Letters from a Mid-20s Blogger to the Universe at Large

WTF?! Letters of the Day:

To the World:
WHY didn't anyone tell me that Pretty Little Liars is like Gossip Girl on steroids?! I spent all summer with a severe lack of pretty, entitled teens getting hammered, boning inappropriate people and stabbing each other in the back. Jersey Shore doesn't count because they're too old.
WTF?!
Team Alison,
C

To the Creepy Man on the B Line Giggling to Himself:
WHAT WAS YOUR DEAL?! I don't know what was so funny, but hiding your face in your hands and laughing hysterically at random intervals makes you a prime candidate for "Serial Killer of the Day". I'll keep an eye out for you on next week's installment of To Catch a Predator.
WTF?!
I don't want to end up in your basement,
C

To My Right Contact Lens:
Did the barometric pressure eff around with the pH balance in your little chamber last night? Stabbing me in the eye repeatedly throughout the morning is not the best way to get my attention. Or maybe it is, since I'm writing a note to an inanimate object currently resting on my eyeball.
Still, WTF?!
Only Jen Lancaster and I are allowed to feel stabby,
C

To The Literate Universe:
It's SUPPOSED to, not suppose to; it's USED to, not use to; it's 'TIL not till; it's OF COURSE, not course; it's COULDN'T CARE LESS, not could care less, and for the love of holy oatmeal (yes, I went there), figure out when to use "and I" and "and me".
Again, I ask you: WTF?!
An ED isn't bad when it's tacked on the end of a verb,
C

To Self:
White sweater + White tank - Coat + Torrential downpour =
WTF?!
Transparently Yours,
C

To All the Bloggers Whining About Positivity:
If you all harnessed the energy being devoted to writing about how the h8ers gon' h8, you could probably fuel a wind turbine or some other eco-friendly device. Just sayin'.
WTF?!
It's my blog and I'll bitch if I want to,
C

To the Jorts-Wearing Hipster on the Bus:
No. Just.... no.
For the last time, WTF?!
You'll thank me later,
C

And now some Love Letters:

To Steph:
Thank you so much for the shout-out on your blog yesterday! That was seriously one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about my writing/this blog. I can't wait for pumpkin beer!
No WTF,
C

To All My Readers:
Not be confused with All My Children. Thanks for being awesome. You all rock.
No WTF,
C

And none for Gretchen Wieners. 

Destitute, Drunk or Just Damn Old?

Someone please reassure me that I'm not the only one who has made a karmic blunder in the past 36 hours.

Yesterday morning, I was sitting next to this old, toothless man on the bus. I was discreetly checking out his linen coat and engaging in one of my favorite public transit pastimes, "Destitute, Drunk, or Just Damn Old?" when suddenly he turned and asked me, "excuse me, Miss, is there a McDonalds for something to eat?"

Now, something you probably don't know about me is that I've been on a mission for the past four years to single-handedly disprove Boston's reputation as the rudest, most unfriendly city in America. You might think I'm kidding, but there is an actual subset of people who get off on perpetuating the Chowdahead sterotype. To put it into perspective for you, a guy who looked like Christian Bale in The Fighter and sounded like Leo in The Departed once tried to score a date with me by informing me that his plans for the evening included, "standing on the Common and giving tourists wrong directions." Say what?! Obviously, that was a bust... and it's also why I never, ever accuse my single friends in this city of being "too picky," because ain't no whacko like a Townie whacko, and this town is full of them (and their polar opposites, the dreaded Yeah, Dudes).  

But I digress.

Anyway, I was pumped for a chance to improve my cosmic lot by trying to help this hungry man out in his quest for a McMuffin. So, with a little bit more enthusiasm than I was going for, I casually squealed, "Sure, there's one at the Galleria!" in his ear. Imagine my surprise when he looked at me like I was scum on the bottom of his shoe, muttered something to himself, and moved away into the next seat over from me! WTF?! Seriously, dude? I was just trying to be helpful, which is no small feat at 7:45am on the dawn of a Stanley Cup Game 7 when my nerves are already a template for hypertension.

I sat there, puzzled, until another cute little admin-type came and squeezed her perfect little Banana-clad tush into the seat between me and Captain Hobo, and I heard him asking her for breakfast recommendations.

Not going to lie; I was mildly offended. What, were my navigational skillz not good enough?! As I sat there, huffily glaring at him and Ms. Perky Pants out of the corner of my eye, the girl shook her perfect mane in his general direction and sneered.

And then I realized that I'm not directionally challenged; I'm just a mildly hard of hearing jackass. Sir Ear Hair asked me for a DOLLAR, not a McDonalds!

For a nanosecond, I almost felt bad enough for getting his hopes up about the possibility of future riches that I contemplated giving him the wrinkly five bucks I had stashed somewhere in the bottom of my purse. And then I remembered his look of disgust and decided he could find his own damn way to get buzzy for the Bs game.

I'm going to hell.