WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter II

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

Dear Bus Driver:

I realize there is no way you could have known how badly I had to go to the bathroom, but I do believe it is against the law to speak on the phone while driving. Especially if you are the driver of a public bus on which twenty people are riding. This illegal action of yours would not have bothered me in the slightest had you been going the speed limit. 5 miles an hour is unacceptable, even when I don't have to go to the bathroom. You are lucky I was blinded with panic over a possible accident because otherwise I would have taken down your name to report you.
A-hole.

Sincerely,
The woman who considered peeing on you: HB

Santa Spotted On The Gold Coast

HOBOKEN, NJ - Santa Claus, also known as St. Nicholas b. 1823 was seen last Thursday in the mile square city across the Hudson from the big apple.

It is assumed by many that between the day after Christmas and the day before the following year's Christmas, Santa is busy at work ordering toys, electronics and clothes online to bring to all the children of the world. "Not so," says Hapabukbuk, a witness to Santa's summer appearance in Hoboken. "He was totally buff and tan to boot. There's no way that 174 year old man has been chained to a desk in the north pole. I mean even his long white beard looked like it had been lightened with lemon juice or something."


She managed to get a picture with her less than stellar camera phone. He appears to be standing atop a garbage filled dumpster. "After he walked back and forth across the trash pulling at wires for a while, he finally sat down for a smoke." Hapabukbuk went on to say she was glad Santa was getting out, but really didn't approve of his smoking. "It only takes one kid to see that and think it's cool, you know? Hey look, Santa smokes why can't I?"

No word yet on what Santa was actually doing or why, but it is certainly clear toys for the children were not his priority. Will there be no gifts under the tree this year? Or have all the world's children been bad? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

What Was I Thinking? Vol. 15

I will love thee and cherish thee until the day I...accidentally kill you.

Years ago while in college, I sublet a flat from a very sweet British woman for a few months. The only thing she asked of me, aside from a large monthly rent, was to water the single plant on top of the cabinet in the living room. "Once a week or when the dirt feels dry," was her instruction. As I was so grateful to have found a place to live for such a short time period, I was determined to care for this plant like it was my first born. You can guess where this is going.

It was similar to a spider plant, but not a spider plant. It had longish leaves that I had to be careful not to smush in the cabinet door when I shut it, and I had to stand on a chair to reach it. This cabinet was actually more like a three sided facade to hide the flat's water heater. Beneath the heater oddly enough, make shift shelves were put up. These were essential because there was no closet in the living room, aka my bedroom. My roommate won the actual bedroom with a real closet in a coin toss. I'm sure you can guess where this is going as well.

After a few weeks of dutifully caring for the plant, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I had watered it. Was it last week? Or 2 days ago? Sunday? Thursday maybe? So I felt the dirt. It felt dry. I went to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and poured it between the leaves.

Here's the twist. Apparently it had had enough to drink.

Thirty seconds later the entire glass of water filtered through the dirt, out the bottom of the pot, down the front and side of the cabinet as well as through the crack in the door, soaking everything.

It was yellow. And it smelled.

The plant pissed all over my clothes.

All I wanted was to care for it, you know?

What BukBuk's Do...

...with their spare (jail) time.

Can you imagine our very own American inmates doing this?

Overheard In Suburbia

Last weekend I trekked up to my friend Fiend's abode, for a short visit/suprise for her birthday. I have kind of been adopted by her family which is just the greatest thing ever, because I absolutely adore them. Here is just one example of why:

Fiend's Mom: When's the last time you touched a vacuum?
Fiend's Dad: I vacuumed the living room yesterday!
Fiend's Mom: You turned on the roomba.
Fiend's Dad: That's right! I said where's my bitch? I pushed the button 4 times and it was the cleanest that rug has ever been!

later...

Fiend's Dad: Are you going to church?
Fiend's Mom: Someone's got to save your souls.

Identity Crisis #4

A large number of my friends are reaching the three oh milestone this year. I am next in line. In just under four months I will be surviving what I am guessing will be my 33.33% life crisis, since I've already been through my first coming of age, my quarter life crisis and my second coming of age. To commemorate this grand event, I am considering the following:

a) getting a tattoo/piercing
b) getting a different hair cut (I get shivers just thinking about it)
c) getting a mortgage and buying a place to live
d) getting a camper to live in and playing folk songs on street corners for money. (Damn the man!)

Because everyone knows altering your appearance and blowing your savings on something is what keeps you young.

My Mother, The Technophobe

My mother hates new technology. She wanted no part of a computer until she learned how to do eBay. This is her one and only acceptance as she still does not know how to use the VCR, DVD player or the remote control for the cable box. Forced into getting a cell phone, which has since been deactivated, this was her voicemail message:

Hello, this is [Hapabukbuk's mom]. I can't get to the phone so please leave a message...(rustle rustle)...ok I'm done. What do I push? How do I make it stop? Beep.

This was the message on the land line voicemail before the power went out and reset it to the generic one: (the size of the words are in relation to the level of her voice. The bigger the word, the higher her voice)

Hello! you've reached the Hapabukbuks.We're not home right now so please leave a message and we'll call you back! Bye! rustle rustle...ok turn it off...turn it- Beep.

If only I had the technology to make that recording reappear somehow...

A Record Of A Failed Attempt

A few years ago I tried to write a short book about my travels abroad. I found a few excerpts in my sent box that I emailed to friends to get feedback. And yes, I keep a lot of emails.

"A mandatory-guided tour was the only way to see the castle interiors and the only thing I learned from taking it is how much I despise mandatory-guided tours. And just my luck, I got in with a seniors sight seeing tour so it took twice as long to get through. Even seeing an old guy almost fall into the first documented indoor toilet hardly soothed my irritation."

"After a while he asked, 'What land you come from? Do you speak Belgian? Do you speak Netherland? What’s your name? I am Kosovo.' Then he asked, 'Do you have home?'

I said, 'Yes in the US, not here.'

After a very long silence, which also occurred between every other question he said, 'Ok sorry. I go now. Sorry, sorry.' I wasn’t sure what to say. After a small pause he said, 'Sorry. Do you have telephone number?'

I actually felt my eyes widen and I thought yes. Yes I do. And I’ll give it you so you can call and we can not talk since we have no common mean of verbal communication. But instead I just said no."

Is it any wonder why I'm not a famed travel writer?