When I was moving to NYC in 1999, my mom helped me with a lot of the logistics while I finished my semester at Indiana University. She called me one day saying she got me a local phone number and she said it was, um, funny. How could a number be funny? Talk about an awkward moment with your mom when she tells you 6969.

But as of May 31, that number will no longer be mine. I will not receive anymore heavy breathers, no more repeated State Penitentiary calls, no more explicitly dirty calls in the middle of the night from area codes I didn't know existed.

Sigh, the good ole days.