Musings of a Hapabukbuk

Friday, September 28, 2007

The Poconos: For Lovers Of Every Kind

Growing up my parents had a condo of sorts in the Poconos. It was the coolest place ever. It was three stories high and each floor was balconied so you could stand on the third floor and look down to see part of the second and first floors. Aside from the three stories and the beige carpets, I have few precious memories of it. As you can imagine, they are also the coolest memories ever.

1. Apparently the only way to get furniture up to the third floor was to haul it up over each balcony. My brother and two of his friends struggled with a green couch in this manner for hours, much to my enjoyment. It ended up being the only piece of furniture up there. At least that I can remember and since we all know my memory is sh*t, I could totally be lying.

2. The kitchen was tiny but I was in it with my mother when I lost my second tooth. I bit into a bagel and the tooth was still in it when I brought it away from my mouth. I remember there being a small earthquake that morning which is actually what prompted me to run into the kitchen. I think. I reiterate the last line of memory one.

3. One particular trip to the condo probably lent a hand in my parents' decision to sell it. We opened the doors to a trail of droppings. A very, very long trail of droppings, much like a child from the family circus would leave, and we actually followed it all over the house. It started at the fireplace and weaved under tables, around the couch, up the stairs, and under the bed until it stopped in front of the night table. My dad lifted it and there curled up in a lover's embrace were two dead squirrels. It was gross. The poop I mean. And you know I'm not lying about that because really, who lies about poop?

Monday, September 24, 2007

Possible Admittance I'm Getting Old, But More Likely Everyone Is Just A Jerk*

I attended a concert last night, and as per usual I have some complaints. Here is a list of ways the show could have been more enjoyable.

-the absence of the surround sound 16 year old speakers behind me, shouting the words to every song off key.

-the absence of people needing to walk back in forth in front of me, stumbling over the edge of the stairs.

-the absence of the guy who not only stumbled but tripped over the edge of the stairs and fell over, punching me extremely hard in the chest as he went. It still aches a little.

-the absence of the guy selling beers out of a red milk crate who pushed it up against me and held it there, said sorry when I looked at him but then proceeded not to move it for at least another 60 seconds.

-the absence of the guy standing way too close to me for most of the concert.

-the absence of the dipsh*t that kept saying, "it's not over yet," when I moved toward the exit to get away from him and his stupid giggly friends and enjoy the encore in some semblance of peace.

*Everyone is a jerk line credited to B.H.C. aka radiate the bear


Friday, September 21, 2007


It used to be my most loathed life essential, now it's merely just not my favorite. I suppose that's because I'm too lazy to cook and too penny pinchery to fine dine. Don't get me wrong, I love good food, it's just such an annoyance to have to find it that I usually end up eating quick and less than delicious meals.

That said, I once ate rabbit.

Unimpressed? Me too. I didn't know I was eating rabbit. I was 12 and with a bunch of other 12 year olds, one of whom (who?) would have had a conniption if she knew she was eating rabbit, so they told us all it was chicken. I thought it was the weirdest looking and blandest tasting chicken I'd ever had, and felt smart when I found out why. Then I realized I ate rabbit.

A few years later at my lola's 80th birthday party, (where the following exchange occured:

My Mother: (to my Aunt) Where's Lola?
My Aunt: She's right over there.
My Mother: Oh!! Haha! I didn't recognize her with that damn wig!)

I ate snake. Snake soup.

I knew it too. Oddly enough, it tasted like chicken.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

A Delightful Memory

One day in September of 2000, I stepped into an elevator and hit the button for floor 11. I was on 9. The doors closed and the elevator didn't move. I waited for a moment, hoping against hope it would move again before saying loudly, "This is a joke right?" to no one but myself since I was alone. I pushed 11 again and when there was still no movement I came to the only logical conclusion that the elevator did not like floor 11 and pushed another number. Then I thought, "did I really just think that?"

The panel had a little red emergency button below a myriad of regular elevator buttons that when pushed I imagined would bring a brigade of elevator repairmen. I can now say with certainty that the term emergency, with respect to elevators, is apparently relative. A bell sounded for the length of time I held the button in. No response. So I pushed it again. Still no response. A few minutes and a lot of "help I'm stuck in the elevator!"s later, I held the button in for a good forty seconds until the annoyed disembodied voice of a bored security guard sounded.

"Is that you playing with the alarm?"

I had to refrain from responding with, "Yes. Yes it's me. I thought I'd take a little break from the work day to stand here, in this little suspended box, and play with the alarm. Does that make me wicked?" Instead I informed him curtly of my less than desirable situation which then prompted him to put into effect what would end up being a forty minute rescue plan.

I sat down and started singing until I got tired of hearing my voice and realized I could hear other people's conversations in the elevator bank. Suddenly a voice came through the doors that was directed at me.

"Are you ok?"

I shouted in return, "you don't have to worry I'm not claustrophobic!" as if that would make him work any faster. And then all my co-workers were outside the doors, having stopped by out of concern or for a laugh, it was hard to determine since the air had become warm and disproportionately high in CO2.

"What time is it?" I heard.

"It's time for an old-fashion hippie ass whomping!" I responded.

Then the doors flew open and a gust of oxygenated air blew in along with a modicum of hope. I saw that I was actually between two floors for about 20 seconds before the doors closed and that hope was crushed. They opened again and I perked up, until they closed and I wanted to shoot myself. Then, like in so many horror movies, an arm came through and pushed the doors open revealing the tops of everyone's heads.

The cheerful smiles and glad I'm not you expressions were a welcome sight as they helped me slide out of the box of hell onto the floor. Though I felt as though my entire perception of the universe had been altered I clapped my hands together and shouted, "What are you all standing around for? Break's over!"

Friday, September 14, 2007

From The High Inquisitor Of Footwear Edict II

Here's just one more reason not to wear flip flops.
I can't even post the picture. Ewww.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

From The High Inquisitor Of Footwear Edict I

Dear People Who Wear Flip Flops:

My stance on the shoe aside, if you insist on wearing them please wash your feet. At least the tops of them. Or else make sure the entirity of both your feet are dirty so that there is no difference in color between your toes. Especially the big ones.

Thank you,
The Non-Flip Flop Wearing population

PS. this is equally unacceptable:

Monday, September 10, 2007

A Dirty Bulb Brightens

Date: 1988
Place: Auntie N's house
Scene: 10 year old HB dances around with younger friends singing the latest song on the radio

Lil' HB: "I went to a party last Saturday night, I didn't get late, I got in a fight-"
Auntie N: WHAT?!
HB: What?
Auntie N: What did you just say?
HB: What? I went to a party, I didn't get late.
Auntie N: late?
HB: Yeah, late. Like she wasn't late for no reason, she was late because she got in a fight.
Auntie N: (grins widely) Oh ok.

cut to a few years later:

Scene: Older, but still lil' HB listens to a mix she made a few years ago.
Lita Ford: "I went to a party last Saturday night, I didn't get laid, I got in a fight-"
HB: ooOOHHhhh.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Wouldn't It Be Excellent...

...if exercising felt the same way that sitting and watching television does?

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Fire BURNS Wood!

Remember these guys?

Of course you do! Ok fine. Watch this then.
The Panda was always my favorite. Go figure.