Tag Archives: subway

It’s a christmas miracle!!

8 Mar

This just in:

Man gives girl seat on subway in rush hour, girl nearly dies from shock.

Dear random man who gave me his hot commodity (that’s a subway seat, people… get your mind out of the gutter),

It’s a christmas miracle!!! Yeah, it’s a few months late, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. If you didn’t have a ring on I probably would have jumped you. Thank you for your seat and temporarily restoring my faith in humanity.

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Big league chewers

7 Mar

Dear gum chewers of planet earth,

Trust me, as a gum connoisseur, I appreciate the wonder of its chewy, bubble-blowin’, sugary fabulousness… but really, must I see your tonsils and directly into your esophagus while mistaking the sounds coming from your mouth as those of an elderly person going to town on a jar of peanut butter without their dentures? I mean, come on now. I know it’s hard to be an adult, but you might want to consider trying a teeny bit harder, so as to avoid looking like a moderately unbalanced farm animal (at least in public).

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Please do not touch, lick, stroke or mount the exhibits

9 Feb

Dear commuters who rapidly caress the pole as if you are employee of the month at your local Happy Ending Rub ‘N Tug,

Although I’m aware that you probably don’t realize you are doing it, it’s definitely not very becoming (I assume my opinion would be drastically different if I were male, but… ya, nope).  Whether it’s because your gloves slide up and down, or it’s the constant slip of your sweaty palm, you look ridiculous.

I’m actually not so offended by the above part as I find it rather amusing. What bothers me is that when you do that, you touch my hand and/or finger and/or coat and/or leg, when I happen to be using the same pole or standing in your general area. Call me crazy, call me OCD, call me neurotic, call me whatever you want, but do.not.touch.me. I do not want your dirty gloves touching my hand. I do not want your sweaty palms touching my body. I do not want the surplus of  fuzz from your coat transferring on to mine. I do not want to pick your stray hairs off my coat. I do not want your backpack that smells deliciously of eggs, dirt, and peanut butter anywhere near my existence. I do not want to have to knock you out. Deal?

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Papercuts

3 Feb

Dear moron who consequently forced another moron to give yours truly a fabulous papercut,

Not only did you continue to fondle me even though I kept moving so you had more room to read your stupid book, you swung around on the pole like the high-class subway stripper that you are and knocked me into that other moron who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.  Thanks for that.  Since I had no time to react, I had to use other moron’s stupid book to break my fall so I could avoid my face being smothered in her crotch, which resulted in one bitch of a  papercut. Instead of knocking you over head with the much deserved overpriced bottle of Pinot Noir that was in my bag, I strategically pulled your high-class subway stripper pole move back on you as I left the train, knowing that my bag that carried that overpriced bottle of wine would whack your kneecap. To avoid this type of random violence in the future, please attend my new seminar, “Idiot’s Guide to Public Transit Etiquette” (also known as “Seriously?”).

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Brass Knuckles

25 Jan



Dear girl who wore brass knuckles on the subway,

After my initial shock, I’m finding myself torn between:

What the fuck?!, and

Good call, I’m mildly jealous.

In either case, good job coordinating them with your outfit. High five.

Love,

Allergic to you. xo



Germs!

20 Jan

I’m going to pull a double whammy here, because frankly, I’m lazy.

Dear guy who used his snot as a hair styling product/girl who removed her eye crusties while wearing leather gloves,

Boogerboy: It was bad enough that you used the palm of your hand as kleenex multiple times.  Was it necessary to rub it in  your hair, which you then styled as if it was gel? Very attractive, rock star. Congratulations, you made me throw up in my mouth a little. I’ve also started to rethink my faith in humanity, but you know, whatever.

Crustygirl: I understand the concept of wearing gloves on transit so your bare hands don’t touch the germ infested pole. Unless you are obsessive, I would imagine that you don’t wash your gloves as often as you wash your hands.  That being said, how exactly might you wash your leather gloves? Think about it, how many times have you worn those gloves? How many door handles, poles, and other random slimy things have you touched since then? And then…. you stuck that glove… in.your.eye. And then… you touched the pole, where your eye crusty was deposited.  And then… Mr. Fancy-business-suit touched that same pole  on the same spot where you deposited your eye crusty.  And then… Mr. Fancy-business-suit used his teeth to remove his glove that touched the pole that touched your eye crusty.

Enough said (almost)…

I believe Boogerboy and Crustygirl would make a fine couple, and live infectiously ever after (with occasional visits from  Mr. Fancy-business-suit).

In all seriousness, if you are going to do this kind of thing, do it in private or at the very least make an effort to not draw attention to yourself. Nobody needs to see that.

Enough said (for real).

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Bigfoot-ish hairy toes

22 Dec

Dear rock star who sported a festive Bill Cosby sweater, fluorescent green toque,  floral print pashmina, Adidas trackpants, and pink flipflops (which exposed your dirty bigfoot-ish hairy toes, which really, you should think about covering up since it’s winter, or, hey, at the very least shave that shit, it’s nasty) today on the subway,

Congratulations! Winner! Gagnon! You have left me speechless (other than this most fabulous snippet).

Since you’ve already given up on life, please proceed to the nearest store that sells these god awful sorry excuses for shoes as your prize:


Love,

Allergic to you. xo

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