WTHIWWY - No Respect, Letter I

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

Dear fellow yoga practitioners:

I realize the practice of yoga is about finding balance and maintaining a calm, zen-like connection within and to yourself, but I have to say you make it really f'ing hard when you don't respect my personal space and walk your damn, dirty feet across my mat. Seriously, WALK AROUND IT. The 6 inches out of your way will not kill you. I will, however, if you step on my mat again.

Fond Regards,
HB

WTHIWWY - A Letter To The Celebrities, VII

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

Shakira - She Wolf official video music

Here's how the pre-production meeting for this video went:

Shakira: So I want to "dance" a new version of the robot in a one legged unitard in a pink cavernous area resembling a gigantic vagina. Then I want to writhe around in a small cage, contort my legs over my shoulders in a nude unitard so people have no issues imagining what my vagina looks like. After all, I wrote the song about wolves coming out of closets. Ok?

Production Crew: Ok!

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse XI

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

Dear Naked Cowboy:

Please stop gathering crowds during the PM rush hour. It is extremely irritating to fight open mouthed tourists mesmerized by your creative panhandling. And by the way, you can't write NAKED across the back of your solid white underwear. It's false advertising.

Kisses,
HB

Dear Tourists Mesmerized by Naked Cowboy's Creative Panhandling:

MOVE ALONG! Have you never seen a guy in his underwear before?

I mean really.
HB

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse X

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

Dear next door neighbor:

Were you bothered at all by the banging this morning? Did it sound like someone was standing in their closet, repeatedly hitting the walls with a hanger?

Good. Because that's exactly what it was. Every freaking day you wake me up by hitting the wall with something. The hangers in your closet is annoying enough, why must you hit the wall? Why? Why are you even touching that wall? I've seen the layout of your apartment. The only thing you could possibly put up against the wall we share is a dresser, so why are you HITTING it? The resentment is deepening. Despite the fact that you are an otherwise decent neighbor, a little loud at times but that's acceptable, the waking me up both at night and in the morning by hitting the wall makes me hate you. Deeply.

Please stop before I wake you up with a sledgehammer.

Thanks,
HB

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse IX

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


Dear Pig Pen's mother:

I'm not sure if you've heard, but there's something called the swine flu going around. Yes! It's true! Right here in NYC! So I really must mention to you that repeatedly digging food out of your teeth with your fingers and wiping your nose on the back of your hand are not the safest of practices. Especially for a middle aged woman whose immune system is not that of a healthy pre-teen. While they may be acceptable habits behind the closed doors of your horribly unhygienic house, they are absolutely unacceptable on public transportation. If your intention was actually just to make me sick enough to get off one stop early, congratulations. It worked. But you just as easily could have let one go. It would have been less work for you and slightly less nauseating for me.

Invest in some toothpicks and tissues.
HB

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse VIII

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

Dear Dunkin' Dirty:

I bought a lot of donuts from you in college. Mostly because you were the only donut shop on campus but whatever. When I moved to the city and discovered street vendor donuts I realized how much I had been missing. The cheaper, friendlier and tastier service made buying donuts a delight. I thought I would give you another chance to redeem yourself this morning. I am thoroughly unimpressed. Here are a few tips:
A) Hire people who actually pay attention to customers when they are trying to order.
B) Hire people who will return to customers their change.
C) Hire people who put a napkin in the damn bag.
What should have been my morning donut delight was instead disappointing...and dry.

Bone up Dunkin. YOUkinDO it.

A'holes.

Kisses,
HB

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse VII

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

Dear A-holes who take our elevator bank to go to floor 14 when it is clearly designated for floors 17 - 26:

We don't want to wait for your ass any more than you want to wait for people who need to get off on floors 2-13 in your own designated bank. Way to follow the golden rule.

BTW your hair is stupid.

Stay out of our elevators before things turn ugly.

Kisses!
HB

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse VI

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

Dear United States Post Office-

If you are a high traffic Post Office, say one where even the automated machines are 10 people deep, here's what you should do: have more than one automated machine and designate at least one for people who know how to use it. The rest can be for the illiterate and/or inconsiderate masses that take FOREVER to mail ONE GADAM PACKAGE.

Thanks for hearing my suggestion,
HB

WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter VI

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

Dear Rude'ee McRuderson:

When you entered the train and stood a little too close to me, I said nothing.

When you reached out your arm across and in front of my body to hold on to the pole, I said nothing.

When you bumped me for the thirtieth time with the arm that was stretched out in front of my body because you wanted to talk to your beret wearing friends and could not do so without leaning forward and therefore bumping me, I said nothing but went under your arm to stand where you should have been standing when you entered the train.

The dirty look you gave me was unwarranted and unappreciated considering you were the twat in this particular situation.

Learn some train etiquette.

And take care of that skin rash. It looked pretty nasty.

Kisses!
Hapabukbuk

WTHIWWY - A Letter To The Celebrities, VI

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

Dear Ashley Simpson,

You named your son Bronx Mowgli. This is old news, but I feel still irrelevant enough to require a comment.

Is that supposed to be cute? Or is it intentionally supposed to provoke people into punching you repeatedly in the nose until even Owen Wilson's like, "whoa girl, can I take a picture so people stop talking about my shnoz?"

Can you not be annoying for like, 5 minutes?

Thanks,
HB

WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter V

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

Dear DickHead (literally):

It has been quite a while since I've had to sit next to Mr. Big Balls as I thankfully don't have to ride the shuttle anymore. However, I do still have to take the bus and this morning I met you, Mr. Big Balls' cousin, Mr. Massive Balls. As unpleasant as it was for me shoved up against the window, I can only imagine the discomfort the gargantuan package you must have causes you. Perhaps I should have apologized for taking up a quarter of the seat I first occupied completely before you sat down. I mean, it was obvious you needed to spread your legs wider than the situation was allowing you. Poor guy. Maybe next time the bus won't be so full and you can sit with relative ease on two seats, one for your puny ass and one for your enormous ego. I'll cross my fingers.

Kisses,

Hapabukbuk

WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter IV

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

Dear Bus Driver Who Closed The Doors ON Me As I Tried To Disembark:

That hurt, you a'hole. How was I supposed to know one finger in the air meant please-wait-while-I-shut-the-bus-doors-and-drive-foward-five-
feet-and-then-reopen-the-doors-so-you-can-then-get-out
and not,
hmm-I-wonder-which-way-the-wind-is-blowing?
Every single other bus driver I have ever had the pleasure of thanking on my way off the bus has held their hand out in a clear inquiry to stop if they wanted to move the bus forward before all the passengers had gotten off. Please ask them to teach you how it's done before your ass gets sued.

My sincerest f you, due to your lack of voicing an apology for assaulting me first thing in the AM,

Hapabukbuk

WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter III

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

Dear Woman Sitting Beside Me This Morning:

There is an unspoken rule I know you know that applies to every single passenger on a public bus. It is this: Do not touch other passengers you do not know. The exception to this rule is only valid if someone pushes you and you accidentally touch someone you don't know, or the bus jerks in an awkward manner and you accidentally touch someone you don't know. The key word in both these scenarios is accidentally.

It was unacceptable for you to invade my personal space the first time, let alone the many subsequent times after I shifted obviously in my seat, sent you dirty sideways looks and clenched my teeth as I silently imagined slapping you upside the head. There was absolutely no need for you to repeatedly put your hand down on the seat beside you, especially when I was sitting in the seat beside you.

No Touching. Remember this.

Next time you wake me up with your disrespect, you better be wearing a chest plate. I have sharp elbows.

Cranky and annoyed you can't keep your hands to yourself,
HB

WTHIWWY - A Letter To The Celebrities, V

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

Dear Train-Wreck Celebrities Who Think They're Above The Law:

We get it. You're rich. You're (or think you're) gorgeous. You live fast. You.Are.A.Party.Animal.

How about you leave celebreality for five minutes, just five minutes, and see what it's like in the real world? Where driving drunk lands you in real jail, drug addiction isn't an convenient excuse for bad behavior and having children means taking care of someone other than yourself.

Be human. Do a dish or something. God.

Kisses,
HB

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

WTHIWWY - City Life, Verse V

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

Dear sandwich maker:
I apologize if I seemed confused or perhaps unable to hear what you were asking among all the shouting of the other 20 people crammed into the store. However, your response to my telling you what I ordered and therefore what I needed to pay for did not require you to bark "meal" repeatedly at me. If I wanted a f*king meal I would have asked for a f*king meal. Your sunshiney disposition has certainly brightened my day.
Thank you,
HB

Open Letter To My Landlord (A Very Special WTHIWWY)

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


Dear Jerk:

So I see you got the fountain to work. Thank Goodness. I was beginning to worry that strangers passing and tenants alike would never again be able to enjoy the pointless gravitational pull of channeled water behind a large bush in front of our building. It would be such a shame if my kitchen ceiling continued to leak AND the fountain was out of order. My heart couldn't take both life affecting problems at once.

And I don't think I ever thanked you for the renovation of the railing out front either. Changing the color from red to black with brass accents was brilliant. It even matches the number plate you were finally able to find to nail to the front door! Impressive! Now people won't have to call to find out which building I live in when they are standing just outside, frantically looking for a number that's not there.

I also love the little apartment number you nailed outside my door, so low and off to the side I didn't even notice it was there until a sock fell out of my laundry basket and I bent over to retrieve it. Very subtle.

Oh! And the stripes! Fantastic idea if I do say so myself. There is no better color combination than red, yellow and grey, and to paint it over the original 19th century molding? Genius.

I know I speak for all the other tenants in the building when I say thank you for addressing the exterior building issues of our place of living before the interior ones. The beautiful flowers, soothing fountain and gorgeous hallway paint job make us want to live here forever, despite the few plumbing, electrical, structural, etc. problems I know we all suffer. To the outside world we must appear to live like royalty. Even the housing authority must think so despite the many, many charges against you! So thank you for that! Bravo!!

If you are wondering what that smell is, it's the bag of dog poop I lit on fire and left outside your door in thanks.

Your biggest fan,
Hapabukbuk

WTHIWWY - Hardly Working, Verse II

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

The longest temp job I worked was for a fancy culinary school downtown. It lasted two weeks and they actually pulled me in on my last day to ask if I was interested in being their receptionist full time. The answer in my head went like this: I’d rather eat a tapeworm. The answer out of my mouth went like this: No thank you, I actually have another job lined up. Now…though the first answer was true and the second a lie, wasn’t it more diplomatic of me to reply with the latter?

During those two weeks the city suffered one of its Nor’easters and the high winds, hard rain and flooding made a lot of people nervous. Because I needed the money I went to work despite the fact that I actually had to roll up my pants, take off my shoes and wade my way down my street to public transportation. Surprisingly, many of my co-workers did the same.

As the receptionist my job consisted of answering the phone and transferring the caller to one of five people, didn’t matter which of the five.

“Good Morning, [name of fancy culinary school], (pause for question I would ignore.) Hold please while I transfer you to one of our representatives who can further help you.”

On this morning of the storm I had to deal with people calling in to see if classes were cancelled and a school that was unwilling to make up its mind about closing. One woman in particular had a hard time hearing the place was still open. (And because I have a razor sharp memory, especially for things that happened years ago, here is the exact conversation we had.)

“Good Morning, [name of fancy culinary school].”
“Is the school closed today?”
“At the moment classes are still happening.”
“They haven’t been cancelled? Why not? There’s a storm out there!”
“I don’t know ma’am, but the school is still open.”
“My daughter is a student there and I really don’t think she should have to go out in this to get there.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes she’s a student and I don’t think it’s right that you are still open.”
“You can check back later to see if they decided to close, but at the moment classes are still being held.”
“That is ridiculous! The school should close! It’s terrible out! She shouldn’t have to go to class! She’s my daughter! I don’t want her to be outside. It’s dangerous!”
“Is your daughter six?”
“What?”
“I think she’s probably old enough to make that decision for herself. Thank you for calling.”

I guess it’s probably a good thing I didn’t accept the job offer. I never would have lasted.

WTHIWWY - Hardly Working, Verse I

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

A few years ago after I was coughed up and spit out into the real world, I was forced to do temp work to pay my over-inflated rent. Newly graduated, unemployed and dumb enough to move out of your parent's house will do that to you. One such job was as a glorified door opener on an almost defunct floor of a well-known fashion icon’s corporate offices. During the phone interview I was indirectly asked if I was thin, pretty and stylish enough to be seen working there. Had I not been so desperate for money I would have told them I was large, homely and outdated just to see how they responded. The expected dress code was all black of course, with minimal jewelry and makeup. When I arrived I was lead to my “desk” which looked more like the reception window of a doctor’s office. Approximately three people worked on the floor and needed to be buzzed in and out of the security door. While sitting the counter came up to just below my eyes. Good thing I was thin, pretty and stylish.

WTHIWWY - Public Transport, Letter I

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

Dear old lady who understood the bus stopping at bus stops to meanit was time to leave her seat and bother the bus driver about the route while blocking the aisle so no one could get by:

When I stood behind you and said, "excuse me" as politely as possible since you had already annoyed me by blocking other people as they tried to exit the bus thereby making me later and later to my destination, I meant please move so I can get to work.

When you continued to block the aisle and I said, "Excuse Me" again more loudly, I meant go back to your seat this instant you old bat. you are on my last nerve.

When that too failed to alert you to the traditional act of disembarking a bus when it stops I said, "EXCUSE ME" as loudly as I could, adding in a noise of disgust for good measure and letting my impatience get the best of me as I actually pushed by you to descend the stairs, I meant get the hell out of my way before I strangle you with your scarf.

I'd advise you to avoid causing this scene in the future for next time I may not be in such a delightful mood.

Kisses,

Hapabukbuk