent a few texts that were soaked in sarcasm and intended only to enrage him further, but ultimately I turned the situation around by not sinking down to his level by having an SMS-based screaming match over a girl I barely knew. I stayed calm and mostly polite and honest and actually tried to give him solid advice to think about and in the end he thanked me for it.

Third, this was essentially a flame war via text message and while it's debatable which one of us was trolling the other, things ended amicably because we were able to see where the other person was coming from and maintain some sembalance of civility. So the next time you're in some heated discussion about abortion, gay rights, light beer or what have you, remember that your opponent has thoughts and feelings behind their remarks. They may not be right and they may not be as gracious towards you but that's not the point.

I once found myself embroiled in a flame war where someone I personally knew and who had at one time been a comrade in activist circles outright called me a rapist on a Facebook comment feed based solely on my opinions on a news article. The content of the article is irrelevent because no matter how hard you try, you can never rape someone with an opinion. But he chose to invoke the feminist version of Godwin's Law after I had specifically stated that I had no problem disagreeing with him and was willing to remain civil about the whole thing. And you know what? After he called me a rapist, I stuck by that. I didn't back down, but I didn't let myself get caught up in the torrent of bile spewing either. If more people would agree to be respectful and agree to dissagree during debates that have no actual impact on the topics in question, we'd all be a lot happier and the world wouldn't suck quite so much.

Fourth, behind those texts was a real person with real emotions, and the things I said to him could have had real, and potentially very serious, consequences. I pushed his buttons but I recognized when to try to deescalate the situation for the sake of everyone involved. It was a stupid argument, but people rarely get killed over intelligent arguments. Every day people die over ridiculous shit because no one was willing to back down and say "Hey, this is silly. I'm not fighting anymore." Remember that the next time you're telling someone you hope they die in a car fire becuase they believe something different than you.

Fifth and finally, don't fuck with me or I will make fun of you on the internet, and that shit is forever.

Handsome Paddy News

I was just made a featured blogger on http://www.designedbyfailure.com/ a skate/punk clothing store. Check them out and visit my page and talk about how awesome I am, because I would do the same for you.

An Open Letter to Hollywood: Part 1

Dear Hollywood,

Have you been getting my letters? They’re the ones written in blood. No? I didn’t think so. See, I keep writing you, trying to get you to stop sucking. So far it isn’t working. Despite my protests you continue to release films so terrible I routinely choose not to see them FOR FREE.

You see, I’m a member of a pool of unpaid movie reviewers for the local paper. Every week the paper picks a new theatrical release and sends out a mass e-mail to all the reviewers. Whoever replies to the e-mail first gets two free tickets to the show and 300 words to say what they want about the movie. There’s also a password involved. It’s pretty sweet.

Frequently I have my Gmail page open when the e-mail goes out, so usually I have the option of replying before anyone else and getting the movie. But for the past six weeks I’ve gotten the e-mail, made a mental note of “Meh,” deleted it and gone back to reloading my Facebook feed.

“Review Knight and Day? Pffft, my time is too valuable.”

Let me restate that, just in case you’re not getting the full impact of what I’m saying. I love movies so much I’ve spent countless hours writing about them on the internet, for an honest-to-God newspaper, and, on more than one occasion, for term papers in college. And I studied Criminology; I love movies enough to risk infuriating an instructor, whose day job is federal prosecutor, because my paper on judicial procedure is really just a thinly-veiled analysis of The Devil’s Advocate.

“Under these circumstances I would have filed for a writ of habeas corpus on the grounds that opposing council violated the rules of disclosure by failing to notify the court that he was Satan.”

I love movies this much, Hollywood, and for seven weeks I have intentionally not seen your films, for free, because the prospect of actually sitting through them is so distasteful.

So, as a service to you, I’m going to spend some time explaining why I’ve been passing up your most recent efforts. Hopefully, you’ll learn something and if not, at least there’ll be a written record of my motives when I one day fire Shia LaBeouf into the Sun.

I hope you like being burned alive as much as you seem to enjoy making shitty movies, fucker.

Marmaduke

Actual Tagline: “Live Large.”
Implied Tagline: “Yeah, We’re Not Even Trying.”

I generally refuse to review children’s movies since I lie so far outside of their target demographic, but calling Marmaduke a children’s movie is an insult to children everywhere. Hell, calling Marmaduke a “CGI Great Dane movie” is an insult to the comparatively subtle and nuanced oeuvre of Scooby-Doo.

The only film to ever have its artistic integrity actually strengthened from a cameo by Mark McGrath.

I refused to see Marmaduke for far better reasons than just that its target audience is primarily impressed by bright colors and fart noises. I chose not to see it because there is absolutely no reason for a Marmaduke movie to exist. For one thing, there’s nothing intentionally funny about the comic strip “Marmaduke“. It’s been in circulation since the transistor radio was invented and kidney transplants were considered novel. That’s not a joke, I looked it up.

Equally cutting-edge.

Most of the actual humor of “Marmaduke” lies in the strip’s creator and still writer/artist, 84-year old Brad Anderson, being completely out of touch with the modern world. Beside the fact that Anderson can’t actually draw, he also regularly screws up common words or phrases when he uses them in captions, and frequently repeats jokes mere days apart. None of these are things to look for when finding material for your next $50 million feature film.

Another Hallmark of the “Marmaduke” strip is its existence in a nostalgically idealized, perpetual Eisenhower-era, where rotary phones abound and there’s nary an immigrant or person of color in sight. And while an accurate film translation of this 1950s twilight zone could be self-deprecating and funny in a way The Brady Bunch Movie could only have hoped to be, the Marmaduke film is set in modern day. Why? Half of “Marmaduke’s” jokes are about evading the dog catchers and stealing gigantic chains of sausage links from the neighborhood butcher. Exactly what part of that is going to translate to 2010? For God’s sake, Hollywood, you didn’t even make his owner look like Hitler! Instead you made him look like this guy:

He’s a dog, but get this, he’s wearing sunglasses! HILARIOUS!

Let me put this in perspective for you. One of the only likable features of your comic strip is that one of the characters vaguely resembles are war criminal and you still managed to screw that up. Instead you gave Marmaduke the ability to talk? Let me assure you, if there’s one thing people wish when reading “Marmaduke” it is not that Marmaduke talk.

Their far more likely wish: Brad Anderson’s home address and a list of his deepest fears.

Grown Ups

Actual Tagline: “Boys will be boys... some longer than others”
Implied Tagline: “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if the cast from Saturday Night Live circa-1994 got back together to make a film about getting older, having a family, and dealing with the slow march towards inevitable death? Turns out, no. No it isn‘t funny at all.”

Pop quiz time, Hollywood:

1) In the last ten years Adam Sandler has been in how many funny movies?
A) Omigod, dude, like, so many.
B) Three or four.
C) I’m not sure, I’m sure there were a couple in there somewhere, though.
C) I’m just happy to see a mentally retarded man doing so well for himself.

Good on you, big guy.

2) Chris Rock would best be described as:
A) A controversial entertainer.
B) The living embodiment of low acting standards and poor career choices.
C) A poor man’s Dave Chappelle.
D) A rich man’s Tyler Perry.

I will hound you until the day I die, Perry!

3) David Spade is best known for:
A) Being funny.
B) Being talented.
C) Looking like an old lesbian.
D) Wishing the best parts of his career weren’t sealed in a tomb marked “Chris Farley.”

“Too soon.”

4) Rob Schneider is:
A) A comedy genius.
B) Inexplicably popular.
C) Composed of equal parts creepy and unpleasant.
D) Probably paying for a hooker somewhere as you read this.

And if the she has any taste, she’s charging him double.

5) Pick the best choice: “It’s too bad Chris Farley’s dead. Let’s replace him with…”
A) “…Kevin James.”
B) “…That fat guy who does those impressions of John Madden.”
C) “…A clone created from the combined DNA of Chris Farley and John Candy, to be known as Chrohn Farndy.”
D) “…Comedy that doesn’t require a fat man to embarrass himself into an early grave.”

“Still too soon.”

Don’t bother checking your scores, Hollywood. You already got every answer wrong.

Piranha 3D


Actual Tagline: “This Summer 3D Shows Its Teeth.”
Implied Tagline: “As Soon As The Syfy Channel Comes In 3D We’ll Be Out of Work.”

I really debated seeing Piranha 3D. I mean, it’s not particularly substantive, but it could be fun. It’s piranhas attacking people… in 3D! It’s even got somewhat well-known actors in it! Richard Dreyfuss, Elizabeth Shue, Ving Rames, Christopher Loyd, all of your favorite supporting cast members from movies that came out over a decade ago are here! According to imdb.com there’s a wet t-shirt contest in there somewhere and Steve McQueen too! Well, Steve McQueen’s grandson, Steven R. McQueen, who kind of looks like Ashton Kutcher if he had a mild allergy to shellfish.

“Demi, have you seen my EpiPen?”

Ultimately, I passed on this one because I realized there is nothing I could write about it in a legitimate review. Anything I criticized would be beside the point because no one is going to see this with the expectation that it be anything beyond piranhas in 3D. As long as that’s all there, there isn’t really much left to say. What am I supposed to do, summarize the plot? “Well, see, there are these piranhas, ok? And they’re in 3D.”

“Are you with me so far?”

While we‘re on the topic, what are you doing with Jerry O’Connell, Hollywood? He was the fat kid in Stand By Me, then he was on Sliders years later, then years after that he did Kangaroo Jack, then this, and now he’s on CBS with a Primetime show. What kind of career path is that? At this rate next I expect him to form a shitty band, attempt to get some artistic cred by performing on Broadway, fail spectacularly and be brainwashed by a CGI-kangaroo focused cult, only to be rescued and deprogrammed by Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman and (replacing the late River Phoenix) John Rhys-Davies.

And that, CBS, is how you pitch a hit new fall drama.

Come back soon for Part 2, when I'll be criticizing Resident Evil: Afterlife, Easy A, and other movies I haven't seen. Because I can and you can't stop me, so nyeh.

Dear Abby, My Life Is A God Damn Mess

The people who write in to Dear Abby are a mixed bag. Reading through the archives you see a variety of ages and problems, but they all boil down to a few recurring themes:

Dear Abby, I’m A Terrible Person

These people have done awful things, or have awful opinions, and are flabbergasted that they’re being called on their ridiculous bullshit. They write in ostensibly to ask if they’re in the wrong, but they’re really just hoping that Abby will absolve them of their sins. They are always disappointed.

Dear Abby, I Know A Terrible Person

These are otherwise fine people who know someone who’s done something awful to them and, boy, they cannot wait to tell you all about it. The Dear Abby equivalent of Munchausen’s Syndrome, these folks write in mainly to garner some pity and end with a weak attempt at a question like “What should I do?” Abby’s advice usually consists of “Stop talking to them” or “Call the police immediately” depending on the situation.

Dear Abby, Here’s An Urban Legend For You To Print As Fact

Dear Abby is notorious for reprinting “true” cautionary tales that turn out to be easily disproved urban legends. A simple search of Snopes.com shows just how often this occurs. To her credit Abby voluntarily prints retractions every time someone notifies her that the stories are false…then prints the exact same story when someone changes the names and dates and sends it in next year.

Dear Abby, Here’s Some Advice No One Has Ever Asked For

Oh, how the tables have turned! These people write in without even the pretense of a question, instead with a list of their own advice, sometimes numbered, sometimes in bullet points, sometimes simply sprawling aimlessly into oblivion. Usually the advice is somewhat topical, or relates to the writer’s occupation. The insights are rarely what you might call groundbreaking. Abby always responds to these writings with gratitude, but you just know she’s muttering “fucker” every other word as she types.

Dear Abby, I’m Far Too Young To Be Writing You

This category is comprised of college students, teenagers, and unmarried twenty-somethings who should really know better than to write to a 54 year-old legacy newspaper column currently written by a 60+ year old woman for advice on anything related to their lives. Abby tries to help, but you can tell even she realizes she’s in a little over her head and usually pawns them off by suggesting they talk to a parent/teacher/counselor/clergy member.

Dear Abby, I’m So Fucking Old

This is by far my favorite category and the one we’ll be examining closer in just a minute. These people write in with the exact same topics Andy Rooney covers on 60 Minutes, and just like Andy Rooney they have no idea that their advanced age has completely robbed them of their ability to comprehend how incredibly asinine their petty problems and concerns really are.

"Don't make fun of me, this is important shit!"

Now, I normally spend as much time not thinking about Dear Abby as I possibly can. So I didn’t come upon these realizations until recently when I was flipping through the local paper and came across this column wherein a chorus of readers write in to inform Abby and America about just how horribly loud wedding music is these days.

The column that sparked the controversy regards a man who left a wedding reception early because:

It’s not clear from the column what the chronological age of the reader in question is, but his mental age has got to be hovering past 70.

First of all, is this really the biggest problem you’re facing? There’s nothing else more deserving of your time than figuring out if leaving a wedding reception early was a faux pas? How much family drama could this possibly be causing? Don’t you have a gay cousin to absorb this kind of heat?

Second, there are multiple clues that this guy is a curmudgeon, regardless of when he was born. A “long delay” between the reception and dinner is the kind of complaint Morty Seinfeld’s nemesis Jack Klompus would have about a wedding. Describing music as “deafening” is hyperbole reserved exclusively for the tragically out of touch; it allows the rest of us to identify them in order to know to stay off their lawns.

Finally, most people today divide popular music into several sub-genres. Top 40, alt, indie, punk, metal, classic rock, what have you. As such the only people who actually use the term “rock ‘n’ roll music” to describe what kind of music they are hearing are also those who would describe Elvis Presley as “obscene” and the Three Stooges as “cutting edge.”

Ok, so the original complaint is comical, but it doesn’t come near the dispatches-from-the-nursing-home quality of the letters of support to the original complaint. To quote Paul in Chesterfield:

Really, Paul? “Intolerable conditions”? When the CIA uses music as torture they play “Enter Sandman” at full volume over loudspeakers while attack dogs nip at your exposed genitals. I think you can endure having to listen to “Tiny Dancer” before the buffet opens.

“But Handsome Paddy,” you might be saying aloud to yourself right now for some reason, “Weddings are lightening rods for family controversy and infighting, it’s not really fair to judge Dear Abby readers based solely on that discussion.” Well, that’s true. But while weddings certainly generate a lot of Dear Abby mail, the topics covered may vary, but the insanity remains a constant.

Here are some recent highlights:

Uncomfortable In San Francisco writes:

Oh, Jesus. Right off the bat I can tell you that no one under the age of 50 has ever started a letter to a complete stranger by explaining that their office recently moved. This immediately tells us two things. One, this person is crotchety enough that their office moving “a bit farther away” effects them deeply enough they feel the need to mention it.

Two, whatever this person’s problem is, it’s somehow related to this recent move, meaning in six weeks time he/she will probably have forgotten all about it. I tend to worry a lot, and something I do to help is ask myself if what I’m worrying about will matter to anyone in 100 years. It’s corny, but it gives me perspective on the situation. Abby has apparently never given this advice, because doing so would reduce her reader mail drastically.

Anyway, continuing on…

I guarantee you this person’s problem somehow relates to having to deal with everyday human interaction.

Bingo!

Ok, so far so good.

Dear Lord, isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?

Maybe San Francisco’s just not the place for you, dude.

Dammit, this is where we need details. We know that your daily commute requires public transportation AND a shared shuttle (the horror!) but on this you leave us in the dark? “Personal” means different things to different people. Is he telling you what he had for breakfast or is he describing his most recent perineum rash? Given your personal space boundaries I’m guessing it’s closer to the former.

I presume this is because 5:10pm is the exact time the teenagers and negroes begin loitering at the shuttle stop, with the rap music and the baggy pants and all hopped up on the goofballs.

I really, sincerely wish Abby’s advice to Uncomfortable had been that he walk faster, if only for the mental picture of this mopey commuter, barely getting through each miserable day, speed walking to and from the shuttle every morning and evening, “Phil” trailing behind, desperately reaching out in a vain attempt to grasp his coworker’s arm, shouting mildly personal information the whole way.

We’ve covered weddings and coworkers, how about relationship problems?

Shattered Heart writes:

Fair enough, seems pretty normal so far…

…Ok…

Is this what goes on in senior living nowadays? Damn you, Sex and the City!

Suddenly I miss my Grandma.

Wait a minute, since when is “no sleeping with each others’ exes” in the neighbor code of honor? Perhaps you should refer to your apartment complex charter.

Not calling your neighbor a slut in Dear Abby would probably be a good first step.

As I said earlier, Dear Abby is notorious for propagating urban legends, but this might be the first time she’s ever propagated a Mary Worth plotline.

How about an etiquette question ?

Jesus Christ, seriously?

Alright, that’s all I can handle for now, but let’s finish off with this context-free bit of advice from Ms. Van Buren herself:

Thanks, Abby!