X + Y/Z = Suck

You know what really kind of sucks?

Coming home one night and deciding to make a list of things you need to buy at the store the following day, and when you open the closet to see what you need to restock you think gee something's not right in here and when you bend down to take a closer look you realize the ginormous bottle of tide (X) you bought last time you went to the store to restock exploded and everything on the floor or touching the floor of your closet is soaked in laundry detergent. So you spend the first ten minutes being pissed off while you take non-soap covered things out of the closet and randomly throw them around your bedroom. The next ten minutes you spend cursing your parents for selling your childhood home thus forcing you to carry around a lot of extra crap you don't need but can't bare to throw out, including the prom dress (Y) you wore 11.5 years ago and probably doesn't fit anymore. Then you stand there for 4 minutes trying to decide just how to clean up soap, because in most cases soap is used to clean up something else. So you steal the brand new roll of paper towels your roommate just bought and start wiping, only to find that in the process you are also wiping up the finish from the wood floor (Z) and it's making your hands brown. But really there is nothing else you can do so you keep wiping. And wiping. And wiping. Then give up, throw a rug over it and call it a night.

Yeah, that really kind of sucks.

Newsflash

Diplomacy is OUT


Pushing and Shoving is IN

*the original caption read: The Bush Fracas. Gotta give props where props is due!

WTHIWWY - A Letter To The Celebrities, I

A reading from the book of What The Hell Is Wrong With You?

Dear Brooke Burke,

Do you have any other talents besides shoving the girls into low cut tight fitting clothing? I suggest you cultivate some. The girls won't stay big and perky forever.

Love,

The Buk

My Pants = On Fire

UPDATE!
I totally lied. I remembered something else I stole.

Sophmore year. The big mathmatics building on campus.
We needed a door stop for our heavy dorm door.
I spied a little wooden one.
I took it.

I'm a thief.

TrUE LifE RiDonkULousNEsS

Roughly 2.5 hours into our camping road trip upstate:

Angel: so what exit are we looking for?
Hapabukbuk: (looks at directions for the first time) um...one we passed about an hour and a half ago.
Angel: what??
HB: according to this we were supposed to cross the tappan zee bridge.
A: here, check the map. (hands HB 3 maps)
HB: these are all jersey maps.
A: shit. where are all my NY maps?
HB: you burned them the last time we went camping.

After stopping in Kingston, purchasing a map and getting back on the road:

HB: i'm hungry. cookies for dinner!
A: i forgot to write down the number to the camp site.
HB: that's ok, if we can't find it we'll stop and ask someone where it is. what's it called again?
A: i have no freaking clue.
HB: it's amazing we've made it this far in life.

What Was I Thinking? Vol. 4 and 5

WEEEEEE! Ow.

I've gone kayaking exactly twice.
Exactly twice I thought I was going to die.
Afterwards.

Place: Wales, UK
Time: November 1997
Story: There I am, paddling a single boat alongside a bunch of American strangers, all enjoying the ridiculousness of kayaking in the cold when my boat tipped. Not only did it tip, it tipped and threw me against a huge rock covered in barnacles. Painfully sharp barnacles. Then I'm underwater thinking, ok how do I get out of this damn thing? There really wasn't any panic, I was way too shocked to think anything coherent. I struggled for a moment until suddenly the boat released me and I surfaced, grabbing onto the upside down boat like a bewildered animal clutching a piece of wood. Turns out the girl behind me couldn't control her boat and kept ramming into mine. The instructor paddled over immediately. Are you ok? Are you ok? I'm looking around thinking, what the hell just happened? I said, I'm ok. I guess. When I got back into the boat and tried to paddle I realized my hands looked and felt like I had dipped them in a bucket of broken glass. And that I could have drowned. I loved every minute of it.


Place: Upstate, NY
Time: August 2005
Story: There I am, paddling a single boat alongside Angel and Wonderturtle thinking, damn this is hard work. But I carry on, being my foolish self much to their delight and getting stuck on a rock, stuck going backwards, and shooting off to the opposite of the river to look for our landing point down river. I'll go check! When we got back to our camp and settled in for some dinner, I realized I could not lift my arms without feeling a surge of unbelievable pain throughout my body. Every time I tried, a new wave of nausea washed over me so I eventually gave up. After the girls helped me change I tried to lie very, very still until it passed and I fell asleep. Or I died. It didn't help that I kept laughing at my own idiocy. Blackened veggie dogs, 3 cold smores and a night spent in the rain later itsallgoo. There was no way I couldn't love every minute of it. PS that's a picture of a sleeping ass.

Autumn Armageddon

Know what I like to do for fun?

I like to swing atoms of gold around two 2.4 mile circular tubes where powerful magnets accelerate them to almost the speed of light. I do this because when they collide they are 10,000 times hotter than the sun.

And I definitely want something hotter than the sun somewhere near my immediate vicinity because I’m completely INSANE.

Honestly. Don’t scientists have anything better to do with their time? Curing the common cold? Inventing solar powered robots? Studying the mating habits of two headed snakes perhaps?

Batter Up

I understand the purpose of turnstiles, I do. I have the greatest appreciation for the ones that exist solely for counting purposes. There is something about knowing the approximate number of people who pass by a certain point that I find interesting. Like when you work in a big secure corporate building you think, “wow 583 other chumps came to work earlier than me.”

In my office building, modern day electronic turnstiles exist as an alleged security measure. They are designed with two arms which meet in the middle and separate by swinging open when your ID clears. Sometimes they swing back before you can get through. On more than one occasion I’ve been assaulted by the “crotch bats” (as called by rtb). I never learn and am never amused.

On the other hand, it’s quite entertaining to see someone else suffer the consequences of being stopped dead in their tracks, pelvis first.


To the cutie who got nailed by the turnstile for the 1/9:

Your sheepish look back while you slid your metro card through again made you all the cuter. Too bad you weren’t looking when I fogged up the car window with my minty fresh breath and wrote my number in it.

A Thousand Words Is Worth A Picture

Eh. No time for play or a cleverly crafted post. So instead I will leave you with words that create a picture for you to imagine and enjoy. If I had been fast enough I could have taken an actual picture to post, but alas, the buk buk is tired at the end of the day and lacks even the energy to capture the humor of it.

a man
around 5'7"
wearing a Fred Flintstone T-shirt
tucked into 80s style black cavaricci pants
which are in turn tucked into brown cowboy boots.

You're welcome.

Something's Gotta Give

"There is no peace within patriarchy."
-Ani Difranco

SkullFire: A Short Story

I was standing in the middle of the concert attending crowd, enjoying the beautiful music emanating from the stage when a girl suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She tried to walk through me.

"You can't walk here," I said as I shifted slightly to show her all the bags lining the path where she mistakenly thought she could go.

"Well how should I go?" she asked without a hint of sarcasm.

"Well you can start by not touching me," I said snottily as she proceeded to try to walk through me again. Or so I thought. She was actually passing out in an amazingly powerful druken stupor. She landed extremely awkwardly at our feet, eyes open complete with her head turned to the side so she looked dead. Dead.

Shouts for help could be heard, only softly under the music but there nevertheless, and it took a moment for security to show. By then someone had helped her up. She looked at us as if to say, why are you looking at me? I'm just trying to get through, but only for a moment. It may have been more of a Am I standing right now, the ground is awfully far from my face? because down she went again, landing like a dropped doll.

Just as quickly she was up again, purse still on her shoulder, dazed look still in her eyes. My one and constant thought through all this was, ogod she's going to vomit on my shoes. ogod she's going to vomit on my shoes.

Help finally arrived to escort her out of the crowd, but he couldn't lift apart the metal police fence containing us. Then it hit me. The SkullFire of course! Use your powers for good hapabukbuk! For good! I aimed it at her and was able to lift her over the fence unharmed.* Until she passed out again. I'm a humanitarian, what can I say?
I resumed enjoying the beautiful music emanating from the stage.

On the bus home I poked myself in the eye. Apparently SkullFire can't protect me from myself.

*Other friends and neighbors may or may not have been involved in this process. A superhero's gotta have her secrets.

Tisk, Tisk, Aye, Yie

When my father gets angry, frustrated or disappointed he makes a noise that is the Filipino equivalent of tisking:

“Aye, yie, yie,” he says and shakes his head.

Growing up it was the only way you knew if you’d done something wrong.

I eventually came to notice that in addition to aye, yie, yie, other Filipinos also said, “Ay na ko.” One day I asked him why he didn’t say it. His reply took me completely by surprise.

“Dat is a woman’s saying!” he said more vehemently than I’d ever heard him say anything.

I burst out laughing.

“What?”

“I’m sorry dad…I didn’t mean to offend you!”

My dad’s pretty progressive in terms of gender roles, as he grew up in a house where all his brothers and sisters were equally expected to earn degrees and get jobs. Apparently though, gender sayings are quite a different story.

Another Time...

...I threw a gigantic bag of popcorn directly at Angel because Snix handed it to me and I didn't want to carry it and Wonderturtle egged me on when I said, "What would happen if I threw this at Angel?" and then we all laughed and laughed...
At least, I did.

The Madness Of A Commuter's Mind

...hmmm, the bus is packed tonight. it's ok, i can wait 10 min till someone gets off. i wonder what there is for dinner at home. ow. what the? can you please not hit me in the head with your arm? thank you. great. lady in the front, can you not jab your bag into my pelvis? that'd be great. ow! WTF? are you really that self involved that you don't realize every time the bus stops you jab your elbow into my neck? i'd like to set that pretty little pink sweater on fire. lady! really! i am standing right here, it's not an invisible wall you keep bumping your bag into! oh. my. god. this is a joke right? now you people sitting decide you need the space in the aisles too? hold on. hold on. let me think. yes. 4 strangers are currently touching me in some manner right this very second. i wish my skin was coated with some kind of poison so that when people i didnt want touching me touched me they would suffer slowly. wow. when did i become so violent? oh thank god. relief. yes yes. get off the bus. get out. move. ahhh. breathing room. hmmm. so dinner...

This One Time...

...I crawled out onto wonderturtle's roof and listened to her speak with a guy who was going to tow her gas leaking car before scaring the beejezzus out of her by joining the conversation...
Good times.

What Was I Thinking? Vol. 3

no…please no…no…no, no. ow. ow. OW.

I am not a huge fan of makeup. Perhaps it’s because my mother made me wait until I was 12 before I could wear it and by then I’d lost interest, or perhaps it’s because she used to make me up like a prostitute for various ballet, tap and baton recitals because she said it was the only way the audience could see my face. Whatever the reason, I'd rather not wear it.

One of the first weddings I actually remember being in without the aid of pictures was my cousin’s. I went to my aunt’s house early to get ready with the other girls, utterly unaware of what was about to happen. For approximately 25 minutes (which felt like hours) I experienced hell. The kind you don't even tell your kids about because it's too awful.

The family hairdresser arrived to do hair and makeup. Her name was Raquel. I think. I may have forgotten in all the panic and pain I felt immediately after meeting her. First the foundation was applied with short, brusque strokes, almost as if we were stage fighting and I was too slow to move slightly to the side. Next came the lipstick, barely peeking out of the tube so that when it was rubbed across my lips, it dragged like a cheese grater.

The pain not even half of what it was about to be, I began sweating. My legs were so tense I couldn’t move and my knuckles turned shades of pink and white while they clenched the edge of the stool. And then there were the tears. I was able to hold them back but I was hysterical on the inside.

If I had only known that eyeliner could be used as a torture device, I would have claimed an allergy or something and tried to get away with not wearing it. If only. She began to write on my eyelid like it was a box going overseas and all she had to mark it with was an unsharpened pencil. I can only assume that rubbing shards of splintered wood around my open eyes would have felt the same, but I believe it’s a valid assumption.

I have had makeup applied for various other weddings since then, all of which still made me uncomfortable, but I didn't want to end my life.

You know what? That's it. I'm done. No more uncomfortable/painful makeup applications. That’s right friends of mine who choose me, you might want to buy me a ticket to the beach 'cuz this bridesmaid may be looking pasty in your pictures. Deal.

WTHIWWY – City Life, Verse I

A favorite reading from the book of What The Hell Is Wrong With You?:

A few years ago on my way home just as rush hour thinned out, I heard a man shout, “Oh that’s real discreet!” I looked around to find the source and discovered he was staring at me. It was odd but I brushed it off as a crazy New Yorker letting off steam.

The light turned red as I crossed the street so I began to trot to get to the other side. Out of nowhere he runs up behind me and shoves me. Hard.

“Are you even serious?" I said like he may have possibly been joking. “What the f**k?!” I said louder before I could curb the profanity.

He rushed forward and without looking back he yelled, “Ya not a nice lady and ya nevah will be!”

As IF.

“What are you talking about?” I yelled again, having regained my poise and fear that he might turn around, run back and stick a knife in me. Even a short, skinny, Long Island businessman with thinning hair is something to be wary of in the city at night.

He finally glanced back as he turned the next corner and saw the expression on my face.

“Ya think ya so impo-wah’int,” he yelled waving his hands dismissively.

Thanks for pointing that out angry, psycho guy. Maybe next you can tell me what I think of you.

Escargot Is Unacceptable

Fact: I cannot handle worms. Or anything else slimy and blob-like, i.e. snails

I can’t see them, I can’t touch them, I don’t even like to move them with my shoe. I have an incredibly strong gag reflex to the entire Annelid and most of the Mollusca phyla in the Animal kingdom. Except maybe inchworms. And only the itty, bitty green ones at that.

I want to be cremated because I am completely nauseated by the thought of maggots.

Even this makes me uncomfortable:

Yesterday I braved the bay waters with Angel, White Lightening and White Lightening’s mom to collect a few clams. The shallow part was absolutely covered with snails, which I actually didn’t realize until I started digging and the little black dots began to move. Immediately I jumped up, stifled a scream and looked around to see if anyone saw. Thankfully they were all too busy not being freaks to notice.

I took a deep breath, told myself to stop being foolish and tried again, but as soon as I pulled away more sand I felt something crawling on my foot. Up out of the water I popped again, only this time there were so many black dots around I imagined everything I stepped on or kicked up was a snail and I almost fell over backward.

I was about to give up when I spotted a place that seemed to have fewer snails. Taking another step to ensure my snail free zone, I wiped away the sand before kneeling down. Pulling the sand to my right, it was only a matter of moments before the pile began to bury my leg which in turn left my thigh wide open for a snail to attach itself.

I’m pretty sure I broke the reality/cartoon barrier when I ran so fast it took my bathing suit a few seconds to catch up.

What? I don’t do worms. Or anything else slimy and blob-like.