Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Dear Douche on the MBTA #78 bus yesterday at 6:06 pm,

Last night while riding the bus I decided to call my mother. I spoke at a courteous tone as not to disturb my fellow passengers even though the bus was fairly loud to start with various conversations and other phone calls in occurrence.
As I finished up my phone call you, seated in front of me, stretch your arms back waving a piece of paper in my face with your hands touching my nose. I hung up with my mom and tapped you on the shoulder and kindly asked
“Excuse me, but your hands are in my face do you mind moving them."
To which you replied
“Well do you mind? You were talking in my ear”
Oh it’s on.
In case you have forgotten, we then went on the have the following exchange

Me: “Oh, well, you could have turned around and asked me to keep it down or moved seats, you don’t need to put your hands in my face, that’s rude”

Dickface: “ Well you are rude!”

Adorable me: “Hey, I can talk on my phone whenever I want, don’t tell me what to do!”

Fart muncher: “Actually there are signs that say no cell phones (turns to find signs) Okay, well there are usually sings on the bus, not this bus, but I have seen signs that say no cell phones”

Sweet innocent me: “ What’s the difference if I talk on my cell or to my neighbor? There are lots of people talking on the bus right now, perhaps you should walk around and tell them all to shut up”

Sexless prick: “Maybe you should shut-up”

Kind-hearted compassionate me: “Don’t you tell me to shut-up and don’t you ever put your fucking hands in my face. You are like what 50, 60 years old? You are an old man and you are going to start a fight with a young lady. I feel sorry for you.”

Adolescent minded shitbag: “Well I feel sorry for you”

“Good one, what are you 12 years old? Stop talking to me asshole”

Caca face: “You’re ignorant”

At this point I took out my cell and called my sister to tell her that I was sitting behind a fucking jerk who almost punched me. That’s when you got up in a huff to tattle to the bus driver on me. The bus driver could have cared less. Everyone was staring at you. Everyone could smell how pathetic you were. You got off at the next stop yelling “Goodnight Ignoramus!” to me as you exited.
That was a good one. Ignoramus. Maybe I will start a new site called “Dear Ignoramus.” It’ll be hip and cool. All the kiddies will love it. Ignoramus is a very cool and insulting word. Nice job fucko.
My only query to you is, are you always this immaturely passive aggressive? And if so, how do you handle other noisy situations? If somebody’s Ipod is too loud on the subway do you flick snot at them? If a baby is crying at a restaurant do you wiggle your butt in their face? If a car alarm is going off in your neighborhood do you take a dump on the hood? Really tell me, how do douchebags like you go on day to day with all these ignoramuses invading your quiet space?
Well, I’ll let you go as I’m sure there is an adorable puppy breathing a little too loudly somewhere that you need to go and kick.

Love always<

Monday, October 30, 2006

Dear Dude in Mike Myers costume on Saturday,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
The best thing about Halloween is dressing in costume. That's costume, not full-blown character. One of the worst things about Halloween is meeting people for the first time in costume. You can't see their eyes and tell if they are a loon-bag like you.
Saturday my fiance and I stopped by a few Halloween parties, on being thrown by my fiance's co-worker. Everyone at the party was delightful none the less but you. You creeped me out from the start. Anyone who won't break character creeps me out, especially when wearing a creepy mask.
For some reason I was the target of most of your insanity. You approached me in the kitchen and kept high-fiving me, missing my hand and smacking my wrists. When I told you to please stop because if you did not I may punch you, you replied “Go ahead hit me" to which I said "No thanks." Then you went there.
You started taunting me saying "Go on fag, what are you a pussy? Hit me!" as if I were a drunken chump at a bar who was hitting on your girlfriend. I tried my best to make my somewhat inebriated mind go to happy place but you did a very good job at yanking me down to your pathetic and violent level.
I lightly tapped your face to let you know I wasn't joking causing you to scream "Pussy and fag" at me even louder. I again asked you to quit it but your persisted.
I should have walked away but my inner frat boy began to fume. I hit you again, a little harder this time. You called me a pussy yet again.
(Did somebody slip me acid or a horror flick villain really challenging me to a duel?)You recoiled with “Is that all you got?"
Now let me stop and tell you that no, that was not all I got but I was not about to get blood all over my slutty St. Paulie girl outfit. This is not a statement to prove how big my balls are, it's me telling you that I have had enough training ( beyond just my Tai Boe dvds) that if I wanted to I could have clocked you in face, kicked you in your tiny nuts clawed that mask right off your wormy little hidden face. Anger is a powerful muscle. And if I failed I am pretty positive I could find some hefty boys to finish the job.
But I am not a violent person.
I hit you one last time. I almost hit you full force but realized what I was doing mid-punch a held back enough to hopefully bruise you but not really really hurt you. As I hit you I got a glimpse of your cheeks below the eye holes of your mask. Your face was bright red with craziness. I am not going to sock a psycho.
At this point, Borat or my fiance'realzied what was going on and we decided to leave as you called after for me to return and hit you some more. Perhaps you are a sadomasochist. Perhaps you are really Mike Myers. Perhaps you are a turd who likes to fight with funny, sweet, insanely adorable girls. Whatever you are, you are clearly a douchebag whom I hope somebody, somewhere, with less of conscious than me punched you really hard that night.

Love Always,
ps. It was brought to my attention by a lovely friend that in reading the above letter some may think I was taking about Mike Myers the comedian. Please be assured that it was not Austin Powers, Wayne or the Sprockets guy who asked me to punch him, it was the horror movie character. However, a man in a velour suit and big teeth telling me "Punch me! Yeah baby Groovy Baby!" would have been great. Maybe next year. Maybe.

Friday, October 27, 2006

Dear Giulia,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
Way to go with giving into the whole mass-produced slutty Halloween costume craze. Usually you are quite the creative gal, making costumes of out nothing year after year and celebrating one of your favorite holidays with thought and originality. But this year you lost your magic touch and bought a slutty St Paulie girl outfit that looks just like the slutty French maid outfit, the slutty Goldylocks outfit, and the slutty Queen of Hearts costumes. Same brand, same outfit, different colors.
Although I am very disappointed in your lack of effort, I must admit you look sort of cute in that get-up. Remember, you don't have to wait for Halloween to dress like a skank, you have the power to look like a whore anytime you want.
I say next year you go as a slutty hotdog. Hot!
Love Always,

Friday, October 20, 2006

Dear MTA window employee at the Smith & Bergen stop in Brooklyn,

When somebody taps on your window w to ask you about the confusing re-routing of the F train (aka the F-ed up train) your job is to respond. Instead you ignored a nice and polite British woman as she tapped on your cage and kindly said "excuse me" three times. You then exited your glass box to go into one of those secret subway doors which I assume leads to a restroom where you were going to go and remove the large pole from out of your ass.
The Brit then turned to you and said excuse me one last time. You finally turned. The woman then asked " Um, I'm a bit confused, is the F train not coming to this station?" To which you, with all the attitude you could muster in your stupid self replied " Can't you read the sign?"
This is where I stepped in.
"Jesus, it's your job to answer questions you rude bitch!" Granted you had already walked through the mystical door as the words "rude bitch" exited my mouth but should you decide to google " uneducated, miserable, pig-faced, subway employee at Smith and Bergen" you will know how I dislike thee.
Oh and don't worry, I ended up explaining the configuration of the New York city transit system to the nice English gal hopefully while you were being humped mercilessly by a giant subway rat.
Learn to do your job douchewhore.

Love Always,

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Dear Tom,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
I love you and hate your magical place that is MySpace.

Not long ago I got over high school. Well, I got over it as much as I am able. Then you came along, dangling popularity before my eyes. To a girl who desperately wanted to be a beautiful, popular cheerleader( mind you after three years of try-outs, one of which included me having to try-out with the cheer captain since no one wanted to be my partner, and then collapsing upon her during a jump nearly destroying her pom pom career) MySpace is like crystal meth. Even though it's slowly killing me inside I need a little everyday to get by, just a little.

Add to that the use of the words "accept" and "deny" in reference to friendships and you have dragged me right back to junior high dances. Couldn't you change it to:

wants to be your friend, would you like say sure or you’re cute, but I'm just not interested

Then there is the "read mail" factor. If you give me the opportunity to spy on my mail recipients to see if they have in fact read my mail, I will not only take you up on your offer but obsessively check to see if my message has been read then obsess even more over the fact that it has been read but not replied to. Then I wonder if maybe there was glitch in MySpace where although the message is in my mail sent folder perhaps it really wasn't sent. Please, Tom don't allow me to know if my mail has been read. It's feels like when I used to like a boy and he didn't talk to me so I told someone to tell that boy I liked him and he still didn't talk to me and then I wonder well did that person I told to tell him tell him or did they forget to tell him so should someone else go and tell him again or did they tell him and he doesn't like me back or maybe he doesn't know who I am so should I go talk to him myself or maybe I should just drive by his house, oh wait I'm not 16 yet and don't have a car and I am not walking because I only like to eat and watch TV so maybe my dad can drive me by his house but then I will be driving by a boys house with my dad and is he sees me he will think I am lame for hanging with my dad and my dad won't even drive me cause he'll be like "why do you need to drive by a boys house, if he doesn't like he doesn't like you" and then I will spend years hating myself and my dad for saying this even though he is right and I should just leave the boy alone but I can't because I don't know if he likes me or not.

As for connecting me with long lost buddies, you rock. As for helping me connect to other artists, writers, creators, opportunities, networks, etc etc, you are damn good. As for having my friend request box backed up with turd-nuggets whom I have never met but are hopeful I will "accept" so that they may promote their new album/show/cookie delivery business by leaving large and obnoxious "thanks for the add" banners on my comment box, followed by links to their lame videos/songs/resumes, I am displeased.

I know it's not your fault. By joining MySpace one opens themselves up to meeting creeps, annoying messages, and exposure they may or may not really want. I can recall a few times when a real live human, not a face + wacky headline + about me paragraph, but a real live person has said to me something in reference to my page that I was startled as to why they knew so much about me. Sorry, that was hard to follow, perhaps this role play will better demonstrate:

Person whom I only know through MySpace : "Hey! I'm a big fan of the show Mr. Belvedere too?"
Me: “How the fuck did you know that?" forgetting that in my favorite TV shows section of my space I pay homage to everyone’s favorite British housekeeper.
The real live human then has to endure that "shot-down" sort of feeling like " oh damn this girl forgot I was her friend."

Even as write this letter I can already imagine the following will happen:
Stranger: "Hey! That's funny you tried out for cheerleading for 3 years?"

Me: "How the fuck did you know that"
Then I will run to a corner to slowly rock myself, rhythmically back and forth as I sobbed over the reminder of this painful adolescent failure.
Oh the internet is so weird.

But back to you Tom. All in all bravo for creating the fun-est and freakiest site ever which has spawned douches like me to be a fourteen year old girl forever.

Thank you for being a friend Tom.

Love Always,

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Dear people who are STILL making Broke Back Mountain gay jokes and/or parodies,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
The joke was old when it started, enough already.

Love Always,

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Dear Giulia,

Can it you sicko! Seriously get your head out of the gutter. GET IT OUT! On the subway this morning there was a nice, unsuspecting woman who had the shakes. She shook, not violently but obviously. She was expressing her excitement to her friend regarding the upcoming vegetarian festival, so what? She was holding the pole. So what? Her shaking caused her hand to glide up and down the poll. So what? But out of the corner of your eye, you thought it looked like she was jerking off the pole. This made you laugh silently to yourself for the entire ride. Nice to know you still have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy. The lady has tremors and you have terrible taste.
. What you should have done was read your book, looked away, moved seats, something, anything to avoid staring at her hand as it slide up and down, up and down, up and down the long, smooth, long, hard, long pole. Enough douchlia. Really, that's quite enough out of you. Honestly I sometimes don't know why we even hang out together.

Love Always,

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Dear Kim Jong II,

Just like I always tell my feisty little 5'4 dad, settle down there little feller, settle down.
We get it Jong, your dink is large, real large. So large it can blow up the planet. But let's keep this massive machine in your pants, shall we? Like Mary J. said " no more drama, noooo nonono nooooo, no more drama no more drama do more drama, noooooo nooo nooo nonono no."

Look, Kimmy I sometimes think about wrecking shit up too but the difference between you and I is you have nuclear bombs and all I have is a sloppy right hook I have yet to actually use beyond cardio kickboxing. Oh and I am taller than you. And I am bit more stylish, although you do give a decent effort. This whole hair, sunglasses look is very 2001 Yoko Ono. If Yoko is your style muse perhaps you should take a lesson from her about peace and all that stuff unless of course you are really Yoko Ono. Does she have an alte egothat likes to hurt and destroy? Doubtful, but curious, very curious (insert chin rubbing as though one was thinking deeply here)

Come on Kim-dongy-donga let's just put the bombs down. PUT THE BOMBS DOWN! For reals don't be a doucher. If you cut the shenanigans out now I will even take you shopping for more platform shoes. Would you like that Kim J? Does the little chipmunk want to be playing with footwear or warfare?
Love Always,

ps. About how the Bush Administration is saying we will not be threatened by this whole nuclear war testing thing just to clarify Bush and the gang are speaking for themselves I guess because personally I am pooping my pants about this one.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Dear E! True Hollywood Story,

Thanks for that touching special you aired last night called "E! Investigates: Starving for Perfection" which focused on eating disorders and how the media plays a big part in the problem. Next time, I suggest airing such a special right before your other touching specials " E!: Celebrity Slimdowns" or " E!:101 Sexiest Hollywood Bodies" just so you can make it crystal clear that you are feeding us(pun intended) contradicting bullshit.

Love Always,
ps. The bulimic guy on your special last night, the one who stole so much money from his mom to buy food that she lost her car? Um yeah.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Dear Casting peeps, producers,and hire-ups at the Office,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
You are not douchebags what-so-ever. I just wanted to write you and unfortunately I do not have a site called Dear Delightful Dudes (yet). After a week of distrurbing incidents that led me to write heavy and heartbroken letters on this here site I needed to add some sunshine to start this weekend off right so I am making an acception to write one letter addressed at super awesome people. I also thought perhaps when you are not busy creating the most hilarious piece of television ever you may spend as much time as me Googling yourself leading you to stumble upon this site. Upon seeing the search results in which you discover that your show is associated with a site that is dedicated to calling out douchiness you'd click the link curious as to why anyone would ever call you such a term. To your delight (and mine) you'd find that this is in fact a letter of praise, and its placement here is merely a matter of convenience and strategy.
Now that I have your attention, let's get down to business.
I just want to say I love your show and I am ready to be hired as a writer, cast member, or both. I am sure you have been waiting for me to make such an announcement, well here it is, my offer rather my plea. I think those six solid years of job hopping in over two dozen offices for what I like to call “actor research" deserves to be recognized and rewarded. I get office banter, I know office behavior. Take a peek at observations one , two, and three and you shall see just how humorous and entertaining my view on office life is.
You like silly faces? I'll give you silly faces! You like sarcasm? Oh I have sarcasm up the hoo ha for ya! You like balloon animals? I can learn!
Granted a better approach would be writing a spec script and taking more acting classes to then get me a literary and legit TV/Film agent to then submit me to you where I shall wow you with my witty episode draft and charming audition. That would probably be a better approach, I realize such. However just as in 2002 during a killer set I was rocking at the Comedy Store in LA, I took a chance and asked the audience if anyone could introduce me to Eminem ( why I was obsessed with him for eight months, I know not) thus granting me the honor being somebody's plus one for the Eight Mile premiere and just as in 2001 I took a chance and asked a roadie at the Poison concert to introduce me to Bret Michaels and that roadie happen to be Bret's cousin and I got to spend twenty glorious minutes with the star of my earliest teenage sexual fantasies, I decided to just toss this whole "hire me on the office" letter out there. Do with it what you will.
Love Always,

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Dear Rev Fred Phelps,

I don't who is the bigger douchebag, you for wanting to protest the Amish funerals today because the Amish don't quite believe in your God-ly ways or FOX radio for actually agreeing to give you air time.
Considering you are a despicable, shameful, hateful old man I am going to give you big douchbag title of the day ( perhaps even the year).
You make me want to cry. Vomit, then cry, then repeat.
I'd tell you to go to hell but I am most certain you are already on your way there since God actually hates haters, not fags.

Go fuck yourself,

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Dear Crazy racist cab driver,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
I was quite surprised and somewhat delighted to be picked up last Friday night by a hippy looking female cab driver with a puppy in the front seat. I thought to myself " what a treat, it's not often you see female cab drivers in NYC no less one with dread-lock style hair and a pup." I envisioned a joyful drive to Brooklyn in which we'd discuss men and marijuana. We'd share a laugh over girly things like PMS and chocolate. You'd crank up some Phish tunes and just for kicks we'd stop on the Brooklyn bridge, take off our shoes and dance in the cool crisp city air, just feeling the groove man, just feeling the groove.
My fantasy was quickly denied when I commented on the cuteness of your pooch you immediately slammed the window that separates the driver from the passenger and turned up your classic rock music.
Fair, enough. I too often prefer to ride in silence.
But when you stopped at a red light on Avenue of the Americas in Tribeca beside a car with a black couple inside, you began to scream "Fuck you! You stupid ugly nig**rs!" over and over and over again.
this broke our ride code of silence you had previously indicated.
Not surprisingly, the couple was horrified and shocked. They said "excuse me?" a few times to confirm what had been said. The woman took out her cell, I assume to call the cab company to let them know a rabid douche was driving one of their cars.
I sat frozen in the backseat. The cabbie had dread-locks for Christ sake, was that just a mask or a mockery? The bigoted venom had no been spu-ing for at least 30 seconds when I rolled down my window and said "Um sorry?" to the couple followed by a confused " Um should I get out of this cab?" To which the couple screamed " hell yeah you should!" I quickly snatched my purse and jumped out of the car into on coming traffic. You didn't even notice that I had exited as you were now pounding your fists on the wheel as you continued your hateful mantra towards these innocent folks.
In what felt like slow motion I made my way to another taxi. I was in utter disbelief at the purely evil hatred I had just witnessed. I had made mental note of the cabbies car number but that information unfortunately disappeared from my thoughts somewhere between Houston and 1rst Avenue as I was so overcome with disappointment in people.
Between the pee pee piddling d-bag (see yesterdays post) on the bus from earlier that evening and the crazed slasher douche to be gun downed the next morning (see Monday’s post) to you, you heartless ugly racist doucher cab driver I had clearly seen the worst of the worst within 14 hours. 14 hours!? Who sees the three craziest douchebags in 14 tiny little hours? Six of which I was sleeping but I am certain that I had pulled an all nighter I would have encountered at least two or three more d-baggies since apparently it was a "Giulia and the douches marathon weekend."
It's shit like this makes me want to live in a cave. It's shit like this that makes me not want to have kids, to not bring more eyes into the world to witness such hate and madness. It's this kind of shit that keeps this site going yet I'd gladly surrender my lil' ol' humor page for a drastic decrease in douchism.
I just wonder, what is it that make some of us go nuts and others suck it up? Like the recent
guy from the Amish school shooting who was “angry at God” and was seeking out vengeance for his past suffering. We all have “issues” yet some of us deal with it constructively while others like you deal with it destructively?
But I digress. This letter is to the cabbie specifically. If I allow myself to dissect all the douches of the world I will be writing forever.
I hope your mangy mutt attacks your ugly face while you are driving through a predominately black neighborhood and not one of those, what did you call them again? Oh right nig**rs. Not one of "those" comes to your aide.
Love Always,

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Dear dude who was touchng his private on the bus to NYC,

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
After recent roll-overs, fires, etc etc on Boston/NYC buses I was prepared for some accidental group disturbance on my ride to NYC this past weekend. I was however not prepared, nor will I ever be prepared to sit next to a man diddling his dinker.

I clearly wanted to sit alone. Did my Ipod on, sunglasses lowered, feet up on seat demeanor not send such signals? I would later come to understand that you weren't looking for a reasonable place to sit, you were look for an arousing place to sit. While your choosing me as the luck y lady to cause your boner was perhaps somewhat of a sick and twisted compliment, I was not flattered.
I moved my belongings, moved to the inside seat, and let you and you awkwardly shaped self sit. I could vibe instantly that you were a weirdo. Or maybe you were "slow" or had a serious metal issue. Regardless I could care less about your boo-hoo dysfunction, you are a creep and simply reinforced how strong female intuiton really is. I put down my shades so I could pretend to sleep while keeping an eye on you. You then took my nap time as an opportunity to stroke your wiener underneath the jacket you so sleekingly placed upon your lap. I jerked up (pun intended), you immediately followed. To be sure you were doing what I suspected I pretended to sleep again, this time as I silently wept in my head. Ten minutes later your hand creeped to your wonk wonk prompting me to jump and scream “Get the fuck out of my way” as I yanked my belongings (pun number two for those counting) and moved seats. I would have yelled " Go fuck yourself but you already were doing a great job at that. (yeah, I am the punmaster)
I didn’t know what to do so I waited until we reached the rest stop where I planned to tattle tale to the driver. We all got off the bus, you more so than the rest of us. After a 15 minute break you were no where to be found. Everyone had returned to the bus but you and your slimy shlong loving paws. The driver waited knowing one person was still inside the rest stop. Without hesitation I yelled across the bus to the driver “The guy you are waiting for is crazy, creepy and was touching himself I say we leave with out him!” Someone else cheered “Yeah!” and so we took off leaving you and your masturbatory self behind somewhere in Connecticut.
I should have spit in your face, kicked you in the balls, and shoved your douchebag face in the bus commode making you eat the weeks worth of shit that never seems to get cleaned from the never ending toilet tunnel. But like most dirty, delinquent, feeble, ugly douchebags I am most certain you are going to hell. A hell where you are on a never ending China town bus ride where your hands are tied behind your back and you have a 24 hour boner.
I think I will end this letter here as I can feel the bile building my throat.

Love never,

Monday, October 02, 2006

Dear People who casually walked by the Brooklyn shooting on Saturday,

I awoke Saturday morning in Brooklyn to screams of "Oh God no!" and "drop the knife". I looked out the window to find a man in front the Met grocery store holding a woman hostage at knife point and two plain clothes police officers pointing guns at him. It was perhaps the most bizarre and disturbing scene I have ever witnessed. Scratch that. The most bizarre and disturbing scene I ever witnessed were the handful of folks, out getting their morning coffee or walking the dog that strolled by the scene unphased. These douches saw the guns, they saw the cop cars blocking traffic, they saw the chaos but insisted on strolling by in the midst of possible gun fire. Now, I get it, New Yorkers are rough and tough but walk by a scene as such as if this was simply common place? Seriously douches, that's not brave or cool, it's dumb. Maybe the emo music blasting from your Ipod has made you not only deaf, but also dumb and blind. Perhaps your tight hipster jeans have cut off the circulation to your brain. Regardless, it ain't hip to risk your life to get a morning cup o' brew.
And I do realize what I am about to say is not your fault but do you by any chance know who's responsibility it was to pick up the slain knife man's bloody hat? Apparently ( click the link above) the bloody hat remained in front of the supermarket two hours after the incident took place. Classy peeps, real freaking classy.
I think I need a hug
Love Always,