Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Dear City of Boston and its Commuters:

It snowed on Monday for the first time this winter.  Not very much really -- 2 to 3 inches tops -- but it did stick. Somehow that nominal amount of snow managed to royally fuck up everyone's commute.  How is this possible? How is Boston unable to get its shit together for a little bit of snow?  It's not like we live in fucking North Carolina where it only snows like every eight years.  It's fucking Boston.  It snows every year.  And not just like a little.  We get big fucking Nor'easters every winter.  I don't understand how this tiny "storm" caused so many traffic delays.  For example, my commute home is usually about 20 minutes.  Monday night it was an hour.  In the grand scheme of things, this isn't terrible.  My co-workers who live in the 'burbs, however, were way more screwed.  One co-worker (who only lives 12 miles away from the city) had a three hour commute home.  Another got stuck on some heinous bus that wasn't moving anywhere and took nearly two hours.  And it took yet another person three and a half hours.  Holy shit.  Honestly, how is this even possible?  I'm not even sure the 2 inches of snow required plowing.  I can't think of a logical explanation for why traffic turned into such a shit-show for such a relatively minor snowfall.  I don't even know who or what to blame for this.  Even my commute to work on Tuesday morning took almost an hour.  It wasn't even snowing Tuesday morning and the streets were clear.  None of this makes sense.  Come on, Boston.  I'm going to be bullshit if this turns into a running theme for the rest of the winter.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

New Feature: How The Fuck Did You Get Here?

By way of full disclosure, I am blatantly stealing this new feature from Tales from Library Land.  The author goes by Bitchy Librarian and can be found on Twitter here:  

Basically, people find my blog (and other blogs obviously), by Googling absolutely ridiculous shit.  Interestingly, thanks to this one random post from over the summer -- Dear Girl Who Rubbed Her Boobs on My Friend -- I get a lot of weirdo boob related Google searches that point to my blog.  For example:

Boobs being rubbed on glass -- Uh, really?  I assume this is some weird semi-kinky porn thing?  Maybe?  I assume most things on the internet are some weird semi-kinky porn thing.  

Boobs today blogspot -- "Boobs Today" sounds like a morning talk show or some sort of magazine informing the public as to latest and greatest in boob news.

Girl rubbing her boobs on me -- Is someone having a problem with this at school or at work?  Doesn't really sound like a kinky porn thing this time, kind of sounds like someone looking for advice.

How to get a girl to like you and rubbed her boobs -- This definitely looks like some young kid just doing some searching on the internet, trying to find out how to touch some boobs.  The first part is kind of sweet, he just wants a girl to like him, but then he takes it up a notch by taking the extra step of figuring out how to get to 2nd base.  I'm curious what the web results for this actually look like. 

There, of course, non-boob related searches that are also amusing, such as:

How to clean barf from your sink -- Did it stain your sink?  Will it not go down the drain?  What exactly is the issue here?

Humboldt park hipster -- I don't know where Humboldt Park is, but I no doubt would hate the hipsters that live there.  I'm a little sad anyone looking for hipsters found my blog.  Apparently Google hasn't figured out yet that I fucking hate hipsters.

Proper way to clean vomit bus -- Now this one makes me laugh.  I have yet to witness anyone vomiting on the bus, but if I did, you can bet your ass I'd be blogging about it.  That would be fucking terrible.

Special vomiting sink -- What the fuck is this?  It sounds like the sink is doing the vomiting.  Which, actually, would be something special.  

Anyways, that's all I got for now.  Maybe I'll do this again next month.  You know, if anyone actually found this amusing.  I'm guessing this wasn't my strongest post...

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Dear Person Who Writes This Blog:

What the fuck, dude?  If you're actually going to have a blog, you have to, you know, write something once in a while.  You can't just hoodwink a bunch of strangers into reading it and then not update it for weeks.  People still check this shit, and I'm sure their sorely disappointed when its the same lame post from last month.  I mean, they're probably not that disappointed.  This really isn't the greatest thing ever.  It's mostly a whiny forum to be needlessly angry and complain about completely inconsequential shit.  Maybe you just haven't been wronged lately.  That seems plausible and almost understandable.  Everyone can't be that terrible all the time, can they?

But even then.. you should really be putting something up online.  Fucking make stories up if you have to.  Rant about esoteric things.  Continue to hate on hipsters.  Anything.  Just put something up, man.  You could even make up some completely random and borderline weird third-person account of your blog and lack of updates as if it were a person who has wronged you...

Just an idea.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Dear High School Kids:

I know, I know.  This already sounds a little too much of a "Get off my lawn" old man rant, but bear with me.  You two were on the bus talking about colleges.  Perfectly acceptable thing for high school kids to do.  Education is always a good thing.  You talked about Dartmouth and Cornell and Florida and Carleton and a bunch of other schools.  Everything is going good so far.  You started talking about how some schools might be better than others because you really "wanted to play for a good program."  So you're student athletes?  Great.  Happy to hear it.  Now is about the time things start to go south... You were really interested in Carleton and Florida because they had "two of the top teams in the country."  I was confused because I know that Carleton is a tiny liberal arts school in the middle of fucking nowhere in Minnesota.  What sports program do they possibly have that's one of the best in the country and rivals a big school like Florida?  Oh.  Fucking Ultimate Frisbee.  That's what.  I'm sorry, but that is not an actual sport.  Sure, it might be fun to some, and it certainly involves some level of athleticism, but last time I checked, that's not an official NCAA sport.  There are no actual Ultimate Frisbee leagues.  It's something you do after you smoke pot and you're tired of playing hacky sack.  Do schools really have Ultimate Frisbee programs?  Do they recruit kids to play for them?  Am I waaaay out of the loop here?  And its not so much that I'm opposed to Ultimate Frisbee, its that I cannot believe you are actually picking a college based on how good its fucking Ultimate Frisbee team is.  I mean, I'm not crazy, right?  That's like a weird fucking thing to do, right?  I feel like out of all the considerations you should take into account when picking a college that you will spend four years at and presumably spend a lot of money at, you should be a little more concerned with academics and degree programs and career prospects than you should be with whether or not you can play Ultimate fucking Frisbee.   Plus, if you can get into Dartmouth or Cornell, I assume you're pretty bright.  Unfortunately, your lack of judgement erases any sort of hope I had for you in your future endeavors.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Retro-Wronging -- Dear Person Sitting Next To Me At Jury Duty:

Just so we're clear, jury duty fucking sucks.  There's nothing pleasant about it.  You sit for upwards of eight hours in a small fucking room with a bunch of people with absolutely jack shit to do.  And even if you do get called out of the jury pool room and onto an actual real live jury, you get rewarded with possibly having to come back to whatever shit-hole courthouse you're in and miss more work for someone's bullshit car accident trial.  Whatever.  Let's get back to the jury pool room.  Hopefully you planned ahead and brought a book, otherwise you'll want to light yourself on fire within about forty-five minutes of sitting there quietly.  Sometimes you get dismissed early, other times you sit there for an eternity "performing your civic duty."

Now, Person Sitting Next To Me, apparently you heeded my advice and brought a book.  What book did you bring?  Well, the Holy Bible, of course.  Obviously jury duty is a great time to catch up on your spiritual journey through life.  Now, this in and of itself is not offensive at all.  Here's what is offensive though:  when you started to read it out loud.  Look, I really don't care what people read or how religious they are or any bullshit like that, but I don't want to hear you fucking read Psalms and Letters to the Corinthians and all sorts of other Biblical shit all afternoon.  Its not like you just read for a few minutes, you read out loud for like three and a half fucking hours.  You could have been reading my favorite novel of all time out loud and I still would have been bullshit for having to listen to you all afternoon.  Why do you think its appropriate to read out loud?  Did you think you were being quiet?  Or were passive-aggressively trying to preach to the few people around you?  Whatever you were trying to do -- don't.  Just shut the fuck up and read to yourself like the other 45 people in the room.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Dear People Soliciting Me For Donations:

This isn't directed at any one particular person or organization, but rather a seemingly endless onslaught of people who want my time and money.  I see you folks pretty much every single day.  You're always there with your clipboard and your snazzy shirts or jackets indicating what tireless organization you're currently shilling for.  You normally work for good causes.  Things I could, theoretically, get behind.  Unfortunately, I'm pretty broke.  Like many 20-somethings, I make little money and have a tremendous amount of student loan debt.  So even if I wanted to give you money, I'm not going to.  Sorry, folks.  I'm not sure if you really believe strongly in these causes, or if you just need a job, and being an annoying solicitor is as good as it gets in this shitty economy.  Usually you try and flag me down and I just say something curt like "Sorry, not today."  I mean, tomorrow or the day after isn't going to be any different, but whatever.

Some of you, however, have absolutely ridiculous techniques to try and get my attention.  None of these work, and usually just piss me off more than anything.  Here are some recent examples:

1)  You flagged me down and complimented me on my tie.  I said thank you and tried to keep walking, but instead you grabbed my hand to shake it.  First off, I'm not opposed to hand-shaking, but that's a little aggressive for strangers on the street.  Secondly, the first words out of your mouth were, "You're not afraid of black people, right?"  What the fuck, dude?  That is not a way to start a conversation.  You were black, and I assume you were trying to appeal to my "not a racist" side of me, but seriously?  Trying to guilt me into whatever fucking cause you're soliciting by implying that I'd be somehow racist by not listening to your spiel is fucking bullshit.  Worst technique ever.  I was immediately pissed off and left without giving you a second thought.

2)  You flagged me down and immediately said, "You have a beard, you must like [insert hippie cause here.]"  Yeah, because I have a beard I must fucking love saving the environment or the whales or whatever other bullshit Greenpeace cause you were touting.  Don't make assumptions, asshole.

3)  You flagged me down and said something about how cute you were and how I should listen to your Save the Children or some nonsense.  Now, you were a very attractive female, but... not a good approach.  How much of a fucking douchebag would I be if I ignored all the other annoying solicitors, but listen to you simply because you're attractive and you know it?  I suppose it's somewhat clever in that you might actually find some douchebags willing to listen to you talk for a few minutes in some misguided hope that you were somehow hitting on them.  But I'm not stupid, and I'm not listening to your sales pitch no matter how good looking you are.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Dear Bus Who Passed Me:

Look, Person Driving Bus, this one isn't entirely your fault, but since you're ostensibly in charge of your bus, I'm going to have to blame you.  Today was kind of chilly, kind of rainy, and kind of dark (thanks to daylight savings), and I was really excited to see you come down the street so I could hop on and get the fuck home from work.  However, you didn't stop.  You did slow and almost come to a stop like a giant fucking tease, but instead, you kept going much to our dismay.  I'm not sure why you even bothered pretending like you were going to stop.  All that did was get our hopes up and ultimately piss us off.  I mean, we'd still be pissed if you didn't slow down and just kept speeding passed us.  But at least we wouldn't have had our hopes dashed.  I think you didn't stop because your bus was packed and, theoretically, there was no room to let anyone else on the bus.  The only issue I have with this is that your bus wasn't actually packed.  Sure, the area surrounding the fare machine was mobbed.  There was like fourteen people crammed into a four foot square right by the door for no reason whatsoever.  The back of the bus, however, was actually pretty empty.  In fact, if all those assholes standing by the door moved into the back of the bus like they're supposed to, or at least spread out, you'd have noticed that there was plenty of room in your bus and could have picked up the three fucking people that were waiting.  But no.. you didn't know your bus was half-empty and so you just kept on going.  Awesome.  I'm so glad those lazy fucking people who wouldn't move past the front of the bus clouded your judgment and prevented me from catching my bus today.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Dear Person Wearing Cologne:

Holy shit.  How much fucking cologne were you wearing?  Naturally, I was on the bus, so I had zero fresh air and nowhere to turn.  I don't even know which asshole you actually were.  I kept looking around trying to figure out where that cloud of cologne was coming from, but I couldn't figure it out.  I felt like I was living in an unfortunate Stetson advertisement.  Either that or another one of those ridiculous MBTA chemical attack/gas leak drills.  I am not exaggerating even a little when I say that my eyes were watering and my throat was itching and burning.  I even tried covering my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my jacket in an attempt to breathe somewhat normally.  This did not help.  Fortunately I wasn't the only one suffocating under the fumes of your scent.  I noticed a few other people who were also visibly uncomfortable trying to figure out which asshole reeked.  I mean, how does that not bother you?  You have to smell yourself allllll day long.  And trust me, its not pleasant.  If you think you smell good, you don't.  Maybe you didn't mean to use all that cologne.  Maybe you accidentally spilled like half the fucking bottle on yourself and didn't bother changing.  Or maybe you don't have a sense of smell and are unaware that you are slowly poisoning those around you.  I don't know.  Bur whatever it was, it sucked for the rest of us.  I think I'd almost rather smell BO than your obscene cologne simply because at least BO wouldn't physically interfere with my breathing.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Dear Jogger:

Dude, you're an asshole.  The city sidewalk is not your own personal running area.  Under no circumstances are you justified running into people and shoving them out of the way.  Your vocal complaints and grumbling under your breath are not necessary either.  You honestly cannot expect to run through a fucking bus stop and not encounter some people along the way, especially when there's a line of people boarding a bus.  I mean, unless you don't pay any attention whatsoever when you run because you're so fucking in the zone, I can't fathom how didn't you see the dozen or so people in front of you on the sidewalk.  Do you think you're so fucking special with your sweet Asics running shoes and special thermal moisture-wicking top that people are just going to part like the Red Sea for you?  Slow it down some.  Watch where you're going.  And don't be a dick.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Dear Restaurant Host:

I called your fine establishment to make reservations for dinner recently.  I'm not sure if I talked to you on the phone, or someone else, but whoever I talked to made reservations for me at 8:30.  Later that evening, I show up a bit early for my reservation.  You inform me that there's four groups ahead of me and that there's a bit of a wait.  I tell you that I have a reservation, but you don't seem to care.  Now, at this point I'm slightly annoyed already, because ..well, isn't the point of a reservation so you don't have to wait behind multiple groups of people for a table to open up?  However, this isn't why you've wronged me.  You have wronged me today because you basically told me I was a liar.  After informing you that I had called earlier and made a reservation, your response was, "Everyone says that."  Seriously?  Do you really think I'm making that up?  Why the fuck would I make that up? Do you want to see my cell phone and the recent call that was placed to your restaurant?  I mean, you don't even have a fucking reservation book.  And if you do, you could at least pretend to look at it.  I feel like if you ostensibly take reservations, you might want to write them down somewhere and not be an asshole to me when I tell you I have one.  Whatever.  We go outside to wait.  Some time later you come out to collect us and since you apparently don't know how to speak to customers, you sort of apologize for the wait, but reiterate the fact that "Everyone says they made reservations."  Why are you bringing this up again?  I didn't even say anything about it.  I was almost being pleasant.  And given the way you've acted thus far, I'm willing to bet everyone says they made reservations because, like me, they actually did make reservations.  Anyways, the food was good, but come on, man... pay attention to your reservations and don't call me a fucking liar.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Guest Post: Dear Tow Truck Driver:

This letter comes courtesy of Sam the Eagle from sunny Brighton, MA.  Tow truck drivers are probably universally shitty, but this guy definitely sounds like more than the average douchebag.  Anyways, without further ado..

Dear Tow Truck Driver,

Let me preface our interaction by saying that, yes, I do already hate your kind for stealing my car and selling it back to me on more than one occassion.  However, in this unusual turn of events, I actually had to call you to enlist your services.

You showed up late, although, I was not actually expecting you to be there in exactly 45 minutes as I was told.  I was surprised, however, to find that in addition to being late, you were a huge douche.  After instantly realizing how much of a douche you were, I lost all faith that any part of this exchange would go smoothly.  This was confirmed when you had to ask me if the car being towed was front or rear wheel drive.  While the average driver may not know the difference, you, sir, tow cars for a living.

Once the car was loaded up, you asked for the address I was having it towed to.  I told the person whom I spoke with on the phone earlier, but I was more than happy to repeat myself for such a charming person such as yourself.  After saying the address, which is what you asked for, you stared blanky at me before asking, "Directions?"  Directions?  In 2010, where they give out GPSs with magazine subscriptions, and you're actually in the industry of driving around, how do you not have a fucking GPS?

Fucking directions..

So I begin to tell you off the top of my head how to get to said destination.  You stop me to interject, "Can't you go inside and print Mapquest for me?"  My hunch that you've time traveled from the past to tow this car was confirmed.  Questions came to mind while I pondered how you got to my residence in 2010 from 1998.  Who the fuck uses Mapquest still?  Do people even own printers at home?  How the fuck do you not have a GPS?  So I take my phone and look up directions on Google Maps to write them out for you.  You interrupt me, something about a Furby or pogs that fell out of your sweatpants I assumed, but I finish writing the directions.  You take the paper, look at it, and then tell me that's not the way to get there.  Lastly, I give you my cell phone number in the event there were any issues (I was expecting some), to which you say, "Yeah, I have the same phone."  The same fucking phone with GPS built in that just gave you directions.

As you hopped back into your cockpit of uselessness, I told you to lock the keys in the car when it was unloaded at the destination.  You looked at me like I asked you to drive full speed into a brick wall and said, "Yeah, if that's what you want..." in a delightfully pejorative way and drove off.  Get fucked, buddy.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Re-post: Dear Person on Subway:

A recent comment on the cell phone fiasco read, "Just wait until you sit next to someone who plays music on their cell phone speakers.  It's the millennium's new boom-box.  And fucking annoying."

Unfortunately, I did have this experience back in February (when no one read my blog).  So, for Cristin's and everyone else's viewing pleasure, here's the original post:  

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Dear Person With Cell Phone:

I don't know where to start.  You might possibly have the most annoying fucking cell phone ever.  And, of course, you just had to sit next to me on my bus ride home from work today.  I'm going to ignore the fact that you had your iPod blasting to unreasonable levels.  I've already bitched about that before, but guess what?  It's still fucking annoying.  Anyways, your cell phone was turned up to the highest possible volume.  In fact, I'm surprised you can actually make your cell phone that loud.  I honestly don't think my phone is capable of generating that much sound.  Now, you probably have it turned all the way up because you also insist of having your iPod at max volume too.  I mean, how else are you gong to know that your phone is ringing?  You certainly can't hear it at a normal volume level with your music so fucking loud.  Oh, you haven't heard of the vibrate setting?  It's pretty handy.  In addition to the absurdly high volume at which you apparently go through life at, your phone rang like 9 fucking times.  And did you ever answer it?  No.  Did you have a normal ringtone?  Of course not.  I don't even know what it was.  If I had to name it, I would probably call it, "High Pitched Beeping."  It was fucking terrible.  All I wanted to do is take a nap, but instead I was serenaded by whatever shitty music you're listening too and constant fucking loud high pitched beeping.  Eventually you noticed your phone was ringing (or whatever the fuck it was doing) and you started dicking around on it.  Naturally, your phone also produced exceedingly loud beeps every time you hit a button.  I don't really understand why that's even a feature on phones.  What benefit does making noise when you touch a button have?  You either don't know how to use your phone or you wrote the longest fucking text message ever because you would not stop button mashing your phone thus producing the most heinous cacophony of unnecessarily loud beeps.  It was awful.  I'd cut you some slack if you were a kid, but you were like thirty.  Learn to act like an adult in public, buddy.  

Monday, October 11, 2010

Dear Bus Driver Who Lectured Me:

Your bus was late, as per usual.  I'm kind of used to this by now, but its still pretty fucking annoying now and then.  When your bus did show up, it was fucking packed.  Again, this isn't unusual, but annoying nonetheless.  Everyone piled onto the bus, trying to squeeze in as much as possible.  I was able to physically make it onto the bus, but before I could pay, you covered the fare meter with your hand, looked at me, and announced, "If you haven't paid yet, you have to get off the bus."  Ugh.  I did not want to wait for another fucking bus and I'm sure I either let out a heavy sigh or maybe I just looked pissed off.  Either way, I wasn't so much pissed off at you, Mr. Bus Driver, as I was at the situation as a whole.  Nonetheless, you decided to fucking lay into me and lecture me as to exactly why I needed to get off the bus.  I wasn't really listening closely.  I was mostly staring blankly at you because I couldn't believe you were personally offended that I was annoyed.  I mean, who doesn't love waiting 25 minutes for a bus that should have been there in 5 minutes and then having to get off the bus and wait god knows how long for another one?  I'm sorry that my dissatisfaction with your entire organization is offensive to you.  In any event, your lecture included phrases such as, "federal law" and "it's my job."  Your job also entails trying to keep to a fucking schedule, but apparently that's not as important as harassing me about having too many people on the bus.  Not to mention, only about 15-20% of bus drivers actually give a shit about that maximum passenger bullshit.  Whatever.  Sorry I offended you, buddy.  Maybe try not being consistently late every fucking day.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

A Story I Must Share:

I generally don't post anything on here except for my own curmudgeonly musings (although, I do have some guest posts in the works), but this story was so fantastic and full of wrongings, I just had to re-post it here:

My neighbor, the faceless pussy.

Seriously, his neighbor sounds pretty terrible on all accounts

Also, that dude's blog is generally hilarious, but this post in particular spoke to me for obvious reasons.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Dear Person Who Vomited in Sink:

I was out at a restaurant/bar for some drinks recently.  It was a Sunday night around 7 or 8pm.  It was pretty quiet and there weren't a ton of people around.  Not exactly a wild and crazy night to be out drinking.  In any event, at some point I headed to the restroom to use the facilities.  As I went to wash my hands, I was shocked, dismayed, disgusted, etc. to find that the sink was filled with fucking vomit.  What the fuck?  What is wrong with you?  Who is out drinking so heavily on a lazy Sunday evening that they had to vomit in the fucking sink?  You couldn't even make it the toilet?  Or even the trash can?  Instead you choose to waldo in the sink?  Not to mention, there's only one sink in this bathroom.  So everyone who wants to wash their hands has to deal with that situation.  Awesome.  I feel really bad for whoever eventually has to clean that up.  Public bathrooms are probably pretty gross to clean in the first place, but.. vomit in the sink?  That takes it to a whole new level.  I don't want to be graphic, but I'm not going to lie... it was a little chunky.  Maybe it wasn't alcohol consumption that caused you to throw up.  Maybe it was some bad food.  That's just not good for business if that's the case.  Anyways, don't vomit in the sink, dude.  That's just fucked up and gross for everyone.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Dear Person Complaining on Bus:

You managed to vocally complain at every single bus stop about people getting on and off the bus.  Things like, "Ugh." and "Why is this so difficult?" and other various heavy sighs and snarky remarks.  It's a fucking bus, what do you expect?  Furthermore, you were standing in front of the door and refused to move anywhere else.  Did it ever occur to you that you're the problem here?  Obviously people are going to be brushing past you if you're standing in the way of the fucking exit.  God forbid you move elsewhere and make it easier for people to get off the bus.  And why are you acting like other people are the dumb ones?  Making snarky comments out loud like, "Why is this so difficult?" is fucking stupid.  It's difficult because you're in the fucking way.  The little enclave by the exit isn't your own personal space.  Go stand in the aisle with everyone else and shut the fuck up.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Dear Roving Band of Hipsters:

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I really fucking hate hipsters. That might seem harsh, but more often than not, you guys are fucking annoying.  I could really go on and on, but here's what happened most recently.  I was waiting for the bus as I so often do, when suddenly all the cars disappeared and instead the street was filled with hundreds of fucking hipsters on goofy hipster bikes.  You know -- fixed gears, custom tandems, "Penny-farthings," and the always ridiculous homemade tall bikes.  Tons and tons of them.  In addition to your hipster bikes and tight jeans, a lot of you were also playing instruments while biking.  Usually the drums.  On a bike.  It was almost impressive.  You know, if I didn't hate you so much.  This went on for some time.  When your crazy band of misfits finally passed, there was a massive traffic jam behind you.  So nice of you to make already shitty city traffic even worse with your 12mph tour of the city.  Its not like any of us have to get on a bus and go anywhere or anything like that.  Shortly after this large group of flunkies left, my bus came.  I happily got on and grabbed a seat.  But before we could continue on, some fucking hipster who was apparently lagging behind his group careened into our bus and went flying off his bike and into the street.  This was actually more amusing than anything.  Although he probably deserved to get hit by a car, it would not have been funny if he did.  So fortunately he was fine and uninjured and all that.  Maybe he should get a real fucking bike, with gears and brakes and shit like that, and maybe that wouldn't have happened.  Also, if he can't keep up with a giant 200+ group of people riding slowly through the city, is he like an extra incompetent hipster?  Do even other hipsters shun him?  In any event, if I were the bus driver, I would have been bullshit.  He's really the one who was wronged here.  Not only was his route delayed because of the 2010 Hipster Bike Tour of Uselessness, but he probably has to file some accident paperwork for that idiot that ran into his bus.  Hipsters really are the worst.  

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Dear Courier Service:

You people are always borderline inept at your job.  Today was no different.  I had several packages that needed to be delivered.  They were awkwardly sized and weighed about 10-15 pounds each.  I called up your lovely courier service to request a pickup.  I specifically told you that a bike messenger would not work.  I said I needed a car or a van to come pick the packages up.  I told you how many there were and how much they each weighed.  I told you all of this because in the past, you always send fucking bike messengers when its clearly too much shit for someone on a bike to carry.  I was assured that you would not be sending a bike over.  Who did you send over?  A fucking bike messenger.  He was kind of annoyed, but whatever.  Not my fault.  His fucking employer is an idiot.  A while later a new person came from your esteemed company.  Thankfully he had a car this time.  I showed him the packages that we needed delivered.  The very same packages I described in adequate detail over the phone so that the company knew how many and how heavy each were.  What did this guy do?  He fucking complained about how many packages there were and how he'd have to make two trips to his car.  Are you fucking serious?  You're a fucking courier.  This is your job.  What the fuck are you doing that you can't be bothered to make two fucking trips?  Again, this is your fucking job.  I ignored you and went about my usual work.  You stood there awkwardly in silence and dicked around on your phone for a while.  Apparently this was too awkward for my entirely too nice co-worker who then asked if you needed help.  Much to my complete shock and chagrin you said yes.  Yeah.  That happened.  You said you needed help carrying the packages to your fucking car, because god forbid you make two fucking trips.  Again, this is your fucking job.  Now, who do you think had to help you?  Of course it was me because my job can't get any better at the moment.  You tried making nice small talk with me on the way to your car, but I ignored you.  I could not believe this was actually happening.  At least you thanked me when we got to your car.  That would have been some shit if you were rude on top of being fucking lazy.  I hope you didn't strain yourself too much delivering those later, asshole.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Dear Person Reading Newspaper:

Today I found a seat on the bus.  It's a rarity in the morning to get a seat and it's always a welcome sight.  I love a few extra minutes of shut eye when I can get them in the morning.  You, however, decided to make my morning nap a little more difficult.  What now?  Loud music?  Annoying cell phone chatter?  Inappropriate touching?  No.  None of the above.  Instead, you seemed completely oblivious to the person sitting next to you (i.e. me), and decided to open your newspaper as wide as possible as if you were relaxing on your couch Sunday morning.  Sure, this doesn't sound super terrible, but.. it kind of is.  Do you know how fucking small these seats are on the bus?  The width of the newspaper is practically the length of the two seats.  I don't want your fucking arm and half of newspaper in my personal space.  Your hand was seriously past the mid-point of my torso.  I had a much easier time reading that side of the paper than you did.  Maybe you wanted me to read the paper with you.  (That would be weird.  Nice, I guess, but still pretty weird.)  Or maybe you didn't think you were that close to me.  (We're practically in each other's laps as it on the fucking bus.)  Or... I don't know.  You people on my morning commute are fucking killing me with your bizarre behavior.  I barely even have the energy to be annoyed with you anymore.  I mean, honestly?  You can't even read the fucking newspaper without being obnoxious?  I give up.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Retro Wronging -- Dear Person Who Dropped a Glass On My Foot:

I was out at a bar, having a good time with some friends.  It wasn't my favorite bar.  In fact, it was one of my least favorite bars.  You know, one that blasts shitty poppy "dance" music that I don't like and will certainly not be dancing to.  In any event, it was crowded.  People were drinking.  Normal bar scene stuff.  You come flying through the crowd and run into me, spilling my beer all over me in the process.  This is already annoying, but before I can actually be annoyed about that, you drop your glass right on my foot.  This wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world except for two things:  1)  It was the summertime, so I was wearing sandals; and 2) the fucking glass broke.  It fucking shattered all over the place.  So now I'm covered in beer, my foot hurts, and there's shattered glass all over the floor.  I bend down to try and corral the broken glass and I realize I'm fucking bleeding.  There are shards of glass all over my foot and sandals and my toes are pretty cut up.  Awesome.  Here's the point where I would expect a normal, rational human being to either apologize, or help try to clean up, or both.  What do you do instead?  You look me dead in the eye and in your best bitch voice say, "Are you going to buy me another drink or what?"  Excuse me?  No.  Fuck no.  I am not buying you a drink after you just fucking spilled my beer and caused me physical harm.  In what world are you living in that you think I'm somehow responsible for your fucking drunken stagger across the bar square into me?  Furthermore, how do you not even pretend to apologize for making me bleed.  Even after informing you that, no, I was definitely not buying you a drink, you stood around awkwardly giving me a dirty look like that was somehow going to change my mind.  Grow up and learn some fucking manners.  

[Editor's Note:  This incident occurred about 4-5 years ago.  Yes, I still hold a grudge.  Why?  Well, how often do people fucking shatter glasses on you in public?]

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Dear Police Officer:

I'm usually pretty distrustful of the police for a number of reasons and assholes like do you not help change my mind in that regard at all.  I was driving around with a friend looking for a parking space on the street.  You were parked in your big Paddy Wagon with your engine still running.  It looked like you may have been on your way out shortly.  So we pulled up next to you and asked if you were leaving the spot soon.  You gave us a dirty look like it was clear you were either too busy or too important to talk to us.  After staring blankly at us and waiting a few seconds to respond, you said no in a completely condescending and dismissive tone.  Disappointed (and annoyed) we continued on down the street.  Already you've wronged me for being a douchebag for no reason, but there's more.  About half a block down, we thought we found a spot, but sadly we couldn't fit into the space.  As we were trying to maneuver our way into the spot, you and your fucking Paddy Wagon come cruising down the street.  Like 8 fucking seconds after you said you weren't leaving the spot.  To really add insult to injury, as you and your partner drive by, you look at us, and you start to fucking laugh.  What. The. Fuck.  I can't comprehend why you would a) be a giant dick to us for asking a perfectly normal question; b) lie about when you were leaving the spot; and then c) fucking laugh at us as you drive by.  There is absolutely no other possible explanation for this behavior other than that you're a giant fucking asshole.  Naturally, by the time we backtracked to where you were parked, someone else had taken the spot.  Thanks a lot, Mr. Asshole Police Officer.  Way to make members of the community feel like the police have their best interests at heart.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Update and New Features (maybe?)

Apparently all the good will from people coming to my blog from Sassy's blog has made me generally less crabby and therefore I haven't really been wronged this week.  Not being wronged makes writing a blog about being wronged kind of difficult.

In any event, I've decided to do two things.

1)  I'm starting a new periodic feature (i.e. when I have nothing to write about), called "Retro-Wrongings." As the name suggests, Retro-Wrongings will be about shit that happened to me in the past that I still inexplicably hold a grudge about.  Weird?  Maybe.  Warranted? Probably not.  Amusing?  Hopefully.

2)  Someone recently suggested having an "Air Your Grievances" Day.  Not a terrible idea.  So, in case anyone has felt particularly wronged and would like to submit an angry, irrational letter about it, please feel free to e-mail me at wrongedmetoday (at)  Maybe I'll put it up.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Dear Person Talking to His Friend:

Its always nice when you see someone you know on the bus or train unexpectedly.  Maybe you haven't seen them in a while and you're excited to catch up a little bit before your stop comes.  However, its really fucking annoying for the rest of us if you're standing nowhere near each other and inexplicably decide to carry on a lengthy conversation.  A few other people and I were between you and your friend.  Rather than try and move closer to your friend (which still would have been annoying on a crowded bus), or maybe just wave hello and agree to give each other a call later, you decide to carry on an extensive conversation by yelling over all of us.  I was lucky enough to be closest to you so that I had to stand there with your shoulder pressed up against mine and the side of your head about 4 inches from my face.  Very thoughtful of you.  In addition to you physically invading my personal space, you had a briefcase. One of those old school hard ones.  Because you were so fucking close to me, your briefcase kept slamming into my knee periodically every time the bus slowed down.  And since its a fucking bus, that happened a lot.  Although you didn't apologize, or even acknowledge it for that matter, I can assure you it was unpleasant.  I'm unsure why people like you think this is perfectly acceptable behavior in public, but it's not.  Trust me.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Dear People Celebrating a Birthday:

You folks need to lighten the fuck up.  I was at a bar with some friends and you were all seated next to us.  There was a lot of you.  Maybe a dozen or more people.  At some point you all ordered shots and clinked glasses and did the normal "Happy Birthday" cheers thing.  As you were all whooping it up and having a good time cheers-ing your friend, our table joined in with the cheers.  Seemed like a perfectly normal, if not nice, thing to do.  Who wouldn't want some extra birthday love?  Instead of rolling with it and having a good time, you all stopped and fucking glared at us.  Really?  Did we intrude on your private party in the middle of the fucking bar?    I can't fathom how this could be bothersome as to warrant a dirty look from more than one member of your party.  I don't even know how you heard us.  It was fucking loud in there and there was like 14 of you and 5 of us.  You should all be a little more appreciative of our joint-birthday-well-wishing and not act like socially inept assholes.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Dear Person Standing in Line at Lunch:

I think you were French.  This is because is you were European and a giant asshole, and if you're European and a giant asshole, I assume you're French.  This might be entirely unfair, but I'm sticking with it.  In any event, what the fuck is your problem?  Instead of paying attention to the line and ordering when it was your turn, you decide to stare off into the distance with your friend and talk amongst yourselves with your back to the counter.  When it was your turn, the guy behind the counter called for you four or five times to no avail.  I also said excuse me and asked if you were in line a couple of times, but you just fucking ignored me.  So after a while, the guy behind the counter started to take my order, and I walked in front of you in line.  At this point, you got pissed and shoved past me while declaring that you were in line.  I initially tried to be nice and said, "I asked you a couple times if you were in line and you didn't answer me."  In the most condescending tone you could possibly muster, you said, "I was busy talking to someone."  Uh, who the fuck cares?  You order when it's your turn.  You're not entitled to hold up the line because you were "busy talking." "Maybe you should pay more attention then and order when its your turn," I snapped back.  At this point, your female friend gave me the dirtiest look I've received in a long, long time.  It was pretty amazing.  I've been told I have a pretty good glare, but this one was on point.  I laughed to myself while staring back at the woman with feigned disgust.  Well played possibly-French lady.  Well played, indeed.  Oh, and folks, don't be giant fucking tools in line.  Everyone's hungry and short on time.  Just order your fucking food and move on.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Dear Person With Headphones:

Normally when I hear people blasting music from their iPod, its some young guy.  He's usually listening to hard rock or hip-hop of some sort.  Not today.  Instead, there was you.  You were a woman, probably in your late-30s.  What were you rocking out to on your headphones?  I'm not entirely sure, but it sounded like it could have been the compilation CD, "Lilith Fair '99."  I mean, you were blasting what could only have been some terrible combination of Melissa Ethridge, Sarah McLachlan, and Natalie fucking Imbruglia.  And I mean blasting.  Sometimes I feel like maybe people aren't really as annoying as I think they are, and I'm just an easily annoyed asshole (all true probably), but in this case, other people were giving you the death stare as well.  There's nothing I love more than when other people get as visibly as annoyed as I feel.  People blasting music on my morning commute is always fucking terrible, and theoretically soft-chick-alt-folk-rock or whatever the fuck you were listening to, should be less offensive than metal.  But, somehow I feel more wronged today simply because of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.  I guess I expect more from a nearly middle-aged woman than I do some 18-year old kid.  Anyways, turn your fucking iPod down.  Please.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Dear Person Carrying Babies:

Holy shit.  I have no idea if you're the parent of those children, or a caregiver, or if you just fucking stole those kids, but I'm fairly certain that is not how you should be carrying those babies.  As you wandered down the street haphazardly, you were carry a bucket car seat in each hand.  (At least I think that's what they're called.  I don't have kids and generally avoid conversations about babies.)  You looked like you were struggling pretty bad.  It was super hot and you looked tired and kept taking breaks every once in a while.  In any event, every step you took, your knees would hit the side of those car seat things.  And since you were walking at a pretty good clip, this sent the car seats twisting in every which direction pretty quickly.  The babies were passed out, and I have no idea how they stayed asleep, but I'm pretty sure there's a rule against rapidly shaking babies.  I mean, isn't Shaken Baby Syndrome like the worst thing ever?  Again, I don't have kids, but I would highly recommend slowing it down some and not slamming the car seats into your leg every 4 seconds.  Seriously.  I was horrified.  I wouldn't even carry my fucking groceries home like that.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Dear Person in Shopping Cart:

You were sitting in a fucking shopping cart on the subway.  I really don't even need to write anything else.  This situation is already completely absurd.  You weren't just sitting there quietly either.  You were grabbing onto the poles and pulling yourself around the train and being really unnecessarily loud.  Clearly you crave the attention you never got as a child, because that's the only reason I can think of why you were behaving like a fucking child.  Every time the train hit the brakes, your cart would go careening towards one end of the train much to your delight.  I'm shocked you didn't run your cart into anyone to be honest.  That would have been even more terrible and ridiculous.  You weren't alone either.  Your flunkie friend was with you.  He didn't too much beyond collecting your shopping cart when it rolled too far away.  At one point you wanted your friend to push you down the aisle real fast.  Thankfully he respectfully declined.  You didn't like this though and complained about it.  Loudly.  As per usual.  When it was time to get off the train, you remained in the cart while your flunkie friend pushed you through the station.  Way to keep it classy, guys.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Dear People Who Ignored Me:

Today the two of you were having a good time on the subway.  You were trying to take a picture of yourselves, but were have some difficulty doing so.  Perhaps this was half the fun.  Despite my curmudgeonly musings and the fact that I generally complain about everything, I am occasionally a pleasant person. Because of this, I decided to ask if you wanted me to take your picture for you.  How did you respond to my perfectly normal and kind offer?  By staring at me like I just asked if you wanted to have a threesome later.  After a few seconds of awkward eye contact, you went back to fucking around with your camera and ignoring me  What the fuck?  That's a perfectly normal question to ask.  If you didn't want me to take your picture, just fucking say no.  Don't stare at me like I somehow wronged you by asking something bizarre and inappropriate.  The other scenario is that you just didn't hear what I said.  You clearly noticed I asked you something since you both stopped what you were doing and looked at me.  But if that's the case, maybe you could have asked me what I said instead of being all weird and rude about it?  Sure, I don't really want to talk to strangers on the subway either, but I was trying to be nice and help you out.  I hope your pictures come out looking shit.  Assholes.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Dear Person With Giant Backpack:

My blog should really be called, "How to Act Like a Normal Fucking Human Being on the Bus."  One rule that I feel should be in place is if you have a giant fucking backpack, don't wear it.  Take it off and put it by your feet.  That will prevent assholes like you from careening wildly into people who generally don't want to have a bag shoved into the small of their back for 25 minutes.  I don't expect not to have my personal space invaded now and again on the bus.  That's just unreasonable.  It's packed and you're gonna rub up against some strangers now and again.  Your fucking backpack, however, is a preventable offense.  I spent the entire ride with you directly behind me.  Now, there's ample room for two people to stand in the aisle of a busy bus without even touching each other.  However, when your bag -- by itself -- takes up more room than a normal person, and you have it inexplicably strapped to your back, it makes it difficult to stand comfortably.  Do you not notice that you're pressing directly into someone?  How do you not feel that?  I kept passive aggressively leaning back further and further into your bag in hope that you would feel it and maybe pay a little more attention to where your bag was going.  To make matters worse, you kept turning around randomly to look at random shit like you've never driven over a fucking bridge before.  Do you know what happens when you turn around abruptly with a giant backpack on your back?  You hit people.  You annoy them.  You generally look like an asshole.  Don't do that.  Just take your fucking bag off and put it on the floor.  Sure, the floor's probably covered in grime and possibly urine, but at least you won't be "that guy" anymore.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Dear Deli Manager:

Honestly, what the fuck do you do?  I've been coming to get sandwiches (which are delicious) at your deli for a few years now, and I haven't seen you ever actually do anything.  You are always, without fail, standing in the same fucking spot over near the registers doing absolutely nothing.  Now, if you owned this establishment, I wouldn't care if you weren't doing shit, because in that situation you're entitled to not do shit.  But I'm fairly certain you're an employee and probably should do something now and again.  The reason you have wronged me today is because in addition to your general lack of work ethic, you were a complete fucking asshole to one of the cashiers.  The cashier was new.  She was a young girl and maybe had never worked a register before.  No big deal.  I gave her a $20 to pay for my lunch and she was making change.  Despite giving me the correct change, you decided that she counted the fucking money wrong and laid into her right in front of me.  Are you for real?  Who fucking cares how she counts the money provided she counts it correctly?  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I haven't seen you lift a fucking finger in years and now my only recollection of you doing anything is yelling at some new employee for how she counted change?  Get a fucking life.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Dear Person Who Took His Shirt Off:

Look, I'm not offended that you weren't wearing a shirt.  I was more confused by why you weren't wearing your shirt.  Sure, it was hot as balls today and everyone was sweating their ass off.  But, most people can handle keeping their shirts on in public.  And its not like you were in a non-busy area of the city.  You were in the middle of a busy intersection on a college campus.  Whatever.  Like I said, I don't really care that you weren't wearing your shirt.  That odd part was that you  were draping your shirt over your girlfriend's shoulders.  Now if you replace the 95 degree weather with 40 degree weather, and you replace your shirt with a jacket, your actions could be considered chivalrous and all that bullshit.  But... covering your girlfriend's shoulders with your fucking t-shirt in the middle of the summer is just plain weird.  Not to mention you seemed to be shielding her in some fashion with your body.  I'm not entirely sure from what.  Now, somewhere in this whole odd situation there may be a legit explanation.  Maybe your girlfriend is allergic to the sun or something fucked up like that.  But if that were the case, maybe she shouldn't be wandering around in the middle of the day in a fucking tank top.  You walked more or less next to me for a while and you were having a perfectly normal conversation, so whatever the true reason for this bizarre behavior was, it was lost on me.  I'd say you should keep your fucking shirt on generally, buddy.  Your girlfriend can probably handle a little sunlight on her shoulders.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Dear People Singing on Bus:

This experience was more awkward than anything else.  At first I thought you two were on some sort of first date.  First dates are always really awkward to witness.  You didn't seem to know too much about each other and kept talking about your various classes you were taking and hobbies and whatnot.  Plus, the nervous laughter that followed everything you said to each other also kind of seemed like first date material.  On the other hand, I think the guy side of your dynamic duo was gay, so maybe it wasn't a first date.  I'm basing this solely on his affect and the fact that he spoke at length about how fun and exciting it was to sing "Panic at the Disco."  But that's neither here nor there.  You were both music people evidently and talked a lot about stuff I don't know anything about.  I heard a lot of talk about "harmonizing" and "creating tensions" and "riffing."  After a long bus ride filled with uncomfortable laughter and music talk, the singing started.  First, the guy started singing what I believe he said was an original piece.  And when I say he started singing, I don't mean like.. quietly to his new friend.  I mean like loudly so the whole bus could hear.  I found this really uncomfortable and embarrassing.  I just wanted it to end.  Not to be out done, the female chipped in with her own rendition of something.  Then he went.  Then she went.  It was fucking ridiculous.  Thank god you didn't start singing the same song in unison.  Eventually you went back to talking about "riffing" and then decide to have a little "riff-off."  I'm kind of unclear what "riffing" actually is, but whatever you two were doing, it was even more fucking uncomfortable than the original singing.  This continued until I got off the bus.  I'm glad you two are comfortable singing in public, but I can't actually condone that behavior.  At least I got a blog post out of this shit.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Dear Person Who Called My Office Part II:

You called my office this early this morning.  Before 9am, in fact.  You didn't actually want to speak to me or anyone else in my office.  Instead, you needed a completely different office. You knew this before you called because the first words out of your mouth were, "I'm looking for another office."  Now, in this day and age I kind of expect people to be able to find out certain information for themselves.  Stuff like phone numbers are readily available on the internet.  A quick 30 second search online would have yielded you the correct phone number.  Instead, you decided to arbitrarily call my office and expect me to look up the number for you.  I reluctantly find the number and connect you to the appropriate office.  Less than a minute later, you called me back.  You say, "No one picked up."  Seriously?  How the fuck is this my problem?  I asked if you left a message.  You say that you didn't.  I am flabbergasted.  Honestly, what the fuck do you want me to do  about this?  Do you not grasp that I don't work in that office?  Do you not understand that the office I work in and the office you want to speak to are entirely unrelated?  I try really hard to understand why people do what they do, but I cannot fathom why you would call me back and not leave a message with the office you wanted to reach.  After foolish asking why no one picked up and what you should do, I explained that its early in the morning and its entirely possible that no one's actually at work yet.  You seem unsatisfied with this answer.  I give you the phone number and tell you to try back later or maybe try leaving a message like a normal human being.  Again, you're not pleased with this answer, but at this point, I don't really give a shit.  Thankfully, for the both of us, you did not call me again.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Dear Person Who Sat Way Too Close To Me:

Picking a seat on the subway is a lot like picking a urinal.  There are unspoken rules in place, and its really fucking weird when someone breaks them.  Rule number one is always leave a buffer.  I mean, how fucking sketchy is it when you're in the bathroom with plenty of empty urinals and some fucking guy chooses the one right next to you?  Its much less creepy on the subway, but I still feel like the buffer rule applies.  In this case, the train was fairly empty.  Not super busy and plenty of empty seats.  Much to my chagrin, you decide to sit your ass down directly next to me.  Whatever.  Its kind of weird, but in and of itself its not terrible.  What really wronged me today was how much room you decided you needed.  Which is interesting, because if you really needed to stretch out and invade my fucking personal space, you maybe should have thought about not sitting right fucking next to me. In any event, you decide to really get comfortable and spread your legs out pretty wide.  You have what former Senator Larry Craig might call a "wide stance."  So I'm stuck sitting next to you while your fucking leg is now physically touching my leg.  This happens on busy subway cars, but it shouldn't happen in this mostly empty train.  It also wouldn't be happening if you had some concept of personal boundaries.  At least you didn't smell or were blasting music or something.  That would have really put me over the edge.  Anyways, learn some fucking subway etiquette. And I really hope you don't pull this shit in public bathrooms too.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Dear Person Who Kept Ignoring Their Daughter:

I don't have kids, so I probably shouldn't be complaining about how other people deal with their children.  However, your decision to ignore your annoying fucking daughter has wronged me today.  Kids ask a lot of questions.  Sometimes they don't shut-up.  It's annoying for everyone.  You're probably stressed out and overtired and have learned to just completely zone out your children when they're being completely annoying.  Which is great for you, but not so hot for me.  As the bus approached a particular stop today, your daughter asked approximately -- I don't know -- seventy-two times if this was the right stop.  Over and over and over.  "Is this the stop?  Is this the stop?  Is this the stop?"  You didn't even flinch.  Didn't even look at her.  Just kept on looking ahead.  Your daughter was little and so I don't fault her for continuing to ask if it was the right stop even after the bus started pulling away.  But I do fault you for not saying anything.  Sure, saying "No." probably would not have stopped her from continuing to ask questions.  But at least they would have been different questions.  And if I have to sit and listen to some precocious 4 year-old talk incessantly, I would much prefer to hear some variety and not the same question over and over.  So, do us all a favor and just answer your kid's stupid fucking questions. 

Sunday, June 20, 2010


How You Have Wronged Me Today will be on temporary hiatus.  I apologize for any inconvenience.  Although, honestly, if you're somehow inconvenienced by the fact that this isn't going to be updated for a while, you need some new fucking hobbies.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Dear Girl Who Rubbed Her Boobs on My Friend:

Drunk people do ridiculous things and this was one of those times.  I was at a bar with some friends of mine having a good time.  Out of nowhere, you come barging into our little area with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.  You actually pushed one of our friends out of the way so you could awkwardly run into my other friend.  You basically stuck your chest out (you might have even have pulled the top of your dress down slightly) and then rubbed your boobs on my friend before continuing on your way.  This prompted mass confusion and fits of laughter.  Who the fuck does that?  Does that pick-up move usually work for you?  You then went over near the door and stood super drunkenly by yourself.  I mean, you could barely stand.  This was hilarious in and of itself, but you decided to come back for more a few minutes later.  This time you awkwardly stood next to us and said something completely incomprehensible.  My friend, the apparent apple of your eye, just ignored you and looked away.  I asked what you said, but you were so drunk you either didn't hear me or couldn't put together a complete sentence.  I'm guessing the latter.  You then told us several that times you were leaving.  And I mean you said something that sounded kind of like this, "I'm jus' gonna leave.. don't worry 'bout it, I'm jus' gonna leave... it's cool.. I'm leavin' anyways..  I'm gonna leave now... don't worry."  You heard no arguments from us.  We were too busy laughing.  And then thankfully you did leave.  You did, however, go over to a friend (or maybe a complete stranger) and start pointing at us and saying who knows what.  Whatever, Tits McGee.  Don't be so fucking drunk and weird.  I'm fairly certain your random boob-rubbing isn't really a viable way to meet guys anyways.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Dear Person Who Almost Hit Me:

First of all, fuck you.  Second of all, seriously?  I was crossing the street (with the walk signal I should note) and halfway across the street, some Peter Pan bus decided it was going to take a right hand turn onto the street I'm crossing.  So I wait in the middle of the street while the bus passed.  The bus goes and I continue my way across the street.  This is where you come in.  Apparently you were tailgating the shit out of the bus because you were right on its ass taking a right hand turn as well.  I stop short because you are making no effort to slow down or stop for me.  Not only that, but you're not even looking at the fucking road.  Instead you're too busy talking to the girl in your passenger seat to realize you're about 6 feet from hitting me.  Also, you're driving some shitty fake sports car.  In my head you were driving a Chevy IROC, but that's giving you way too much credit.  I think it was actually a new Dodge Charger or something ridiculous.  Fortunately you stop.  And when I say stop I mean slam your brakes on.  Not without giving me a dirty look either, of course.  You then decide to bump up the douchebaggery by nailing the gas and revving your engine as you pass me.  Compensating much?  I'm sure your lady friend was super impressed.  After all, shitty sports cars and engine revving screams, "I have a small penis and I want everyone to know it."  Just try watching where the fuck you're going next time, asshole.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Dear People Making Weird Noises on Bus:

I'm getting really sick of writing about people on the bus.  I don't want to keep doing it.  I really don't.  But it seems that the bus is the source of the majority of my consternation.  Today you two were the big winners.  And when I say big winners I mean you two were really fucking annoying and weird.  I honestly don't even know how to describe the situation.  I don't know if you were making "cat-calls" at random females on the street (who can't hear you because you're inside a fucking bus) or if you just decided you wanted to annoy everyone on the bus (mission accomplished, guys).  But your weird whooping noises followed by incessant cackling was driving me insane.  I should note, I had the absolute pleasure of sitting right next to you.  I got to witness all the annoying noises up close and personal.  Awesome.  At some point someone told you to shut-up.  You got defiant and started puffing your chest out asking who said that.  Upon further review, however, I think one of you said it in an effort to stir up fake controversy the bus.  Because, you know, the constant fucking weird noises you were making wasn't enough.  I don't even know the noise was.  I couldn't tell if it was a word you were yelling, or just some weird outburst.  But whatever it was, you two thought it was fucking hilarious.  It wasn't.  I honestly think you guys were on drugs of some variety.  I'm basing this assumption off the completely vacant stare you gave me when we briefly made eye contact.  It certainly seemed chemically-enhanced and not just the normal weird vibe.  Remember kids, don't do drugs.  Or at least don't do them, get on a bus, and piss everyone off by making weird fucking noises for the entire trip.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Dear Bicyclist:

You didn't actually wrong me at all, but you did throw a complete fucking tantrum and it was hilarious.  In fact, based on your absolute shit-fit, it would appear that you, sir, have been wronged today.  You were riding your bike through the city streets, presumably minding your own business.  Of course, there was no bike lane and you may or may not have been occasionally careening into traffic as bicyclists are wont to do.  Apparently the SUV creeping up behind you got a little too close to you for your own liking.  Traffic was horrendous, and no one was moving  faster than 5 miles an hour, so even if the SUV "hit" you, I don't think it would have really done any damage to you or your bike.  Nonetheless, you flipped your shit.  I should also note that you were rocking some serious fluorescent shit.  Stickers and shit on your helmet, and those things you tie around your pant legs so they don't get caught on your chain.  It was also the middle of the afternoon and you really had absolutely no need to look like a fucking construction worker.  But whatever -- safety first, right?  So there you are in the middle of the street, with your sweet fluorescent gear, and you start screaming at the SUV.  Not like scary aggressive yelling like you're going to fucking kill someone, but like that embarrassing kind where your voice cracks and no one can take you seriously.  The SUV moves along and stops at a red light not too far up ahead.  You catch up on your bike and continue screaming in the least menacing way possible.  The high note was perhaps when you yelled, "What is WRONG with you?! You could have KILLED me!"  (No, not really.  I mean, I was walking past this scene faster than traffic was moving.  They definitely would not have even injured you.)  The folks in the car completely ignored you and you continued yelling and screaming and swearing for a while longer before riding off into the sunset.  High comedy indeed.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Dear People Hawk-Watching Update:

Seriously?  One of your weirdos made a fucking Youtube video about the hawks?  I'm bored just watching the five-minute clip, how the fuck do you guys manage to stand around there for hours on end?

Here it is, in all of its pathetic glory.  It even includes a few still shots of the crowd.  I don't actually recommend anyone watch this:

Monday, May 31, 2010

Dear People Hawk-Watching:

I think you people need better hobbies.   Hawks are kind of cool, I guess.  They're big and badass looking, but I'm pretty sure you've have seen hawks before.  They're not like fucking bald eagles.  And yet, these hawks that have taken up residence on some building near the highway have managed captured the hearts of you weirdos for no apparent reason.  I've driven by these hawks several times this weekend and every time I go pass them, there's more and more people watching these fucking hawks.  And not just folks walking by and stopping for a moment to check them out.  You people have fucking lawn chairs.  Just setup by the edge of the highway, chilling out for god knows how long.  You also have cameras.  Not normal digital cameras.  Cameras so fucking big I didn't know they existed.  I mean, one camera had like a 36 inch telescopic lens with a diameter at least 8 inches wide.  Absolutely absurd.  All for some hawks.  I mean, how long can you honestly sit there and watch hawks.  They don't really do anything.  They kind of just sit there and look majestic.  I'm half-hoping to read about one of them attacking you folks in the paper this week.  That would be kind of terrible, but 100% hilarious.  I will leave you with a quote from a friend of mine:  "Go back to the fucking suburbs." 

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Dear Person Standing in Line at the Deli Counter:

You looked like a runner.  Not a casual runner.  I mean one of those guys who are way too into running.  The ones with the fluorescent short-shorts and a tiny tank top that looks like it was a bib from an event you might have ran 8 years ago.  I expected you to be old and kind of creepy looking -- maybe balding with a terrible mustache -- but you were surprisingly young.  You made my sandwich buying experience very awkward and thus you have wronged me today.  Much like I was, you were standing around waiting for your sandwich.  However, you decided to prop your leg up on the deli case while we were waiting.  This is kind of a weird thing to do anyways, but it was exacerbated by your fluorescent short-shorts.  Once that leg got up there, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before something fell out of your shorts.  Fortunately, this didn't occur.  You made things even weirder by rocking back and forth slowly.  Sort of like a lunge-type movement with your leg all propped up.  I don't know.  It's hard to explain, but trust me when I tell you -- it was fucking uncomfortable.  No one needs to see your skinny pasty white thighs while ordering food.  It's just gross man.  Plus, you were all sweaty from running.  It's just offensive on so many levels, especially when food is involved.  I'd give you some advice and tell you not to pull that shit in the future, but you running types are a weird bunch and I just know you're going to keep awkwardly lunging in public with shorts that are way too fucking short.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Dear Person Who Fixed My Glasses:

What a fucking weirdo.  You were so devoid of emotion and personality, I would have actually preferred you to be a giant prick to me.  After that asshole bus driver shut the door in my face and got my glasses all bent, I headed down to my local LensCrafters to get a sweet free adjustment.  You were there ready and willing to fix my frames.  I told you the story about how they got bent.  It seemed like a reasonable thing to do.  It is kind of a funny story afterall, isn't it?  You didn't laugh.  You didn't smile.  I don't even think you even fucking blinked.  Instead you sat there and stared at me like a giant weirdo.  No verbal response.  No raised eyebrow.  Nothing.   So fucking weird.  I really think it would have been better if you gave me a dirty look and told me my story sucked.  I mean, I still would have blogged about you for being a giant asshole, but hey -- I'd rather be a dick than weird.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Dear Bus Driver Who Shut Door on Me:

You know, it's one thing to shut the door on me, but its a whole other thing to be a huge asshole about it.  As I was walking down the street, I saw your bus pass me.  Although it seemed unlikely that I was going to make it to the next stop in time, I decided to give a go.  So I took off down the street.  Nothing says city living like sprinting full speed down the street in work attire.  Much to my surprise and delight, there were a lot of people entering and exiting the bus.  I approached the door; triumphantly stepped foot inside the bus; and what happened?  You shut the fucking door on me while I was halfway inside the bus.  Apparently bus doors are not like elevator doors.  They do not stop when something is in the way.  The door clipped me across the front of my face and nose and knocked my glasses off my face and into the street.  This was not a pleasant feeling.  I was stunned for a moment, but I stepped back and picked up my glasses.  (Which were slightly bent now -- thanks a lot, asshole).  You opened the door, which was a good thing, because I would have definitely flipped my shit otherwise.  You apologized insincerely and asked if I was okay with a complete lack of enthusiasm or genuineness.  I got back on the bus with my bent glasses in hand and the first words out of your mouth were, "Next time you should be a little faster."  I was out of breath from my sprint down the block to catch the bus, and so I couldn't retort with anything beyond a dirty look.  I cannot believe you're going to fucking criticize me for shutting the door on me.  Its entirely possible that you just didn't look and didn't see me booking it down the street, but if that's the case, maybe you could have said something like, "Oh, I didn't see you."  Telling me to pick up the pace next time kind of makes it look like you did it on purpose.  Fucking asshole. 

Monday, May 17, 2010

Dear Creepy Bus Driver:

I see you fairly often in the morning.  You're usually my morning commute guy.  You seem like a perfectly normal person.  Excuse me, you seemed like a perfectly normal person.  That is until you started acting like a total creep today.  The bus was unusually packed.  Like jammed up by the door, no one can move, no new passengers packed.  Evidently the girl standing near you caught your attention.  Although I have never heard you speak to anyone, nor have you ever responded to me when I say "Good morning, " you started chatting this girl up like nobody's business.  The girl was clearly not into you based on her curt responses and general body language, but you did not let this dissuade you.  I don't even know what you were actually saying to this girl because I was trying to ignore you and your lame attempt at picking this girl up.  I don't know if you generally talk like that, or if that's your "I'm gonna hit on you" voice, but you sounded so fucking weird and creepy.  It honestly sounded like something straight out of "To Catch a Predator."  I mean, seriously though?  On the morning commute?  Anyways, when we pulled up to some train tracks, you explained to the girl how we had to stop and check for trains before proceeding, like she a) gave a fuck or b) didn't already know that.  You then asked her to check her side for you because he couldn't really see.  I'm sure she felt real special.  Isn't that shit you do for like a 4 year old to make them feel important?  Finally, at some point I started rifling through my backpack to look for something.  I was standing right next to you, so you thought it would be real cool to accuse me of going through your pockets.  Definitely a solid move, man.  Girls love it when you show off and act like a complete fucking douchebag for no apparent reason.  Fortunately the girl got off the bus shortly thereafter.  I'm entirely unsure if it was actually her stop or if she decided walking was a better option than listening to your creepy inane banter.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Dear Bitchy Person on Bus:

I have four words for you: Shut the fuck up.  Public transportation sucks for a lot of reasons, and people like are you a big part of it.  You were on your phone the entire bus ride. What were talking to about?  How busy the bus is.  Over and over and over.  Have you never been on a bus before?   Like, ever?  Buses are busy.  Lots of people need to use them.  Particularly at 6pm during rush hour. Why?  Oh, I don't know... probably because everyone just got out of work and wants to get the fuck home.  I'm sure everyone else was just as thrilled as I was to hear you say, "Oh my god, the bus is so busy.. why are there so many people on the bus right now..." approximately 87 times.  I didn't hear you talk about anything of substance for about 18 minutes.  Just bitching about the bus every 20 seconds.  I feel very sorry for whoever you were talking to.  Although, if they were willing to listen to that entire phone call, they probably suck just as bad as you do.

But don't worry, your wronging of me and everyone else on the bus doesn't end with your annoying fucking phone call.  You also were a giant snarky bitch to virtually everyone who even thought about accidentally invading your personal space.  A lot of people have personal space issues, especially with strangers.  And that's fine.  But on a crowded rush hour bus, you do not actually have a 3 foot buffer around you.  People are going to cram in and they're going to accidentally bump into you and that's just how life is on public transportation.  You did not need to snap at every single person who brushed past you.  Which, I should note, wouldn't have been a problem if you just moved to the back of the fucking bus like you're supposed to.  I got a little snark directed at me when I accidentally bumped your head.  Despite your generally shitty behavior, I apologized like a respectable member of society, but I didn't mean it.  Not even a little.  Next time take a fucking cab if the bus is so god damn traumatic for you.  And seriously - shut the fuck up.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Dear Person With Snake:

Yeah, that's right.  Let that sink in for a minute.  This letter is about a fucking snake.  I was walking down the street, minding my own business as usual.  You were standing next to me, minding your own business as well.  Nothing unusual to report... until I look over and realize a fucking snake is wrapped around your arm from your hand to above your elbow.  What the fuck, man?  I mean, sure I might be a giant wuss, and sure the snake wasn't -that- big, but come on...  I feel like there should be a rule against walking around busy city streets with a snake wrapped around your fucking arm.  It was moving shit and could bite an innocent bystander.  You know, like me.  I did a triple take and then busted a move out of there.  I don't know what your deal is, but I hope I don't see you and your fucking snake again. 

Random Aside:

Below is a Wordle representation of my blog.  I kind of like it.  And apparently I swear a lot.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Dear People Making Out Part II:

I witnessed some more awkward PDA while taking the train home last night courtesy of you two.  Although it was still ridiculous and moderately offensive, it was at least late at night and not mid-afternoon in a very busy public space like last time.  So it was somewhat excusable.  Wait, no.  Its never excusable.  I really regretted sitting down across from you two.  I spent most of our ride reading every single advertisement I could find on the train, or simply closing my eyes, in an effort to avoid you two.  Nonetheless, I still unintentionally witnessed some uncomfortable groping and whatnot.  I thought you two were initially just having a really intense conversation at close range.  This soon evolved into full-on making out.  After witnessing some quick movement out of the corner of my eye, I thought you two were about to lay down on the seats.  Thank god this didn't occur.  You did, however, bury your head in your lady-friend's chest.  I'm 100% serious.  PDA is always ridiculous, but motorboating in public is the most absurd thing ever.  I should have just moved elsewhere on the train, but I was the next stop and I'm lazy.  I really hope you two were super drunk or something and don't act like that on a regular basis.  And if you do act like that, you guys are really fucking weird.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Dear New Bus Driver:

At least I hope you were new.  Otherwise this letter should be titled, "Dear Nervous Bus Driver."  In any event, I've previously complained about bus drivers driving out of control and far too fast than they should be.  Today I will be complaining about how unbelievably slow you were.  Its as if today was the first time you have ever been behind the wheel of a bus.  I seriously felt like I was in drivers ed all over again.  I don't think we went above 20 miles an hour the entire bus ride.  At first I thought there was lots of traffic, but no... you were just apparently scared of the cars parked on the side of the road.  Which, sadly, you will have to get accustomed to because that's where cars park in the city.  And it wasn't just the slow speed that was getting to me.  No, it was the constant application of the brake for no apparent reason.  Stop-and-go traffic is normally reserved for busy city streets and backed up highways, not empty residential city streets in which there are no cars in front of you.  After a slow herky-jerky drive down a straight road, things got dicey when we had to take a left.  It took the entire length of the light to make that turn with no oncoming traffic mind you.  I'm sure the people behind us loved that.  The real show-stopper came at the rotary though.  We spent a solid 15 minutes on that rotary pinned in the far right lane moving about 6 inches every couple of minutes while cars whizzed past us.  Merging can be difficult on a rotary, but you drive a giant fucking bus.  Just put your signal on and start moving over.  They'll get out of the way.  Trust me.  You're a giant fucking bus.  One saving grace, however, is that I didn't almost die.  And that's always a plus on public transportation.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Dear Person Who Did Not Clean Up After Their Dog:

There are lots of places I expect to find dog shit -- the woods, a dog park, an open field -- but the middle of a city sidewalk is not one of those places.  Honestly, who the fuck lets their dog shit in the middle of a city sidewalk? And how fucking lazy and inconsiderate are you that you can't clean that shit up?  This is how you and your dog have wronged me today.  I was busy meandering through a mass of slow-walkers when suddenly I slipped and nearly fell.  I looked back to discover that in my haste I stepped directly in large pile of shit.  Disgusting.  I was left trying to wipe it off as best I could while everyone walked around me giving me dirty looks as if I had shit on the sidewalk personally.  To add to my misery, I was wearing fucking sandals.  Do you know how gross it is to get dog shit all over your sandals?  Fortunately none actually came in contact with my foot, but it's still too close for comfort for my liking.  What I really needed was a hose, but sadly there are no publicly available hoses for me to use.  So instead I was left using disposable forks and knives to try and pick the shit out of the grooves of my sandals.  So fucking gross. 

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Dear Girls Sitting Next To Me At the Baseball Game:

You started off perfectly normally.  And then you started drinking.  And then it went downhill fast.  You were actually more amusing than annoying for the most part, but two things contributed to your downfall:  your voices and your stupidity.  I cannot express how annoying one of your voices became the more you had to drink.  It was like you forgot how most words are actually pronounced and what syllable you were supposed to stress.  As I was actually trying to watch the baseball game, most of what I heard what was probably somewhat out of context, and rather than a cohesive view of your inane conversation, I can sadly only piece together bits and pieces.

You started off talking about one of your relationships.  You sound so stereotypically girly, I couldn't believe it was actually happening.  Every sentence started off with something like, "I mean, I really feel like, on the inside, personally..."  We get it.  You have feelings and emotions.  One of you wanted to get married.  Bad.  Its unclear whether or not your boyfriend was on the same page though.  I'm 99% sure you weren't actually engaged yet.  You actually uttered the comment, "I'm going to be the skinniest bride ever.  Like, ever.  I'm just going to stop eating for like 4 months."  Yeah, because that's both healthy and attractive..

Later on your conversation moved towards vegetarians.  You said, "I was really surprised vegetarians don't eats eggs.  I thought that made you vegan if you didn't eat eggs, because of the whole no dairy thing."  Last time I checked, vegetarians do eat eggs, and more importantly, eggs are not dairy products.  Thanks for playing though.  You also couldn't fathom not eating chicken either because you would miss so many things like, "chicken salad, chicken wraps, and that time [you] made chicken in the crock pot."  Really?  That's the best you could come up with?

Lastly, your stupidity reached a new low when the entire crowd was chanting, "Here we go Red Sox, here we go.."  and you and you alone were chanting, "Let's go Red Sox...."  I appreciate the sentiment, but its a totally different cheer with a completely different clap-pattern. 

What's worse, I think you two were teachers and given how drunk you appeared to be last night, I hope you had a fun time pretending you weren't hungover this morning in front of your students.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Dear Person Who Littered:

How fucking lazy are you?  Honestly, I couldn't believe what I witnessed.  While sitting in your parked car, you rolled down your window and threw out a couple of scratch tickets on to the ground next to you.  I feel like scratch tickets seem to be the classic piece of litter you see strewn about the streets.  Moments later you emerged from your car.  Like a small child kicking some rocks down the road, you proceeded to kick your scratch tickets while you walked.  You kicked them allllll the way to the entrance of store you were apparently going into.  In fact, you kicked them until they were no more than six inches away from a trash can.  There were actually two trash cans, one on either side of the entrance.  Your only saving grace was that you were really old.  I try not to yell at or make snarky comments to old people.  But come on, lady, what the fuck?  If you are willing and able to kick your trash from your car to the entrance of the store, you are more than capable of acting like an respectable member of society and just throwing your shit out in the trash can.  It wasn't even out of your way.  It actually would have taken less effort to just carry the tickets over and deposit them in the trash can than it was to kick them around for 30 feet.  Man, people like you suck.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Dear Oddly Tanned Girl:

You looked ridiculous.  That shade of orange is normally reserved for Oompa Loompas and Fanta soft drinks.  I'm guessing your list of interests on Facebook include tanning and Jersey Shore.  Your hideous bright pink sweater was not helping your general look either.  You looked like someone vomited up Pepto Bismol and carrots.  I ordinarily try to avoid making fun of people's appearances because that's just immature and clearly this blog is all about maturity, but unfortunately you caught my attention because you don't know how to drive a car like an adult.  God forbid the car in front of you stop at a crosswalk to let someone cross the street.  That definitely warrants leaning on your horn for 18 straight seconds.  You managed to do this while simultaneously texting on your cell phone too, which I'm pretty sure is illegal now.  Just to recap this situation here:  1) Bad fake tan 2) Obnoxious beeping 3) Texting while driving.  You, Ms. Oddly Tanned Girl, are a class act indeed.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Dear Person Who Didn't Hold The Door:

This shit happens all the time, but today was especially annoying.  As you may have noticed, it has not stopped fucking raining for more than 12 hours in weeks.  (Is this what people in Seattle or London feel like?  God it's depressing.)  I had gone outside to pick up some lunch for myself and some co-workers.  I was walking back to my office building with my umbrella in one hand and big bag of food in the other.  You were ahead of me in a group of six or seven or so people.  Not far ahead of me.  Perhaps, a couple of feet at most.  Everyone was entering the building slowly but surely, holding the door for one another as respectful and civilized people are wont to do.  However, as you entered the building, you didn't see fit to the hold the door for anyone behind.  Namely me.  Given that my hands were quite full, I had no opportunity to grab the door myself.  Fortunately, I was able to sneak a foot in between the door and the frame and swing the door open myself.  I then proceeded to stare at you.  Your friend seemed to notice me giving you the death stare and gave me a weird look.  Ordinarily I would have said something sarcastic like, "Gee, thanks for the holding the door for me, buddy," but alas, I was already filled with rage and couldn't coherently be snarky.  Like I said, this shit happens all the time, but when its a monsoon outside and you can't be fucked to hold the door for someone, that's not cool and now I feel wronged. 

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Dear Crazy Bus Driver:

Holy shit.  This was the first bus ride I've been on that I legitimately thought I would have to fill out an MBTA accident report at some point.  Not once, not twice, but three times you violently slammed on the brakes and swerved.  Its entirely possible that these three events were not your fault.  However, it seems more likely that you are just a crazy/horrendous driver and not just the victim of other people's poor driving.  The third time was by far the worst.  It prompted several people who were standing to stumble a few feet into other people and nearly fall.  It prompted me to almost fall out of my seat.  And it prompted the entire bus to swear in unison.  It was special.  I don't know how fast you were going, but I bet it was faster than a big bus should be going.  I was sort of napping, but still kind of awake and I thought I saw Keanu Reeves and had flashbacks to that terrible Speed movie.  Anyways, somehow you didn't notice the line of traffic up ahead that was stopped at a red light.  Instead of paying attention and slowing down appropriately, you waited and waited and waited and then decided to brake hard and veer into the left lane.  Seriously?  What the fuck, dude?  Were you on your fucking cell phone or something?  I've been on lots of shitty bus rides before, but normally its annoying passengers that make it shitty.  Not almost careening into stopped traffic several times.  I really hope you're not my new evening commute bus driver.