I'm sure you're all sitting there, looking at the title and thinking one of two things. That is that this post is about a dandy pirate, who is afraid of ticking clocks, and is bested by a flying boy in tights, OR someone had a hook and I had to write about it. For those of you who think I'm talking about a pirate, while I appreciate your child-like sense of wonder, need to reconsider your day job and should perhaps join a circus. (I have to admit, someone in a Captain Hook costume riding the bus would be a jolly good post) (Jolly, get it? Haha, yeah).
Anyway, so I'll get to the Hook in a minute. First, I would like to say that Giant Sweaty Spiderman seems to be an okay guy, and I think he's kinda gay. "Why?" you say. Well, not that he did anything really overt, but a friend (girl) of his boarded the bus and he was super excited and did what I can best describe as "jazz hands." Not that jazz hands automatically makes you gay, but it definitely puts a hefty check in that column. Needless to say, the more I observe GSS, the more I think that he's a nice guy, but I'm still leery of anyone who tattoo's a spider on their scalp.
Now, on to the BIG thing that occurred during this morning's bus ride. Let me set the scene for you, shall I? So I get on the bus and sit in the front compartment about three seats back from the driver. The back of the bus was unusually packed and looked a bit smelly (I think GSS agreed with me since he was sitting in the very front). We're driving along. I'm listening to music. We stop at one of the stops along S. Huntington where all the assisted living places are and a man gets on. He doesn't look to be too old, but he has a bit of a stoop to his posture and he seems to be shuffling. On top of that he's having a heck of a time getting anything out of his pocket... because he has a HOOK hand. Okay, okay, now before you judge me for calling out a hook prosthesis, cut me some slack. It's early. I'm still only one cup of coffee into my morning, and it's a FREAKIN' HOOK, with the pincher capability, so actually TWO hooks. Fake hand, fine. Artificial limbs have come a long way since the time of peg-legged and hook-handed pirates. Embrace technology, people!
Back to Mr. Hook (I don't think he's a captain). Mr. Hook finally pays his fare whichever way he had planned to pay it and takes the seat directly in front of me on the aisle. As most of you are aware, since I've discussed this before, when sitting on the aisle seat, one cannot help but be in the aisle a bit. That is unless you wish to sit with your thigh pressed against a stranger's thigh, and most people don't. Mr. Hook appears to subscribe to this value as well. The bus proceeds down S. Huntington to the Huntington stop. Lots of people get off and lots get on. As is common with modern life, we all carry baggage with us, both literally and figuratively. It's not uncommon to take a backpack to the head during a bus ride. I've learned to bob and weave as a method of self-preservation, but what would I do if say I had a HOOK FOR A HAND AND IT CAUGHT ON ONE OF THE LOOPS OF SOMEONES MESSENGER BAG?!?! YES! It caught aaaaaaaaaaand popped OFF! I'm sitting RIGHT behind him and I almost get smacked in the head with a disembodied hook! Fears that I didn't even know I had were realized. Mr. Hook was understandably alarmed, as was the poor woman carrying a severed prosthesis. She stood there just staring at it because what do you do? Do you just grab it and hand it back (Ha! hand it back)? Or do you gesture your bag so that Mr. Hook can retrieve his hook? Luckily, she didn't have to contemplate this for too long. Mr. Hook quickly grabbed his hook and re-affixed it. Then did a weird thing where he pinched the two hooks together to make sure they still moved (creeped me out). By this time we had made it to my stop and quickly made my exit, from the door that didn't cause me to walk by Mr. Hook, thus re-enacting the scenario.
My short walk into work was consumed with thoughts of the hook. I half wondered if Mr. Hook should employ a "hook cozy" to prevent this from happening. He could use a glove and we'd be none the wiser that there was even a hook. I endorse this plan. I couldn't really think of other things that he could do that didn't employ various types of hook cozies.
So I sit here relating my tale of 39-age. I hope Mr. Hook has a less eventful day. I hope that I have a less eventful day. Watch out for the hook people. When you least expect it...
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
And so it begins
I apologize for not writing anything in forever. I can supply multiple excuses, and evidence of no less than five posts that I started but never finished, but that won't help anyone. It just boils down to the fact that I've been very busy, while at the same time too lazy/tired to write anything funny. I hope that I'll have more time and/or ambition in the coming months, but I make no promises. Why can't I make promises, you ask? Well, my friends, we are standing on the verge of the Trifecta. Some call it the Triple Crown, others the Triumvirate, and still others call it the Triforce, and while it often feels as though one must go through a legendary journey to save Princess Zelda, it's really not nearly as much fun to pick up and throw chickens in real life (they scare me and might peck my eyes out), so, to me, it is not the Triforce.
The Trifecta! The Trifecta is the three pronged, roughly 38 day period in which the most important holidays of the year are jammed. It feeds off your money, your will, your patience, your rest, and your pants (how else do you explain them getting tighter?). Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Eve are the three witches that taunted Macbeth and turned him homicidal. Cautionary tale my friends, cautionary tale. On a personal, non-homicidal note, fate has decided to add an aspect to this season for me. My birthday is New Year's Day. Perhaps I'm the chosen one, or maybe just lucky, or maybe I'm the antichrist. I can't say for certain. Although, if I'm the antichrist, I am really disappointed in A LOT of things and I'm pretty sure that there's nothing to worry about in that whole prophecy thing. Suffice it to say that I get a lot of combo gifts, which shall bring forth the wrath of the antichrist (just kidding!), but I'm going to save the angst for another post and today I'm going to stay with the topic of Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving. A beautiful concept and a nice way to kick everything off. Nothing says "I'm ready to end this year on a high note and be thankful for the bounty that life has bestowed upon me" like a food coma induced by eating your weight in carbs (I heart carbs). It is also the holiday that showcases one of the less popular Peanuts cartoons. Enjoyable, and yet it's as though Charles Schultz felt bad for Peppermint Patty's repressed lesbianism and decided to throw her a bone, as it were. (Anyone else feel uncomfortable when she talks about her crush on "Chuck"? AW-kward) I would surmise that, at least for me, Thanksgiving is also the time of year that reopens the long abandoned lines of communication between family members. I don't know about you, but I speak with some of my relatives twice a year, Christmas and Thanksgiving. Yeah, it's sad. It's just hard to talk to them at all. My family does not needle or pick at people (ha! at least not when you're more than 200 miles away and can't hear them), nor does our distance make our hearts grow fonder. We avoid. We are super good at it too. Now, not all of us are like this it's just a certain part of my family. It fills me with guilt that I don't speak to them often and then I remember that my phone has this amazing ability to receive in-coming calls. And so continues our war of attrition. This whole "I must speak to people who don't give a fig about what's going on in my life during any other point in the year" continues through until January 2nd. I'm dreading it. What do I talk about? It's not that I don't love them, I just don't know them and they don't know me. When I made peace with this I realized that those people are just my relatives. They're not really my family.
I have, for many years, spent Thanksgiving with my adopted family. People that I love and I know love me back. They're good cooks and even better people. They're family. We all have our family, whether it's the one that we were born with or the one we choose, or even a mixture of the two. It's actually nice to have one day out of the year when we all get together and just stuff ourselves and not worry about presents or the other hoopla. So this Thanksgiving, do your best to just enjoy who you're with and be thankful that you're not Peppermint Patty or worse yet, Marcie.
The Trifecta! The Trifecta is the three pronged, roughly 38 day period in which the most important holidays of the year are jammed. It feeds off your money, your will, your patience, your rest, and your pants (how else do you explain them getting tighter?). Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Eve are the three witches that taunted Macbeth and turned him homicidal. Cautionary tale my friends, cautionary tale. On a personal, non-homicidal note, fate has decided to add an aspect to this season for me. My birthday is New Year's Day. Perhaps I'm the chosen one, or maybe just lucky, or maybe I'm the antichrist. I can't say for certain. Although, if I'm the antichrist, I am really disappointed in A LOT of things and I'm pretty sure that there's nothing to worry about in that whole prophecy thing. Suffice it to say that I get a lot of combo gifts, which shall bring forth the wrath of the antichrist (just kidding!), but I'm going to save the angst for another post and today I'm going to stay with the topic of Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving. A beautiful concept and a nice way to kick everything off. Nothing says "I'm ready to end this year on a high note and be thankful for the bounty that life has bestowed upon me" like a food coma induced by eating your weight in carbs (I heart carbs). It is also the holiday that showcases one of the less popular Peanuts cartoons. Enjoyable, and yet it's as though Charles Schultz felt bad for Peppermint Patty's repressed lesbianism and decided to throw her a bone, as it were. (Anyone else feel uncomfortable when she talks about her crush on "Chuck"? AW-kward) I would surmise that, at least for me, Thanksgiving is also the time of year that reopens the long abandoned lines of communication between family members. I don't know about you, but I speak with some of my relatives twice a year, Christmas and Thanksgiving. Yeah, it's sad. It's just hard to talk to them at all. My family does not needle or pick at people (ha! at least not when you're more than 200 miles away and can't hear them), nor does our distance make our hearts grow fonder. We avoid. We are super good at it too. Now, not all of us are like this it's just a certain part of my family. It fills me with guilt that I don't speak to them often and then I remember that my phone has this amazing ability to receive in-coming calls. And so continues our war of attrition. This whole "I must speak to people who don't give a fig about what's going on in my life during any other point in the year" continues through until January 2nd. I'm dreading it. What do I talk about? It's not that I don't love them, I just don't know them and they don't know me. When I made peace with this I realized that those people are just my relatives. They're not really my family.
I have, for many years, spent Thanksgiving with my adopted family. People that I love and I know love me back. They're good cooks and even better people. They're family. We all have our family, whether it's the one that we were born with or the one we choose, or even a mixture of the two. It's actually nice to have one day out of the year when we all get together and just stuff ourselves and not worry about presents or the other hoopla. So this Thanksgiving, do your best to just enjoy who you're with and be thankful that you're not Peppermint Patty or worse yet, Marcie.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Have you come to sing pumpkin carols?
Welcome to the first Autumnal post. I'm a few days late on the whole season. For those wondering, it began September 22, 2009 at 5:18 pm EDT. I have no idea how it was decided that 5:17 pm EDT was still too summery, but who am I to try and understand the abstract concept of time and space.
Sidenote: I do not like that Daylight Saving Time (yeah, I thought it was SavingS too, but when I saw that every entry in Google left off the 'S', I realized I was wrong. That and it does make more sense, grammatically of course) now ends in November. I enjoy brisk days and sunsets at 4:15pm EST. End Sidenote
It's hard for me to decide which season is my favorite... no it's not, I love Fall. To be fair though, I also love the Christmas season. In fact, I love that over all types of seasons, hot dog season, baseball season, Lawry's season-ing, etc. Weatherwise, though, Fall or Autumn to people who enjoy Jane Austen novels, is unbeatable, especially in New England. Where else in the world can you walk around in a light jacket and jeans, pick apples, watch the leaves turn vivid colors, and pair hot cider with cinnamon donuts? New England you say? YES! It's just a very nice time of year and makes me happy. I don't freeze. I don't sweat (unless it's an Indian summer in which case, I'm unhappy). It's mostly unrainy. I think people are generally in better moods. Plus look at this list of all the cool stuff that occurs this time of year:
1. apples
2. pretty leaves
3. new tv shows
4. apple pies
5. Halloween*
6. candy
7. Thanksgiving!
8. pie
9. Columbus Day
10. reasonable temperatures
11. fireplace fires
12. Turkey
*Halloween is a holiday of mixed emotions for me. I could go into all the childhood trauma that occured around this holiday, but I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that I love and loathe All Hallow's Eve. I love the "kid stuff." It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! is an all-time favorite and truly transcends season, as do all the Peanuts classics. I also love Hocus Pocus! I may even watch that tonight. Candy, is a no brainer, especially Halloween candy. I love a fun-size Snickers. Pumpkin carving, while fun, is a bit overrated. I think my inner perfectionist is annoyed with pumpkin carving because it could never make one that looked like the picture on the little tool kit. In college we painted mini pumpkins. Apparently, my roommate lost hers, only to have it found eight months later as a shriveled black ball of unknown origin until I could make out the painted on face. It was one of those moments of horrible recognition. I was psyched that it didn't smell or liquify though. I enjoy handing out candy to kids in costumes, but I HATE the big kids who decide to come in packs and then think that a mask change is enough to fool me into giving them another hand full of candy. NO! I know it's the same kid in the Red Sox sweatshirt. I get Good N' Plenty for them.
My ideal Halloween is spent at home with a big pot of chili, Charlie Brown, Bette Midler/Kathy Najimy/Penny Marshall (I know SJP is in there, and while I enjoy her part, I love these three the most), and trick-or-treaters. Nothing crazy. I've done the crazy on so many levels, and I'm so over that. Halloween (the original and one of the few horror films that I really like. I also enjoy Scream) is about as whacky as I want to get. Wow, I sound old
Sidenote: I do not like that Daylight Saving Time (yeah, I thought it was SavingS too, but when I saw that every entry in Google left off the 'S', I realized I was wrong. That and it does make more sense, grammatically of course) now ends in November. I enjoy brisk days and sunsets at 4:15pm EST. End Sidenote
It's hard for me to decide which season is my favorite... no it's not, I love Fall. To be fair though, I also love the Christmas season. In fact, I love that over all types of seasons, hot dog season, baseball season, Lawry's season-ing, etc. Weatherwise, though, Fall or Autumn to people who enjoy Jane Austen novels, is unbeatable, especially in New England. Where else in the world can you walk around in a light jacket and jeans, pick apples, watch the leaves turn vivid colors, and pair hot cider with cinnamon donuts? New England you say? YES! It's just a very nice time of year and makes me happy. I don't freeze. I don't sweat (unless it's an Indian summer in which case, I'm unhappy). It's mostly unrainy. I think people are generally in better moods. Plus look at this list of all the cool stuff that occurs this time of year:
1. apples
2. pretty leaves
3. new tv shows
4. apple pies
5. Halloween*
6. candy
7. Thanksgiving!
8. pie
9. Columbus Day
10. reasonable temperatures
11. fireplace fires
12. Turkey
*Halloween is a holiday of mixed emotions for me. I could go into all the childhood trauma that occured around this holiday, but I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that I love and loathe All Hallow's Eve. I love the "kid stuff." It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! is an all-time favorite and truly transcends season, as do all the Peanuts classics. I also love Hocus Pocus! I may even watch that tonight. Candy, is a no brainer, especially Halloween candy. I love a fun-size Snickers. Pumpkin carving, while fun, is a bit overrated. I think my inner perfectionist is annoyed with pumpkin carving because it could never make one that looked like the picture on the little tool kit. In college we painted mini pumpkins. Apparently, my roommate lost hers, only to have it found eight months later as a shriveled black ball of unknown origin until I could make out the painted on face. It was one of those moments of horrible recognition. I was psyched that it didn't smell or liquify though. I enjoy handing out candy to kids in costumes, but I HATE the big kids who decide to come in packs and then think that a mask change is enough to fool me into giving them another hand full of candy. NO! I know it's the same kid in the Red Sox sweatshirt. I get Good N' Plenty for them.
My ideal Halloween is spent at home with a big pot of chili, Charlie Brown, Bette Midler/Kathy Najimy/Penny Marshall (I know SJP is in there, and while I enjoy her part, I love these three the most), and trick-or-treaters. Nothing crazy. I've done the crazy on so many levels, and I'm so over that. Halloween (the original and one of the few horror films that I really like. I also enjoy Scream) is about as whacky as I want to get. Wow, I sound old
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Should I stay or should I go??
Ever had a day where you wonder if you should just turn around and go back to bed? Where you think that you may have stepped into a bit of a karmic wrinkle and, while you're not a bad person, you may be getting the short end of the stick, karmicly speaking. Well, today has started out as one of those days, I think.
I left home without any event. Unlike yesterday, where the cat decided to jump up on the counter and knock over a full container of soy milk and spill 75% of it's contents before I could grab it. The cat and the counter were covered in soy milk, which unlike regular milk, gets very sticky when it starts to dry. I threw him in the tub and washed him off (he's not terrified of water like other cats, but he definitely wasn't psyched about this speedy and maybe slightly rough bath). Then I had to clean up the counter and wipe up the floor. Now if your counter is like mine, there are roughly 10,000 things on it and each one is now sitting in a puddle of soy milk. That was not fun to clean up, but the day itself wasn't half bad.
Today... today the bus raged against me. It started with traffic. My previous entry discusses why traffic has become hellish as of late. Today was no better, in fact, it was worse than yesterday. Because of the traffic, the buses were unable to arrive with their regular frequency, making each bus that does appear ten times more crowded than usual. I was unable to procure a seat when my bus of choice finally appeared, so I tucked myself into one of the doorways. This isn't as bad as it sounds. There's more stability for standing and less people to bump into. Sounds lovely, right? NO! When the bus was finally able to achieve a pace greater than 10mph, something horrific occured. The bus leaked on me. Yes, I was minding my own business, listening to music, and a stream of water poured from one of the crappy light fixtures onto my head. SO GROSS. How old is that water?!? Where did it come from!? Does it carry disease, like cholera or typhoid?!? The problem I faced, besides the utter disgust, was that the bus was packed and it was nearly impossible to find another place to stand.
When I was finally able to extricate myself from the bus shower, I tried to manuver myself up the stairs to the back, only to find myself pushed down into an "open" seat. I use quotes since the openness of the seat is questionable. Sitting in the seat next to me was none other than Giant Sweaty Spiderman. He was taking up 1.5 seats, leaving me with the remaining .5 seat. The thing is that GSS seems like a decent guy. Kind of scary at first glance, but he was just chillin' there, bopping his head to whatever was coming out of his pink earbuds. I have to say, sitting with one buttcheek on half a seat is not comfortable. That and you end up blocking the aisle so everyone moving past you must touch you or bump into you. Not enjoyable.
I finally make it to my stop and exit the bus. I'm still skeaved out about the bus shower. As I try and cross the street to get to the hospital, I'm nearly run down by a cop car. It was an undercover car with the lights in the grill, so I barely noticed it, that and I had the walk signal, so it's not like I was jaywalking (is that actually a punishable offense?). I see that I'm about to be run over by the car and jog to safety. In the meantime, my cellphone drops on the ground sending the back cover and battery skittering all over the place. I always pity those people who experience those incidents where everything they're holding suddenly jumps from their hands and scatters all over the place, usually in the middle of a crosswalk with cars bearing down on them. This time that was me. Amazingly, my phone seems to be okay. I haven't tried calling it, but it turns on and seems to be fine.
So that's what's going on. Not terrible, but not a great start to the day. I still feel unclean but not as frazzled as I did when I arrived at work. Here's hoping that the rest of the day is more calm.
Shtuff
I left home without any event. Unlike yesterday, where the cat decided to jump up on the counter and knock over a full container of soy milk and spill 75% of it's contents before I could grab it. The cat and the counter were covered in soy milk, which unlike regular milk, gets very sticky when it starts to dry. I threw him in the tub and washed him off (he's not terrified of water like other cats, but he definitely wasn't psyched about this speedy and maybe slightly rough bath). Then I had to clean up the counter and wipe up the floor. Now if your counter is like mine, there are roughly 10,000 things on it and each one is now sitting in a puddle of soy milk. That was not fun to clean up, but the day itself wasn't half bad.
Today... today the bus raged against me. It started with traffic. My previous entry discusses why traffic has become hellish as of late. Today was no better, in fact, it was worse than yesterday. Because of the traffic, the buses were unable to arrive with their regular frequency, making each bus that does appear ten times more crowded than usual. I was unable to procure a seat when my bus of choice finally appeared, so I tucked myself into one of the doorways. This isn't as bad as it sounds. There's more stability for standing and less people to bump into. Sounds lovely, right? NO! When the bus was finally able to achieve a pace greater than 10mph, something horrific occured. The bus leaked on me. Yes, I was minding my own business, listening to music, and a stream of water poured from one of the crappy light fixtures onto my head. SO GROSS. How old is that water?!? Where did it come from!? Does it carry disease, like cholera or typhoid?!? The problem I faced, besides the utter disgust, was that the bus was packed and it was nearly impossible to find another place to stand.
When I was finally able to extricate myself from the bus shower, I tried to manuver myself up the stairs to the back, only to find myself pushed down into an "open" seat. I use quotes since the openness of the seat is questionable. Sitting in the seat next to me was none other than Giant Sweaty Spiderman. He was taking up 1.5 seats, leaving me with the remaining .5 seat. The thing is that GSS seems like a decent guy. Kind of scary at first glance, but he was just chillin' there, bopping his head to whatever was coming out of his pink earbuds. I have to say, sitting with one buttcheek on half a seat is not comfortable. That and you end up blocking the aisle so everyone moving past you must touch you or bump into you. Not enjoyable.
I finally make it to my stop and exit the bus. I'm still skeaved out about the bus shower. As I try and cross the street to get to the hospital, I'm nearly run down by a cop car. It was an undercover car with the lights in the grill, so I barely noticed it, that and I had the walk signal, so it's not like I was jaywalking (is that actually a punishable offense?). I see that I'm about to be run over by the car and jog to safety. In the meantime, my cellphone drops on the ground sending the back cover and battery skittering all over the place. I always pity those people who experience those incidents where everything they're holding suddenly jumps from their hands and scatters all over the place, usually in the middle of a crosswalk with cars bearing down on them. This time that was me. Amazingly, my phone seems to be okay. I haven't tried calling it, but it turns on and seems to be fine.
So that's what's going on. Not terrible, but not a great start to the day. I still feel unclean but not as frazzled as I did when I arrived at work. Here's hoping that the rest of the day is more calm.
Shtuff
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Walker, 39Bus Ranger
Welcome to a retelling of my latest adventure on the 39! As many of you know, it's back to school time. This time of year makes me rather nostalgic. I feel the need to buy school supplies and sharpen pencils into what can best be described and school yard shivs. I want to bake things and wear sweaters. I get misty-eyed when I catch the smell of fireplace or burning leaves. I have a feeling that the majority of this nostalgia is manufactured by television or Disney. I grew up in the south and this time of year was still hot (it's going to hover around 80 degrees for the next week in Atlanta). I'm also shocked by the number of times I've smelled "fireplace". Seriously folks, is it that cold in your house? Open the windows and let some of the heat in.
Along with all this nostalgia comes a feeling of dread. I now dread school being back in session. I don't go to school, at least not yet, but the kids are back. The nearly teenager free bus that I have enjoyed these few months has changed. The kids who sit one to a seat, the ones who stand in the aisles and block my ability to exit the bus, and the ones who chatter on about inanity, are all back ruining my bus ride home. If they're not riding the city bus, they're riding the yellow bus. This yellow bus is magic. Not the Magic bus (which is kind of a stupid song about a guy buying the bus he rides everyday to visit his girlfriend... maybe he should just buy a car), but magical in the sense that it has the power to create traffic snarls that add roughly 30 to 45 minutes to my commute. Yes, it's true. I have no love for those attending school right now. The pill is too bitter, and I've just swallowed it. When the aftertaste finally fades, I'll resign myself to the facts of crappy teenagers on my bus.
Today, I saw something that helped me forget about everything that was mentioned above. There was a man on the bus, who I didn't even notice until he was trying to get off the bus. He was sitting in the front, and as you know, I like to sit in the back. His stop was on Centre St. near the Purple Cactus (yummy burritos if you're ever in JP, but not if you're my friend who I can't mention on the Internet. She does not enjoy the 2:1 rice and beans to meat ratio). In this poor man's attempt at getting off the bus, he nearly takes out the front section of seats with his walker. Apparently he had folded it to keep it out of the way. Whilst unfolding this contraption, he found the need to swing it about as though it were alive. Similar to the way a fish on the line will thrash with all it's might. The walker was the fish. I'm actually surprised that no one clubbed it to death. The Walker Wrangler finally righted himself and his walker, and proceeded to exit the bus. Now, these are kneeling buses, which means that they have some sort of hydraulic capability to lower themselves (even though I always imagine them kneeling in church listening to a priest), but WW didn't even blink an eye at the nearly two foot drop from bus to curb. He simply placed his walker on the ground and used it as a pivot point, much like a gymnast on the parallel bars. WW then proceeded to cross the street while carrying the walker in front of himself. By god, he'd do what the doctor told him, but he was going to do it his way (that's my impression of how he thinks). The bus drove away too soon. I would have enjoyed watching him carry his walker for a while, but that wasn't to be. I was on my way to another day. I hope the Walker Wrangler got to where he was going without having to use his walker, that he was able to stand on his own two feet and not feel gravity pulling his shoulders to the ground. I wish this for myself and for anyone who reads this.
For your listening pleasure. HUGE disclaimer. This was the only decent version of this song that I could find on youtube, but some guy set his screenshots from The Sims to this song. My suggestion is to listen to it with the window minimized, otherwise, it's really creepy.
Along with all this nostalgia comes a feeling of dread. I now dread school being back in session. I don't go to school, at least not yet, but the kids are back. The nearly teenager free bus that I have enjoyed these few months has changed. The kids who sit one to a seat, the ones who stand in the aisles and block my ability to exit the bus, and the ones who chatter on about inanity, are all back ruining my bus ride home. If they're not riding the city bus, they're riding the yellow bus. This yellow bus is magic. Not the Magic bus (which is kind of a stupid song about a guy buying the bus he rides everyday to visit his girlfriend... maybe he should just buy a car), but magical in the sense that it has the power to create traffic snarls that add roughly 30 to 45 minutes to my commute. Yes, it's true. I have no love for those attending school right now. The pill is too bitter, and I've just swallowed it. When the aftertaste finally fades, I'll resign myself to the facts of crappy teenagers on my bus.
Today, I saw something that helped me forget about everything that was mentioned above. There was a man on the bus, who I didn't even notice until he was trying to get off the bus. He was sitting in the front, and as you know, I like to sit in the back. His stop was on Centre St. near the Purple Cactus (yummy burritos if you're ever in JP, but not if you're my friend who I can't mention on the Internet. She does not enjoy the 2:1 rice and beans to meat ratio). In this poor man's attempt at getting off the bus, he nearly takes out the front section of seats with his walker. Apparently he had folded it to keep it out of the way. Whilst unfolding this contraption, he found the need to swing it about as though it were alive. Similar to the way a fish on the line will thrash with all it's might. The walker was the fish. I'm actually surprised that no one clubbed it to death. The Walker Wrangler finally righted himself and his walker, and proceeded to exit the bus. Now, these are kneeling buses, which means that they have some sort of hydraulic capability to lower themselves (even though I always imagine them kneeling in church listening to a priest), but WW didn't even blink an eye at the nearly two foot drop from bus to curb. He simply placed his walker on the ground and used it as a pivot point, much like a gymnast on the parallel bars. WW then proceeded to cross the street while carrying the walker in front of himself. By god, he'd do what the doctor told him, but he was going to do it his way (that's my impression of how he thinks). The bus drove away too soon. I would have enjoyed watching him carry his walker for a while, but that wasn't to be. I was on my way to another day. I hope the Walker Wrangler got to where he was going without having to use his walker, that he was able to stand on his own two feet and not feel gravity pulling his shoulders to the ground. I wish this for myself and for anyone who reads this.
For your listening pleasure. HUGE disclaimer. This was the only decent version of this song that I could find on youtube, but some guy set his screenshots from The Sims to this song. My suggestion is to listen to it with the window minimized, otherwise, it's really creepy.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y Find out what it means to me
Responsibility set to the tune of Respect doesn't work well. I even googled "responsibility lyrics" to see if there were any songs dealing with responsibility. Only two songs came up. One from MXPX and one from Ghetto Twiinz (sidenote: I originally and foolishly spelled Twiinz as Twins. I am very very white at times). Now with the first few bars of the MXPX song, I am instantly transported back to the early 'oughts. I get the shakes, crave cheap beer, and think about how my parents just don't understand my generation and then make a mental note to call one of them to ask for money. Just for kicks, I listened to the Ghetto Twiinz song. I don't know exactly what to say about this as I come from such a drastically different social construct. I do know that the woman who has the solo scares me and I would not shirk my responsibilities as her baby daddy if I were in said position. All of this being said, "responsibility" seems to be too serious a subject to set to music.
I'm sure you're also sitting there wondering what I'm trying to get at. I know that I digress... a lot, but I find these digressions entertaining little journeys through my mind. That and a life with no meandering would be very short and, at least in my view, boring. Think of them as literary "smell the flowers" moments.
This whole topic relates to a story from the 32 (not the 39. The 32 ventures further south and travels deep into the heart of darkness) coupled with my own musings on life in general. Let me begin with the 32. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless since she objects to having any identifiers on the internet, boarded the 32 at Forrest Hills station. There was apparently a great deal of ruckus coming from up near the driver. Yelling could be heard throughout the bus. One would normally surmise that a passenger would be the origin of this outburst, but NO, it was the driver. The driver, for reasons unknown, was berating a passenger. While on his diatribe, his attentions were far from the road and his driving was becoming more and more reckless. Just as the passengers were begining their Hail Mary's and Our Father's, one lone woman, perhaps from Jamaica or Trinidad, stood up and began a speech so thoughtful that Obama should seriously consider adding her to his team. She addressed him as Mr. Driver and began to remind him of the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and children who were on this bus and only wanted to go home. It is Mr. Driver's responsibility to make sure that they get there safely. Mr. Driver realized what an ass he was being and apparently began driving in a non-we're all gonna die way.
Thankfully, Wise Island Woman was there, but it made me think of the times when we don't speak up and call people on behavior that negatively impacts us. I have to admit that I'm not good at pointing out bad behavior. I tend to walk away and just tell the offender to eff off (in my mind) if I say anything at all. While I should probably tell people to stop their shenanigans, I chicken out. I'm afraid to upset the peaceful balance, but the sad truth is, it doesn't exist. Ill-behaved people (I began to modify "shenanigans" by dropping the "ans" and adding "ers" then realized that I shouldn't do that.) have already upset my tranquility. Their behavior is negatively impacting me and causing me to alter my life. It's at this point that I have a problem. Should I say something? Will it resolve, or will the problem escalate? I don't know, but I've come to the realization that, in most cases (I say most since there are some situations where crazy is involved and one needs to slowly back away) I need to grow a pair and say something.
Wow, digress much? I guess the take home message in all of this is to realize that responsibility isn't just something that must be beat over our heads when trying to remain an adolescent or deny that we're someone's baby daddy (I feel weird using that term more than once). Responsibility is acting like a good person and not allowing others to let themselves be careless or even bad people. Maybe if we were more responsible, there would be a little less pain in the world. Maybe I wouldn't have to take my shoes off at the airport. Maybe we wouldn't have to lock all our doors and windows at night. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Something to listen to.
I'm sure you're also sitting there wondering what I'm trying to get at. I know that I digress... a lot, but I find these digressions entertaining little journeys through my mind. That and a life with no meandering would be very short and, at least in my view, boring. Think of them as literary "smell the flowers" moments.
This whole topic relates to a story from the 32 (not the 39. The 32 ventures further south and travels deep into the heart of darkness) coupled with my own musings on life in general. Let me begin with the 32. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless since she objects to having any identifiers on the internet, boarded the 32 at Forrest Hills station. There was apparently a great deal of ruckus coming from up near the driver. Yelling could be heard throughout the bus. One would normally surmise that a passenger would be the origin of this outburst, but NO, it was the driver. The driver, for reasons unknown, was berating a passenger. While on his diatribe, his attentions were far from the road and his driving was becoming more and more reckless. Just as the passengers were begining their Hail Mary's and Our Father's, one lone woman, perhaps from Jamaica or Trinidad, stood up and began a speech so thoughtful that Obama should seriously consider adding her to his team. She addressed him as Mr. Driver and began to remind him of the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and children who were on this bus and only wanted to go home. It is Mr. Driver's responsibility to make sure that they get there safely. Mr. Driver realized what an ass he was being and apparently began driving in a non-we're all gonna die way.
Thankfully, Wise Island Woman was there, but it made me think of the times when we don't speak up and call people on behavior that negatively impacts us. I have to admit that I'm not good at pointing out bad behavior. I tend to walk away and just tell the offender to eff off (in my mind) if I say anything at all. While I should probably tell people to stop their shenanigans, I chicken out. I'm afraid to upset the peaceful balance, but the sad truth is, it doesn't exist. Ill-behaved people (I began to modify "shenanigans" by dropping the "ans" and adding "ers" then realized that I shouldn't do that.) have already upset my tranquility. Their behavior is negatively impacting me and causing me to alter my life. It's at this point that I have a problem. Should I say something? Will it resolve, or will the problem escalate? I don't know, but I've come to the realization that, in most cases (I say most since there are some situations where crazy is involved and one needs to slowly back away) I need to grow a pair and say something.
Wow, digress much? I guess the take home message in all of this is to realize that responsibility isn't just something that must be beat over our heads when trying to remain an adolescent or deny that we're someone's baby daddy (I feel weird using that term more than once). Responsibility is acting like a good person and not allowing others to let themselves be careless or even bad people. Maybe if we were more responsible, there would be a little less pain in the world. Maybe I wouldn't have to take my shoes off at the airport. Maybe we wouldn't have to lock all our doors and windows at night. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Something to listen to.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Electric eye, my ass
It has come to my attention recently that the autoflush toilets don't work for shit (pun intended). On top of that, the regular flush toilets need at least two to three flushes to leave a pristine bowl. I realize that this is a rather gross topic, but I was confronted with this issue not once, but twice today and frankly, I'm grossed out and need to share my burden. I'm at a loss as to what I should do about it. How does one convey that you have to flush until there's NOTHING THERE? In lieu of standing outside my favorite potty spots, I may be forced to post this letter in every bathroom/stall. Be conscientious of those who share your space, kids. One day you too may be faced with disgusting reminders of people's not so distant past.
Some mood music!
Dear Shitbits,
I understand that most toilets only need one flush to dispose of all matter in a complete manner, HOWEVER, the ancient plumbing of Boston does not have the sucking power to take down such massive amounts of fecal matter. I would appreciate it if you were to provide a follow-up flush to properly dispose of all the extra bits and pieces since I do not wish to know that you had corn last night. This is not a slight against you as most people in the Boston area are full of shit and this problem runs rampant throughout the city. I would just like our little corner of the world to be a little less shitty.
Yours respectfully,
Ms. Tidybowl
Some mood music!
Dear Shitbits,
I understand that most toilets only need one flush to dispose of all matter in a complete manner, HOWEVER, the ancient plumbing of Boston does not have the sucking power to take down such massive amounts of fecal matter. I would appreciate it if you were to provide a follow-up flush to properly dispose of all the extra bits and pieces since I do not wish to know that you had corn last night. This is not a slight against you as most people in the Boston area are full of shit and this problem runs rampant throughout the city. I would just like our little corner of the world to be a little less shitty.
Yours respectfully,
Ms. Tidybowl
If Music is the Victim, Then So am I
Hello my peoples! I hope you're all not falling asleep at your desk like I am. It's grey (aside: I prefer grey over gray. Both are acceptable and mean the same thing. Gray is a color and grey is a colour, and my spellcheck is decidedly not British.) and kind of rainy out. It's taking all of my strength not to put my head down and nod off. I almost forgot to do an OR case this morning. Seriously, total blank out. Didn't even remember that it existed until I was ready to leave the building and go to my other office. Luckily, it was a very long case and I managed to not spill blood all over myself like I did in the first case. Mmmmm, bloooood.
Okay. First things first (redundant phrase. Of course first things come first, otherwise they'd be second things.), I've decided that I'm going to add a link to a song to each of my entries (This will be retroactive, so feel free to go to back entries). I think it will help create the mood for the entry. That and when I'm on the bus, I'm listening to music, so it should also help in creating the atmosphere where all these moments of wonderment occur. Today's song is a classic and has been in my head for about A MONTH. I'm posting two versions of it. First the actual artist performing. Second, a really weird and surreal version of it. Killer Whales?!? Really?!?
Now that we have that taken care of, let's talk about looking ragged. I don't mean how you look when you're tired after a long day or didn't sleep all that well the night before, but seriously run down, ass draggin', ragged. I'm waiting for the bus pondering the picture on the delivery truck parked in front of the Harvest Co-op. It had a picture of everyone who works at the company and one of the women looked as though she had lost her hair due to chemo. I give the company a lot of credit as well as the woman who was okay with her image there for all eternity or at least a long time. I don't know if I'd be able to do that. Right, so I'm standing there just waiting and this woman walks by me. She looks like hell. I won't sugar coat it. She just looked like she has definitely had a better day. A day when her shirt wasn't on backwards, her hair was dry, it wasn't effing humid, she had fewer bags to carry, her pants weren't ill fitting, and she didn't have to walk to wherever she was walking. I felt bad about it, but then the bus came. It did however hammer home the need to make sure that my shirt is on correctly, no matter how tired I am. Also, to avoid the drowned rat look when it's not raining. It's not flattering.
Okay. First things first (redundant phrase. Of course first things come first, otherwise they'd be second things.), I've decided that I'm going to add a link to a song to each of my entries (This will be retroactive, so feel free to go to back entries). I think it will help create the mood for the entry. That and when I'm on the bus, I'm listening to music, so it should also help in creating the atmosphere where all these moments of wonderment occur. Today's song is a classic and has been in my head for about A MONTH. I'm posting two versions of it. First the actual artist performing. Second, a really weird and surreal version of it. Killer Whales?!? Really?!?
Now that we have that taken care of, let's talk about looking ragged. I don't mean how you look when you're tired after a long day or didn't sleep all that well the night before, but seriously run down, ass draggin', ragged. I'm waiting for the bus pondering the picture on the delivery truck parked in front of the Harvest Co-op. It had a picture of everyone who works at the company and one of the women looked as though she had lost her hair due to chemo. I give the company a lot of credit as well as the woman who was okay with her image there for all eternity or at least a long time. I don't know if I'd be able to do that. Right, so I'm standing there just waiting and this woman walks by me. She looks like hell. I won't sugar coat it. She just looked like she has definitely had a better day. A day when her shirt wasn't on backwards, her hair was dry, it wasn't effing humid, she had fewer bags to carry, her pants weren't ill fitting, and she didn't have to walk to wherever she was walking. I felt bad about it, but then the bus came. It did however hammer home the need to make sure that my shirt is on correctly, no matter how tired I am. Also, to avoid the drowned rat look when it's not raining. It's not flattering.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Mea Culpa for my lack of snark
I am so sorry. I have been horrible at writing eloquent and entertaining quips about my daily busventure. If you're wondering about what's causing my life to be so exciting that I can't even write a blog, you're going to be disappointed. The reason is this... it's been crap ass hot. Bloody humid. Just gross. I know I've already expounded on how difficult temperature control is on the bus. I feel as though I may have obsessed about it, and then I realize that I only did that in my head and didn't actually write any of it down. Probably a good thing since this is what it would have been "I'm hot. hot. HOT. This sucks. I'm tired of sweating. I hate sweat. Ahhrg, it's in my eye! Don't rub it! You're wearing contacts so that you can wear sunglasses, which are fogging up like crazy right now. Hey, you look cool though, except for that nice layer of sweat on your upper lip. That's hot. It's hot. I hate hot. There's a backpack shaped sweat stain on my back. Gross. There's some chick on this bus wearing a jacket. I want to beat her to death. At least that will take my mind off the heat. It'll make me sweat more though. Damn." And so on and so forth.
Like I said, the heat turns my brain to molasses and any coherent thought is usually a diatribe against hot things. When it's not crazy hot out, it's raining. On the few days where it's been pleasant, I haven't had to ride the bus. That is enjoyable. The rain has been ridic this summer. It has also caused gardens across New England to be devastated, including my own. Fun Fact: there is a potato blight and a tomato blight effecting nearly all the farms and gardens in the Northeastern US. This blight is the same blight that affected the potatoes during the Great Famine in Ireland. It killed nearly 50% of the potato crop. Lots of people left Ireland, and I'm here today because of it. A real "Full Circle Moment." Anywho, there have also been onslaughts of several slug armies. I hate them. They're gross. Some people smash them with rocks, others pour salt on them. Both of those methods make me want to yack. I smashed one in an early skirmish and got the "I'm totally skeeved out chills." My method of attack became more sophisticated. I make them drink themselves to death. Beer, my friends. Slugs are lushes. They will drink until they die. I feel as though this is humane and yet effective. I highly endorse it for anyone who has to wage a similar war. Use cheap beer though. They like it more and it feels less wasteful.
So yeah, it's been a rather uneventful summer. I'm not complaining, but hopefully, or not, the bus will give me more interesting fodder soon. It has to be more interesting than me sitting behind a very large, bald man with a spider tattoo on his scalp that looks kinda like it's moving because the sweat is running down his head. Let's hope so giant, sweaty, spider man. Let's hope so.
And now for your listening and viewing pleasure something fantastic
Like I said, the heat turns my brain to molasses and any coherent thought is usually a diatribe against hot things. When it's not crazy hot out, it's raining. On the few days where it's been pleasant, I haven't had to ride the bus. That is enjoyable. The rain has been ridic this summer. It has also caused gardens across New England to be devastated, including my own. Fun Fact: there is a potato blight and a tomato blight effecting nearly all the farms and gardens in the Northeastern US. This blight is the same blight that affected the potatoes during the Great Famine in Ireland. It killed nearly 50% of the potato crop. Lots of people left Ireland, and I'm here today because of it. A real "Full Circle Moment." Anywho, there have also been onslaughts of several slug armies. I hate them. They're gross. Some people smash them with rocks, others pour salt on them. Both of those methods make me want to yack. I smashed one in an early skirmish and got the "I'm totally skeeved out chills." My method of attack became more sophisticated. I make them drink themselves to death. Beer, my friends. Slugs are lushes. They will drink until they die. I feel as though this is humane and yet effective. I highly endorse it for anyone who has to wage a similar war. Use cheap beer though. They like it more and it feels less wasteful.
So yeah, it's been a rather uneventful summer. I'm not complaining, but hopefully, or not, the bus will give me more interesting fodder soon. It has to be more interesting than me sitting behind a very large, bald man with a spider tattoo on his scalp that looks kinda like it's moving because the sweat is running down his head. Let's hope so giant, sweaty, spider man. Let's hope so.
And now for your listening and viewing pleasure something fantastic
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Flypaper for Freaks
It's true. I am flypaper for freaks. They find me. I can hide, look disinterested, look mean, or even try and look freaky myself (I don't like doing the last option because I have a fragile ego). If you notice, I say freaks and not crazy people. I'm using freaks as an umbrella term that includes crazy people because I don't want to exclude anyone.
Let me begin with my most recent freaktastic moment. I'm sitting in a seat next to the window. I would have put my bag on the open seat next to me, but I hate it when I see others doing that and I try not to be douchy. There's this guy sitting in the pivot seat. I originally paid him no attention, since at first glance, he seemed totally normal. Then... his phone rings. He answers it in the LOUDEST voice ever. On top of shouting into the phone, I notice that his voice sounds much older than I thought it would. He looked rather young in the light-deprived pivot shroud. I realize at that moment that he's lived a HARD life. By hard life I mean, total drug dude. He continues to shout. I turn up the volume on my mp3 player. He gets up. I think he's getting off at the next stop... no. He decides to sit next to me. Prior to sitting down though, I get a better look at him (that's what sunglasses are for. People can't see you staring at them). Dude, he's rough. I'm not sure if it was the prison tats, the shirt that used to be white, the open wounds on his hands and face, or the gnarly teeth (meth head alert!) that initiated the magnetic pull towards me, but needless to say, he would be invading my personal space in seconds. When he sat down, I nearly became one with the wall. It's not so much that I'm worried about catching something (which is a very real concern), but more that I know unstable when I see it and I fear the unprovoked lashing out at strangers. So we're sitting there and he's still yelling into the phone. "CAN I PROGRAM YOUR NUMBER INTO THIS PHONE? THIS PHONE. WILL IT TAKE YOUR NUMBER? IT'S MY PHONE. THEY GAVE IT TO ME WHEN I GOT OUT. CAN I PROGRAM YOUR NUMBER INTO THIS PHONE?" and so on and so forth. Let us deconstruct this coversation:
1. The person on the other end of line has no control over the use of your phone. You can program whatever the hell you want in it.
2. The person on the other end of the line has NO IDEA what kind of phone you're using. Consult your owners manual
3. THEY GAVE IT TO ME WHEN I GOT OUT?!?!?!?!? WTF! Out of WHERE?
4. Hello Mr. Burnout. Please see point #1
Shortly after this, he got off the bus. I did one of those exhales where I didn't realize that I had been holding my breath. I was also hoping to blow away the funk and possible TB germs.
Speaking of TB! Yesterday on my ride home, there was a woman on the bus with one of the most horrific coughs I've heard in a long time, and I work in a lung cancer clinic. It alternated between wet and dry, you know what I mean. She's sitting behind me and to the right. AGAIN, I'm doing my best to not stand out, but I forgot to take off the sign that said "Hey! You should totally come talk to me. Better yet, come TOUCH me!" Yes, a moment later I feel a hand on my shoulder. Enough to make me jump and if I weren't confined by bus seats, I'm sure that I would have jumped into the karate kid crane pose. She then proceeds to ask if I have a tissue. I do, because that's what those little pocket packs are for. What concerned me was that she had need for a tissue. She was coughing up some sort of nastiness. Honestly, I didn't want to know. She could have been coughing up blood, but other than my own exposure to TB, it would have done me no good to find out what caused this desperate need for tissues. It is my goal to remain TB free. Yes, I have lofty goals. I really don't want a positive PPD. I'm too young and live too much in the 21st century to suffer from a disease of olden times. "Consumption" belongs with Edgar Allen Poe stories and days of yore. Not 2009. And definitely not in my lungs.
The woman retreated back to her seat. I could feel her phantom hand still on my shoulder. The bus arrived at my stop and I swiftly exited stage left. On my walk home, I took several deep breaths in an attempt to cleanse myself of busygen (the air on the bus. I do think it's an element unto itself. Busygen: Symbol = Bu; Atomic number = nasty). I must do what I can to protect my little lungs. Next time, hopefully, I won't be wearing my freak sign. Maybe I should start following the advice from this graph
see more Funny Graphs either that or I'm going to start asking people if they know Jesus. I know it makes me run the other way.
Let me begin with my most recent freaktastic moment. I'm sitting in a seat next to the window. I would have put my bag on the open seat next to me, but I hate it when I see others doing that and I try not to be douchy. There's this guy sitting in the pivot seat. I originally paid him no attention, since at first glance, he seemed totally normal. Then... his phone rings. He answers it in the LOUDEST voice ever. On top of shouting into the phone, I notice that his voice sounds much older than I thought it would. He looked rather young in the light-deprived pivot shroud. I realize at that moment that he's lived a HARD life. By hard life I mean, total drug dude. He continues to shout. I turn up the volume on my mp3 player. He gets up. I think he's getting off at the next stop... no. He decides to sit next to me. Prior to sitting down though, I get a better look at him (that's what sunglasses are for. People can't see you staring at them). Dude, he's rough. I'm not sure if it was the prison tats, the shirt that used to be white, the open wounds on his hands and face, or the gnarly teeth (meth head alert!) that initiated the magnetic pull towards me, but needless to say, he would be invading my personal space in seconds. When he sat down, I nearly became one with the wall. It's not so much that I'm worried about catching something (which is a very real concern), but more that I know unstable when I see it and I fear the unprovoked lashing out at strangers. So we're sitting there and he's still yelling into the phone. "CAN I PROGRAM YOUR NUMBER INTO THIS PHONE? THIS PHONE. WILL IT TAKE YOUR NUMBER? IT'S MY PHONE. THEY GAVE IT TO ME WHEN I GOT OUT. CAN I PROGRAM YOUR NUMBER INTO THIS PHONE?" and so on and so forth. Let us deconstruct this coversation:
1. The person on the other end of line has no control over the use of your phone. You can program whatever the hell you want in it.
2. The person on the other end of the line has NO IDEA what kind of phone you're using. Consult your owners manual
3. THEY GAVE IT TO ME WHEN I GOT OUT?!?!?!?!? WTF! Out of WHERE?
4. Hello Mr. Burnout. Please see point #1
Shortly after this, he got off the bus. I did one of those exhales where I didn't realize that I had been holding my breath. I was also hoping to blow away the funk and possible TB germs.
Speaking of TB! Yesterday on my ride home, there was a woman on the bus with one of the most horrific coughs I've heard in a long time, and I work in a lung cancer clinic. It alternated between wet and dry, you know what I mean. She's sitting behind me and to the right. AGAIN, I'm doing my best to not stand out, but I forgot to take off the sign that said "Hey! You should totally come talk to me. Better yet, come TOUCH me!" Yes, a moment later I feel a hand on my shoulder. Enough to make me jump and if I weren't confined by bus seats, I'm sure that I would have jumped into the karate kid crane pose. She then proceeds to ask if I have a tissue. I do, because that's what those little pocket packs are for. What concerned me was that she had need for a tissue. She was coughing up some sort of nastiness. Honestly, I didn't want to know. She could have been coughing up blood, but other than my own exposure to TB, it would have done me no good to find out what caused this desperate need for tissues. It is my goal to remain TB free. Yes, I have lofty goals. I really don't want a positive PPD. I'm too young and live too much in the 21st century to suffer from a disease of olden times. "Consumption" belongs with Edgar Allen Poe stories and days of yore. Not 2009. And definitely not in my lungs.
The woman retreated back to her seat. I could feel her phantom hand still on my shoulder. The bus arrived at my stop and I swiftly exited stage left. On my walk home, I took several deep breaths in an attempt to cleanse myself of busygen (the air on the bus. I do think it's an element unto itself. Busygen: Symbol = Bu; Atomic number = nasty). I must do what I can to protect my little lungs. Next time, hopefully, I won't be wearing my freak sign. Maybe I should start following the advice from this graph
see more Funny Graphs either that or I'm going to start asking people if they know Jesus. I know it makes me run the other way.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Bus is no C&C Music Factory
But it sure as hell loves to make you sweat! (After she screams "Everybody dance now!" It sounds like she says "Get gay.")
After threatening to never appear and just leave our little geographic pocket sodden and moldy, summer finally decided to show up this weekend. It was lovely. I applied necessary amounts of sunscreen and avoided most of the mosquitoes, although last night was vicious. I'm still itchy. I half expected to wake up this morning and see the rain coming down, but no! It's still summer. Sadly, I had overdressed. In the short walk to the bus stop, I was already on the verge of a flop sweat. I had every intention of taking off my hoodie when I got there, but the bus showed up almost instantly. Normally, I wouldn't complain about this, but I was hot. So hot that my sunglasses were fogging up on my face.
Now, there is a seasonal expectation in regards to public transportation. One expects the buses and subway trains to be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. When you're standing on an underground T platform in mid-February thinking that you might actually be frozen in place, there's nothing quite like that blast of warm, smelly air that appears in advance of the train. Yes, it smells like dust, cheese and diesel, but it's warm. The same can be said for the bus. The thought of that first wave of b.o. tinged heat brings a tear to my eye. Maybe it's the smell that's the true thrill, or it's just one of those nostalgic aspects that brings you back.
In the summer, the one desire is a nice cool bus. By the time the bus shows up, it's likely that those jumping on have been standing in direct sunlight for close to ten minutes. Direct sunlight + 80 degree temperatures + high humidity + select individuals who choose not to bathe = hell on wheels. The previous equation illustrates the necessity of air conditioning. Today, well today, the bus betrayed me. I think the heat may have actually been on. I don't know how else to explain the beads of sweat DRIPPING OFF MY CHIN. I grossed myself out. I watched the woman seated in front of me use her copy of the METRO as a fan. All it did was cause the small beads of sweat migrate west as they slowed trickled down her neck. I turned my eyes to the front of the bus. I swear I saw heat shimmers. It was HORRID. Luckily, I had been able to remove my hoodie when I got on the bus. If I hadn't, it would have been ugly. I don't know about any of you, but heat can make me super nauseous. I also have a tendency to get a touch of motion sickness now and then. The last thing I want to do is yack on a bus, which reminds me of the time where Stacy A yacked on the T.
Poor Stacy A. Like me, she suffers from motion sickness, but I think her equilibrium is considerably worse. She gets on the T one fine morning and sits towards the back of the train car. When the T is running through the tunnels, it can often feel as though you're hurtling through space, which for those of us with the motion issue find HIGHLY unsettling. Stacy A is minding her own business playing solitaire on her Blackberry, which is what you do with those things. She starts to feel a bit queasy and lightheaded so turns off the game and sits still for a moment. This still moment is not helping. Her palms start sweating and the queasy feeling turns into full blown nausea. Anyone who has dealt with this before knows that you must breathe through your mouth and put your head between your knees in a vain attempt to not throw up on those around you. The good thing about that particular act is that it also warns all of those around you to BACK THE HELL AWAY, which they did. (side note: I've contemplated doing this just so people might think that I'm not feeling well and give me more room on the T. I don't like it when people touch me with their thighs.) Poor, poor Stacy A. My worst fear was her reality. She christened the T with cream cheese bagel that morning. The whole T was stopped so that some poor schmuck could sprinkle the magic vomit powder (kitty litter??) on it and clean it up. Apparently there's a T rule that does not allow them to operate with vomit on board. Urine yes. Coffee Coolatta yes. Purchases of ass-fish* from Chinatown, yes. Vomit, no. When Stacy A was telling me this story, I did laugh, but I laughed while saying "Oh, I'm so so sorry. That is horrible." She did tell me about the secret T employee bathrooms where they let non-drunk yackers go to splash some water on their faces. That's nice that they have those, but as nice as those are, I will continue to fight against my sometimes overpowering need to be sick.
Luckily, today did not end in the above scenario. I hope it never does, but the next time I get on the bus and feel the dragon breath of a city conveyance on my face, I am bailing and walking to work. I'd rather dodge dog poo and half eaten pizza than watch 40+ people sweat like monkeys, including myself.
*Horrific smelling smoked/cured fish. The smell can penetrate several layers of plastic shopping bags
After threatening to never appear and just leave our little geographic pocket sodden and moldy, summer finally decided to show up this weekend. It was lovely. I applied necessary amounts of sunscreen and avoided most of the mosquitoes, although last night was vicious. I'm still itchy. I half expected to wake up this morning and see the rain coming down, but no! It's still summer. Sadly, I had overdressed. In the short walk to the bus stop, I was already on the verge of a flop sweat. I had every intention of taking off my hoodie when I got there, but the bus showed up almost instantly. Normally, I wouldn't complain about this, but I was hot. So hot that my sunglasses were fogging up on my face.
Now, there is a seasonal expectation in regards to public transportation. One expects the buses and subway trains to be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. When you're standing on an underground T platform in mid-February thinking that you might actually be frozen in place, there's nothing quite like that blast of warm, smelly air that appears in advance of the train. Yes, it smells like dust, cheese and diesel, but it's warm. The same can be said for the bus. The thought of that first wave of b.o. tinged heat brings a tear to my eye. Maybe it's the smell that's the true thrill, or it's just one of those nostalgic aspects that brings you back.
In the summer, the one desire is a nice cool bus. By the time the bus shows up, it's likely that those jumping on have been standing in direct sunlight for close to ten minutes. Direct sunlight + 80 degree temperatures + high humidity + select individuals who choose not to bathe = hell on wheels. The previous equation illustrates the necessity of air conditioning. Today, well today, the bus betrayed me. I think the heat may have actually been on. I don't know how else to explain the beads of sweat DRIPPING OFF MY CHIN. I grossed myself out. I watched the woman seated in front of me use her copy of the METRO as a fan. All it did was cause the small beads of sweat migrate west as they slowed trickled down her neck. I turned my eyes to the front of the bus. I swear I saw heat shimmers. It was HORRID. Luckily, I had been able to remove my hoodie when I got on the bus. If I hadn't, it would have been ugly. I don't know about any of you, but heat can make me super nauseous. I also have a tendency to get a touch of motion sickness now and then. The last thing I want to do is yack on a bus, which reminds me of the time where Stacy A yacked on the T.
Poor Stacy A. Like me, she suffers from motion sickness, but I think her equilibrium is considerably worse. She gets on the T one fine morning and sits towards the back of the train car. When the T is running through the tunnels, it can often feel as though you're hurtling through space, which for those of us with the motion issue find HIGHLY unsettling. Stacy A is minding her own business playing solitaire on her Blackberry, which is what you do with those things. She starts to feel a bit queasy and lightheaded so turns off the game and sits still for a moment. This still moment is not helping. Her palms start sweating and the queasy feeling turns into full blown nausea. Anyone who has dealt with this before knows that you must breathe through your mouth and put your head between your knees in a vain attempt to not throw up on those around you. The good thing about that particular act is that it also warns all of those around you to BACK THE HELL AWAY, which they did. (side note: I've contemplated doing this just so people might think that I'm not feeling well and give me more room on the T. I don't like it when people touch me with their thighs.) Poor, poor Stacy A. My worst fear was her reality. She christened the T with cream cheese bagel that morning. The whole T was stopped so that some poor schmuck could sprinkle the magic vomit powder (kitty litter??) on it and clean it up. Apparently there's a T rule that does not allow them to operate with vomit on board. Urine yes. Coffee Coolatta yes. Purchases of ass-fish* from Chinatown, yes. Vomit, no. When Stacy A was telling me this story, I did laugh, but I laughed while saying "Oh, I'm so so sorry. That is horrible." She did tell me about the secret T employee bathrooms where they let non-drunk yackers go to splash some water on their faces. That's nice that they have those, but as nice as those are, I will continue to fight against my sometimes overpowering need to be sick.
Luckily, today did not end in the above scenario. I hope it never does, but the next time I get on the bus and feel the dragon breath of a city conveyance on my face, I am bailing and walking to work. I'd rather dodge dog poo and half eaten pizza than watch 40+ people sweat like monkeys, including myself.
*Horrific smelling smoked/cured fish. The smell can penetrate several layers of plastic shopping bags
Thursday, July 2, 2009
And now for something a bit more introspective
Friends! Oh how I have missed you! I'd like to thank Stacy A again for keeping this place from turning into a desolate wasteland of things that chap my hide. I welcome all guest submissions, but be forewarned, if I don't display the eyebrows of shock or get the church giggles, chances are not good that others will see it. Wow. I sound tough. It's true though. I'm completely against not letting kids lose. They need to lose. Every kid should experience the agony of defeat with a dash of humiliation. It makes us more rounded and better adjusted human beings. If we only win, we always expect to win. We become arrogant bastards and no one likes us. Whereas, if we were to occasionally win and more often lose, those wins would be so much more worthwhile. This is why I have no qualms about beating an eight year old at kickball. Yes, I have a crazy skill advantage, but if he were to beat me, then it would be true that he is the best eight year old to have ever lived, legendary if you will. I think it builds character and when I win it helps my ego, which I'm trying to rebuild after losing all the time as a child.
Which brings me to my "this has nothing to do about the 39" blog for today, Loss. Not LOST, that effed up (yet, critically and Jenners acclaimed) show that I watched for one season and then lost the whole plot after getting up to pee one episode, but the actual feeling of loss. There seems to have been a lot of loss going on lately and yes, all the famous people dying has played a part in my introspection, but I also blame the rain *insert stupid build an ark joke here (never gets old)*, as well as the impending 4th of July vortex. 4th of July vortex??? What's that? You ask. (Yes, it's strictly an American phenomena. Other countries/cultures have their own floating vortex periods. Should I dare mention Guy Fawkes day, United Kingdom???) Well, it's my firm belief that in the week leading up to and the week following the 4th, the weirdest/life changingest shit will occur. I contribute it to many things all coming together at once. Bad weather, whether you think scorching heat or crap rain is bad. Lots of beer/alcohol, amateur explosive use, and the basic American belief that no person should work on or around said day, ensuring that those rights endowed by our creator are both protected and exercised with reckless and stupid abandon, usually while trying to balance in one hand a beer and a paper plate stacked with picnic food.
Where was I? Oh, yes, Loss. So my biggest loss at this time of year was my grandma. She actually died seven years ago today. (*creepy side note: The whole time I've been writing this blog, I kept thinking about how she died around this time and then it dawned on me that it was actually TODAY. At that very moment of realization, I also realized that I was listening to Mary by Sarah McLachlan. My grandma's name was MARY! Ooooohweeeeeeeeeohhhhhhhhhhhhhh) Now, don't worry, I've had seven years to come to terms with this. Yes, I still miss her, but I know she wasn't very happy at the end of her life and was ready to shuffle off her mortal coil. I appreciate this time of year. It allows me a moment to think about what I really have, and that's what loss is, isn't it? Losing something that you had. But can we truly have another person? What is it that we're losing? We're losing a piece of ourselves, folks. When that person or relationship is gone, that piece of us that tethered us together is no more. It has to happen. We have to make that break to create the before and the after. It's the moment of the break that hurts most. It's the realization that nothing is as it was. It's the point at which we stand up, tear stained and roughed up, and take that shaky first breath of a new life. It's a good and a bad, a mixed bag, if you will.
I could keep expounding on my theory of how you have to be broken in order to get better, but I'd rather emphasize the importance of recognizing what it is to lose and knowing what we have. It's okay to be pensive. It's important to bring yourself down and just feel the raw workings of yourself. I find that music helps. I've come up with a playlist of sorts. Feel free to add your own. Mine changes all the time. Be safe this weekend. Don't do anything stupid, and enjoy your American-ness.
Which brings me to my "this has nothing to do about the 39" blog for today, Loss. Not LOST, that effed up (yet, critically and Jenners acclaimed) show that I watched for one season and then lost the whole plot after getting up to pee one episode, but the actual feeling of loss. There seems to have been a lot of loss going on lately and yes, all the famous people dying has played a part in my introspection, but I also blame the rain *insert stupid build an ark joke here (never gets old)*, as well as the impending 4th of July vortex. 4th of July vortex??? What's that? You ask. (Yes, it's strictly an American phenomena. Other countries/cultures have their own floating vortex periods. Should I dare mention Guy Fawkes day, United Kingdom???) Well, it's my firm belief that in the week leading up to and the week following the 4th, the weirdest/life changingest shit will occur. I contribute it to many things all coming together at once. Bad weather, whether you think scorching heat or crap rain is bad. Lots of beer/alcohol, amateur explosive use, and the basic American belief that no person should work on or around said day, ensuring that those rights endowed by our creator are both protected and exercised with reckless and stupid abandon, usually while trying to balance in one hand a beer and a paper plate stacked with picnic food.
Where was I? Oh, yes, Loss. So my biggest loss at this time of year was my grandma. She actually died seven years ago today. (*creepy side note: The whole time I've been writing this blog, I kept thinking about how she died around this time and then it dawned on me that it was actually TODAY. At that very moment of realization, I also realized that I was listening to Mary by Sarah McLachlan. My grandma's name was MARY! Ooooohweeeeeeeeeohhhhhhhhhhhhhh) Now, don't worry, I've had seven years to come to terms with this. Yes, I still miss her, but I know she wasn't very happy at the end of her life and was ready to shuffle off her mortal coil. I appreciate this time of year. It allows me a moment to think about what I really have, and that's what loss is, isn't it? Losing something that you had. But can we truly have another person? What is it that we're losing? We're losing a piece of ourselves, folks. When that person or relationship is gone, that piece of us that tethered us together is no more. It has to happen. We have to make that break to create the before and the after. It's the moment of the break that hurts most. It's the realization that nothing is as it was. It's the point at which we stand up, tear stained and roughed up, and take that shaky first breath of a new life. It's a good and a bad, a mixed bag, if you will.
I could keep expounding on my theory of how you have to be broken in order to get better, but I'd rather emphasize the importance of recognizing what it is to lose and knowing what we have. It's okay to be pensive. It's important to bring yourself down and just feel the raw workings of yourself. I find that music helps. I've come up with a playlist of sorts. Feel free to add your own. Mine changes all the time. Be safe this weekend. Don't do anything stupid, and enjoy your American-ness.
1. Pills – The Perishers http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ml8ctOertes
2. Keep Breathing – Ingrid Michaelson http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fORAPkfVV_A
3. What Sarah Said – Death Cab for Cutie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLiMD48oc64
4. Why Does my Heart feel so bad – Moby http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqLvbpcsPj4
5. Casimir Pulaski Day – Sufjan Stevens http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGEMx3TKxNc
6. Naked as We Came – Iron & Wine http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nd-A-iiPoLg
7. Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AratTMGrHaQ
8. Gloomy Sunday – Billie
9. Half a World Away – R.E.M. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuzFIpUS_Io
10. The Last Song – Elton John http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWTkt_ZRMxg
11. The Scientist – Coldplay http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqWLpTKBFcU&feature=fvst
12. This Used to be My Playground – Madonna http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjaQjaGYmqM
13. Bookends – Simon & Garfunkel http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahuU3QwWkdg
14. Colorblind – Counting Crows http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0s7ycdUcHk
15. Rainy Days and Mondays – The Carpenters http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3glGV3Wh6Z0
16. And So It Goes – Billy Joel http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eELB6NxrZ7A
17. Against All Odds – Phil Collins http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Sd0W1RyMnE
18. Wonderwall – Ryan Adams (cover) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gVxRvNfFLg
19. On Your Porch – The Format http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPnGYxewQ6Y
20. 500 Miles – Peter, Paul & Mary http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilmwc24WYgM
21. La Pour Ca – Nada Surf http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOEFKlJsWFM http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858486574/
22. Time After Time – Cyndi Lauper and Sarah McLachlan http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_mHHYKOIwQ
23. King of Sorrow – Sade http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PoSYrFnGnkFriday, June 26, 2009
Be my guest, be my guest, bah ba ba ba bah ba ba ba...
Hello Everyone!! Work has sucked and therefore this blog has sucked since I haven't had the time or energy to write funny things for you needy kittens. People have pointed this out to me, but I'm going to give Stacy A a huge round of applause because she basically told me that if I can't write something funny, then she sure as hell will. So without further ado, I would like to introduce you to the wacky adventures of Stacy A on the T.
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Stacy commutes from Davis Square to the Prudential Center every morning and her experiences with the wild and wicked T are rich. Today she's going to share a recent encounter of the one-armed kind.
This morning the T was PACKED. Clearly not a "call in sick" kinda day for anyone. I do my best to keep my earbuds firmly in place and my nose deep in my book, avoiding the unwanted caresses of my fellow T riders around me. My patience is wearing thin as I wait for an E line train at Park Street. 20 minutes later I CRAM myself onto the train and get more than a few dirty looks. No one had enough faith to wait for the next train that morning. The result being a T riding experience turned giant trust fall -- plenty of people can't reach the pole to hold on. Luckily no one could possibly fall down because we're so tightly packed in. Love. Boston.
We make it to the Boylston stop and a gentleman tries to get off the train. But we all JUST got on at Park and aren't ready or willing to re-arrange a single stop into our green line adventure. He somehow swims through the crowd and makes it to the door *right* as it's closing. In an attempt to change fate, he throws his empty sleeve into the door, at which point I (and no one else?) realize he's a one-armed man. He soon realizes his mistake and thrashs around for a bit trying to free himself. No luck. He rides a full stop with his sleeve flapping and fluttering in the T-tunnel breeze. Once we made it to the Arlington stop he marched off the train all pissy and indignant.
The entire 4 minutes we were between stops, I was doing that silent laugh where your whole body shakes. I even came REAL close to saying something. I may have even muttered, "Didn't you LEARN?!?" under my breath. But I'm pretty sure he would have found a way to free his shirt and pummel me if I had spoken. Safety in silence.
-------------------------------------
Stacy commutes from Davis Square to the Prudential Center every morning and her experiences with the wild and wicked T are rich. Today she's going to share a recent encounter of the one-armed kind.
This morning the T was PACKED. Clearly not a "call in sick" kinda day for anyone. I do my best to keep my earbuds firmly in place and my nose deep in my book, avoiding the unwanted caresses of my fellow T riders around me. My patience is wearing thin as I wait for an E line train at Park Street. 20 minutes later I CRAM myself onto the train and get more than a few dirty looks. No one had enough faith to wait for the next train that morning. The result being a T riding experience turned giant trust fall -- plenty of people can't reach the pole to hold on. Luckily no one could possibly fall down because we're so tightly packed in. Love. Boston.
We make it to the Boylston stop and a gentleman tries to get off the train. But we all JUST got on at Park and aren't ready or willing to re-arrange a single stop into our green line adventure. He somehow swims through the crowd and makes it to the door *right* as it's closing. In an attempt to change fate, he throws his empty sleeve into the door, at which point I (and no one else?) realize he's a one-armed man. He soon realizes his mistake and thrashs around for a bit trying to free himself. No luck. He rides a full stop with his sleeve flapping and fluttering in the T-tunnel breeze. Once we made it to the Arlington stop he marched off the train all pissy and indignant.
The entire 4 minutes we were between stops, I was doing that silent laugh where your whole body shakes. I even came REAL close to saying something. I may have even muttered, "Didn't you LEARN?!?" under my breath. But I'm pretty sure he would have found a way to free his shirt and pummel me if I had spoken. Safety in silence.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Monday, Monday, bah dah, bah dah dah dah
If you understand my title, I'll give you claps (not the clap because I don't have that nor would I give that away since it seems like a pretty crappy prize, but the hands slapping together kind... I digress). Side Note: I'm having a lot of trouble typing today. I think it's because my office is frigid and I have stiff little fingers. I'll be sure to spell check this thing, but there may be a few real words that slip through and yet make no sense at all. Forgive me.
Okay, so yeah, last week I didn't write anything. I rode the bus frequently, and things did indeed happen or at least give me the mental baroo (or baroo #2). I will apologize ahead of time for this coming week. It's not looking good folks. Especially the end of the week. I fear that this blog will become one of those things I used to do back in my carefree, run through the field without my shoes on, twirl and gaze up at the sun whilst wearing a floppy straw hat days. (I don't think that has actually happened to me and bears strong resemblance to a birth control pill or feminine hygiene product ad.) Since I'm not yet in the throes of the week, let me regale you with some stories. Come twirl with me people!
The ride in today was very uneventful, but I learned two things. One, that I can leave my house after 7:45 and make it to work by 8:30 and not have certain people know because they haven't made it to work yet either. It's a win. Two, my bus stop doubles as a school bus stop. I mention this because A) I'm excited to see children ride the school bus and not my city bus, and 2) I was incredibly concerned that this group of children ranging in age from 5 to no more than 7 were going to get on a city bus... ALONE. This was prior to me knowing that a real school bus would pick them up. I was thinking about how irresposible the parent's of these children must be. "Here's your lunch and your bus pass. Try not to sit in the seat that has pee on it. If a man sits next to you and introduces himself as 'Tosi' while digging two knuckles deep in his nose, don't talk to him (a real man). Make sure you get off at the stop that's two blocks before your school 'cause if you miss it, the next stop is five blocks past your school." That would fall into the category of horrible parent.
As for last week, I can only remember one thing. Weird things on people's heads day. At first I was going to call it weird hair day because I sat down and the woman in front of me had her hair done up nicely in a bun of braided hair. Not weird you say? What if I told you that she had had it airbrushed with gold stripes and glitter? Not weird enough you say? What if I fuurther told you that she had an array of bobby pins adorned with rhinestone and pearls strategically arranged all over her head and bun? Yes, you finally agree... weird. I decided to change it to weird things on people's heads day when, after I stopped studying the hair in front of me, I saw a girl (maybe woman) sitting in one of the back facing seats wearing a hat that was supposed to make her look like a cat. I found this picture and it looks startlingly similar to cat girl. A) it was way too warm to wear a cold weather hat 2) it had cat ears and she was over the age of 20 (I'm guessing).
I had one final confirmation of weird things on people's heads day. It occurred as two girls got off the bus and looked at the woman with the hair. One teenage girl had her mouth open like a wide-mouth bass, while the other had a smirk and shoved the other girl out of the bus. They were friends and obviously making fun of the hair lady. Now, yes, I think it's weird hair too, BUT I give hair lady credit. She thinks she looks beautiful and spent a lot of money on that 'do. It's not ugly, just really really different. It made her feel confident and the weirdest/ugliest thing I saw on the bus that day were the ugly faces of children who would rather ridicule than consider the feelings of others. It made me feel sorry for hair lady, but mostly just angry at the childish invectives that can still hurt at any age.
Hair lady, I salute you. May you always wear your hair whichever way it makes you feel beautiful.
Okay, so yeah, last week I didn't write anything. I rode the bus frequently, and things did indeed happen or at least give me the mental baroo (or baroo #2). I will apologize ahead of time for this coming week. It's not looking good folks. Especially the end of the week. I fear that this blog will become one of those things I used to do back in my carefree, run through the field without my shoes on, twirl and gaze up at the sun whilst wearing a floppy straw hat days. (I don't think that has actually happened to me and bears strong resemblance to a birth control pill or feminine hygiene product ad.) Since I'm not yet in the throes of the week, let me regale you with some stories. Come twirl with me people!
The ride in today was very uneventful, but I learned two things. One, that I can leave my house after 7:45 and make it to work by 8:30 and not have certain people know because they haven't made it to work yet either. It's a win. Two, my bus stop doubles as a school bus stop. I mention this because A) I'm excited to see children ride the school bus and not my city bus, and 2) I was incredibly concerned that this group of children ranging in age from 5 to no more than 7 were going to get on a city bus... ALONE. This was prior to me knowing that a real school bus would pick them up. I was thinking about how irresposible the parent's of these children must be. "Here's your lunch and your bus pass. Try not to sit in the seat that has pee on it. If a man sits next to you and introduces himself as 'Tosi' while digging two knuckles deep in his nose, don't talk to him (a real man). Make sure you get off at the stop that's two blocks before your school 'cause if you miss it, the next stop is five blocks past your school." That would fall into the category of horrible parent.
As for last week, I can only remember one thing. Weird things on people's heads day. At first I was going to call it weird hair day because I sat down and the woman in front of me had her hair done up nicely in a bun of braided hair. Not weird you say? What if I told you that she had had it airbrushed with gold stripes and glitter? Not weird enough you say? What if I fuurther told you that she had an array of bobby pins adorned with rhinestone and pearls strategically arranged all over her head and bun? Yes, you finally agree... weird. I decided to change it to weird things on people's heads day when, after I stopped studying the hair in front of me, I saw a girl (maybe woman) sitting in one of the back facing seats wearing a hat that was supposed to make her look like a cat. I found this picture and it looks startlingly similar to cat girl. A) it was way too warm to wear a cold weather hat 2) it had cat ears and she was over the age of 20 (I'm guessing).
I had one final confirmation of weird things on people's heads day. It occurred as two girls got off the bus and looked at the woman with the hair. One teenage girl had her mouth open like a wide-mouth bass, while the other had a smirk and shoved the other girl out of the bus. They were friends and obviously making fun of the hair lady. Now, yes, I think it's weird hair too, BUT I give hair lady credit. She thinks she looks beautiful and spent a lot of money on that 'do. It's not ugly, just really really different. It made her feel confident and the weirdest/ugliest thing I saw on the bus that day were the ugly faces of children who would rather ridicule than consider the feelings of others. It made me feel sorry for hair lady, but mostly just angry at the childish invectives that can still hurt at any age.
Hair lady, I salute you. May you always wear your hair whichever way it makes you feel beautiful.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
An Ode to Red Tape
This entry is going to fall more into the portion of stuff that has nothing to do with the 39, since it has nothing to do with the 39.
I have been on hold for over one hour and 45 minutes with the Rhode Island Department of Motor Vehicles. Now granted, my latest call has only run 1 hour (and counting) and the other call was only about 45 minutes because I had to pee really badly and had to hang up, but all together, I've spent too much time hearing "Agents are still busy." Over and over and over and over and over and over and over...
I hate bureaucracy, not that anyone likes it, but I think I have a more acute aversion to it. I'm afraid of it. I don't know why. I'm afraid that I'm going to say the wrong thing or turn in the wrong documentation and end up as prisoner number 876337, whose only skill is wise cracking and drawing the occasional fancy prison tattoo, OR I'm going to be like one of those little old ladies who gets the $30,000 water bill. It's a very real fear.
My latest skirmish with the Powers that Be all started when I discovered that if you borrow someone's car (even rarely) you need to be on the car owner's insurance. Even if you're thinking of borrowing someone's car, you should be on their insurance. A little tip to any of you who borrow cars or even have a moment where you ponder it. I didn't think this would be an issue. I'm an upstanding citizen. I pay taxes. I vote. I don't litter (unless it's that cellophane that creates mad static cling and you have to vigorously shake your hand to get it off and when it does finally come off you don't dare touch it or the whole problem will start again). Yes, I'm basically a law abiding girl, but I have a penchant for driving fast. *Sigh* We all have our vices.
16 Hours Later (I'm picking up with this morning because I totally lost my train of thought when the RI DMV actually picked up after a grand total of 128 minutes on hold). I found out that my worst fears were realized. I am a transgressor. Actually, what occurred was a speeding ticket I got in New York state about 3+ years ago. I was only going 5 miles over the speed limit so the cop made it a seat belt violation. Yay speed traps! I send in my check thinking we're all good. Little did I know that Chatham County New York does not accept personal checks, only certified checks. My check was not applied to my infraction. NY state suspends my New York license (NB: I do not have a NY state drivers license, never have). They contact Rhode Island, who in turn suspends my RI drivers license. This falls into a grey period since in the time when all of this occurred, I moved to Massachusetts and procured my Mass license. RI never told Mass that I'm an evil rule breaker, nor did my car insurance folks put two and two together. Yes, my ONE perfect crime was my bamboozling the respective RMV/DMVs of two New England states and a member of the Tri-State triumvirate. Do I get murder? A bank heist? An elaborate money laundering scheme??? NO! I get what is the equivalent of running away from a cross-eyed gunman in a serpentine pattern to successfully avoid injury. The gunman will always get you though. When you least expect it, he'll be waiting.
So super long story short (don't you hate it when people do that after they've already told you the really long story??), NY wants a couple of bucks to clear it all up, but the kicker is that RI wants twice as much as NY because they are complete d bags. I respect the mafia (aka, the Rhode Island legislature), but I did not expect a shake down at the DMV. Federal Hill, Ronzio's Pizza, Buddy Cianci's, yes, shake downs are expected. Oh well, at least now I can say I've been wanted in two states.
I have been on hold for over one hour and 45 minutes with the Rhode Island Department of Motor Vehicles. Now granted, my latest call has only run 1 hour (and counting) and the other call was only about 45 minutes because I had to pee really badly and had to hang up, but all together, I've spent too much time hearing "Agents are still busy." Over and over and over and over and over and over and over...
I hate bureaucracy, not that anyone likes it, but I think I have a more acute aversion to it. I'm afraid of it. I don't know why. I'm afraid that I'm going to say the wrong thing or turn in the wrong documentation and end up as prisoner number 876337, whose only skill is wise cracking and drawing the occasional fancy prison tattoo, OR I'm going to be like one of those little old ladies who gets the $30,000 water bill. It's a very real fear.
My latest skirmish with the Powers that Be all started when I discovered that if you borrow someone's car (even rarely) you need to be on the car owner's insurance. Even if you're thinking of borrowing someone's car, you should be on their insurance. A little tip to any of you who borrow cars or even have a moment where you ponder it. I didn't think this would be an issue. I'm an upstanding citizen. I pay taxes. I vote. I don't litter (unless it's that cellophane that creates mad static cling and you have to vigorously shake your hand to get it off and when it does finally come off you don't dare touch it or the whole problem will start again). Yes, I'm basically a law abiding girl, but I have a penchant for driving fast. *Sigh* We all have our vices.
16 Hours Later (I'm picking up with this morning because I totally lost my train of thought when the RI DMV actually picked up after a grand total of 128 minutes on hold). I found out that my worst fears were realized. I am a transgressor. Actually, what occurred was a speeding ticket I got in New York state about 3+ years ago. I was only going 5 miles over the speed limit so the cop made it a seat belt violation. Yay speed traps! I send in my check thinking we're all good. Little did I know that Chatham County New York does not accept personal checks, only certified checks. My check was not applied to my infraction. NY state suspends my New York license (NB: I do not have a NY state drivers license, never have). They contact Rhode Island, who in turn suspends my RI drivers license. This falls into a grey period since in the time when all of this occurred, I moved to Massachusetts and procured my Mass license. RI never told Mass that I'm an evil rule breaker, nor did my car insurance folks put two and two together. Yes, my ONE perfect crime was my bamboozling the respective RMV/DMVs of two New England states and a member of the Tri-State triumvirate. Do I get murder? A bank heist? An elaborate money laundering scheme??? NO! I get what is the equivalent of running away from a cross-eyed gunman in a serpentine pattern to successfully avoid injury. The gunman will always get you though. When you least expect it, he'll be waiting.
So super long story short (don't you hate it when people do that after they've already told you the really long story??), NY wants a couple of bucks to clear it all up, but the kicker is that RI wants twice as much as NY because they are complete d bags. I respect the mafia (aka, the Rhode Island legislature), but I did not expect a shake down at the DMV. Federal Hill, Ronzio's Pizza, Buddy Cianci's, yes, shake downs are expected. Oh well, at least now I can say I've been wanted in two states.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds
Yes, I've done a horrible job entertaining you all this week. I've been busy, but mostly, I've been tired. I don't know if it's allergies or just the general "pack as much as possible into one month" sleepies. Either way, my caffeine consumption has gone up and my eyelids continue to move further and further down. It also may be the fact that I'm at work, which the very thought of makes me exhausted. Sometimes, when I'm on my way home, I find myself wanting to close my eyes and take a nap. Then I snap back to reality and realize that there's no way that I could fall asleep on the bus.
Now don't get me wrong, if you can fall asleep and feel comfortable, then far be it for me to tell you not to catch some shut eye. I am saying that I'm just totally not able to snooze in this setting. I have my reasons.
First, if I were to nap, I'd try and choose an ideal location. This location would be a window seat. A place to rest my head. Have any of you ever looked at a bus window? Aside from the grime coating the outside, there is almost aaalways a nice thick coat of head grease on the inside. Just looking at it makes me feel ookey. I realize that some people use leave-in conditioners and/or have severe oily face, but if I placed my head against a surface and left a hazy halo of oil and grime, I'd freak out and probably spend the rest of my life washing my hair. That being said, I never, NEVER, want my hair/head to come in contact with other's hair or face residue.
Second, I'm terrified that I'll fall asleep and miss my stop. I don't want to ride all the way to Forrest Hills. I try to avoid Forrest Hills as much as humanly possible. I don't "blend" well there and it's also not close to anything that I would ever need. When I hear on the news that someone was shot/stabbed at Forrest Hills, I always think "that could have been me if I'd fallen asleep and walked off the bus in a sleepy haze because the bus driver is telling me that it's the end of the line and she needs to take a pee break." I think this my fear of bus naps has kept me stabbing/shooting free for a while now.
Third, and most likely to actually occur, but least worrisome to me for some reason, is that someone might steal my stuff. I'd like to keep my wallet, mp3 player, and backpack. I don't trust bus riders. There's a scent of desperation that certain individuals give off. In most cases, these individuals also give off the scent of urine or b.o. so it's easy to spot them.
So no, I don't sleep on the bus. I remain hypervigilant to protect myself and my gear. I'm a responsible citizen.
Now don't get me wrong, if you can fall asleep and feel comfortable, then far be it for me to tell you not to catch some shut eye. I am saying that I'm just totally not able to snooze in this setting. I have my reasons.
First, if I were to nap, I'd try and choose an ideal location. This location would be a window seat. A place to rest my head. Have any of you ever looked at a bus window? Aside from the grime coating the outside, there is almost aaalways a nice thick coat of head grease on the inside. Just looking at it makes me feel ookey. I realize that some people use leave-in conditioners and/or have severe oily face, but if I placed my head against a surface and left a hazy halo of oil and grime, I'd freak out and probably spend the rest of my life washing my hair. That being said, I never, NEVER, want my hair/head to come in contact with other's hair or face residue.
Second, I'm terrified that I'll fall asleep and miss my stop. I don't want to ride all the way to Forrest Hills. I try to avoid Forrest Hills as much as humanly possible. I don't "blend" well there and it's also not close to anything that I would ever need. When I hear on the news that someone was shot/stabbed at Forrest Hills, I always think "that could have been me if I'd fallen asleep and walked off the bus in a sleepy haze because the bus driver is telling me that it's the end of the line and she needs to take a pee break." I think this my fear of bus naps has kept me stabbing/shooting free for a while now.
Third, and most likely to actually occur, but least worrisome to me for some reason, is that someone might steal my stuff. I'd like to keep my wallet, mp3 player, and backpack. I don't trust bus riders. There's a scent of desperation that certain individuals give off. In most cases, these individuals also give off the scent of urine or b.o. so it's easy to spot them.
So no, I don't sleep on the bus. I remain hypervigilant to protect myself and my gear. I'm a responsible citizen.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Zero to Rage in 1.3 seconds
So yesterday I'm riding home. It's rainy and yucky. The bus is pretty crowded since school had just let out (see my list of grievances to view my opinion on school kids). We're at the stop just before mine, and since there's someone next to me, I figure that I'll wait until we actually get to my stop before I ask her to get up and let me out. We're at my stop, I get up walk to the door, which closes so fast that I would have had to have been pressing myself against it to get out in the first place (the one woman who did make it off was practically doing that). I yell, loudly, "REAR DOOR", bus speak for "Open the back door you ass. There are still people who need to get off." Not only do I yell, but the back half of the bus yells along with me, but nooooooooo. We're going to keep right on going to the next stop. The bus driver stops, but STILL doesn't open the back doors! We yell again, and finally he opens the door. The difficulty that I have is overcoming my desire to climb over the people on the bus, while swinging like a monkey from the poles and handles, so that I can grab the driver by the face and crush his head. Instead, I get off the bus, angrily, and trudge home in the rain. There's no justice here. It's simply me and my anger hopping on our Huffy and peddling home.
It took me a good 5 minutes to cool off. Not a very long time in retrospect, but still long enough to make me angry just thinking about it. I hate the bus.
It took me a good 5 minutes to cool off. Not a very long time in retrospect, but still long enough to make me angry just thinking about it. I hate the bus.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
A long days journey into another day
Yesterday kicked my ass. Less than 6 hours of sleep the night before (Damn you Biggest Loser!!! I wish Tara had won. Helen was skank thin.), and then I basically was going non-stop from the moment I got into work until the moment I left roughly 10 hours later. To make up for it, I'll give you THREE bus rides of fantasticness.
Ride #1: Rather uneventful. Bus showed up just as I arrived at the bus stop. One thing to note regarding bus stops. DON'T PARK IN A BUS STOP!!! Alright, I used to be a driver (still am on occasion) and I realize how frustrating it can be to look for a parking spot and not find one, but the bus stop is wide open, and you're only running in for a second, and there's no way that a bus will come in the next five minutes, so I'll turn my hazard lights on to signify my speedy errand and everyone knows that if I have my hazards on, it makes me immune to parking tickets. Yes, this is how I used to think and how many people still think, but let me tell you, now that I've looked at bus riding from both sides now, your car blocking the bus stop is both annoying and potentially dangerous as it leaves me with no choice but to step off the bus into oncoming traffic. That being said, the bus ride itself was fine. At the corner of Huntington and South Huntington a man got on. I say man because I'm pretty sure we weren't on Sesame Street. As far as I know, the 39 does not pick up there. He looked rather like this chap, but with dark hair. Other than that, not much happened.
Ride #2: After my long, busy day, I make my way to the bus stop. Again, I didn't have to wait long. There were open seats on the back bench and I sat next to the window. I don't really enjoy sitting there as you can easily get trapped and have to ask three people to move just to let you out while running the risk of hitting them with your bag or sticking your butt in their face. One or two stops from when I got on, on of the regular seats opened up (sans adjoiner). I get up and move to that. HORROR. I happen to look at the floor and there's something there. It's liquidy and milky in color. Luckily, I did not step in it. I'm going to assume it was yogurt because anything else will still give me the wiggins. Yes, I could have moved again, but I didn't want people around me to think I was a total freak and then go home and write a blog about it. So I spent the rest of my ride with my feet at a safe distance from this "yogurt". VILE, even it if was yogurt.
Ride #3: This morning again with the parking in the bus stop! Annoying. I sit down on the bench to wait for the bus, listen to my mp3 player (I don't have an iPod), and drink my coffee. This little man walks by and sits down on the bench next to mine. I know him. I refer to him as "The Whistler." Now there's very little that I find more annoying than whistling and humming when it's quiet. It fills me with rage. I'm not overexagerating. I want to punch people in the face to make them stop. As he walked by, I thought to myself, "I swear to all that is holy, if he starts whistling today, I'm going to lose my shit." It was as if he could sense my thought and miraculously didn't even pucker once. Once the bus arrived, I checked the floor to make sure I wasn't stepping in anything and I enjoyed my quiet ride watching some poor guy in the pivot seat with a tissue jammed up his nose and his head titled back. He looked as if he was about to pass out, but would move every now and then.
I'm very sorry about what appears to be a very rough start to your day bloody nose man. I hope it gets better. Here's hoping that today isn't as difficult as yesterday.
Ride #1: Rather uneventful. Bus showed up just as I arrived at the bus stop. One thing to note regarding bus stops. DON'T PARK IN A BUS STOP!!! Alright, I used to be a driver (still am on occasion) and I realize how frustrating it can be to look for a parking spot and not find one, but the bus stop is wide open, and you're only running in for a second, and there's no way that a bus will come in the next five minutes, so I'll turn my hazard lights on to signify my speedy errand and everyone knows that if I have my hazards on, it makes me immune to parking tickets. Yes, this is how I used to think and how many people still think, but let me tell you, now that I've looked at bus riding from both sides now, your car blocking the bus stop is both annoying and potentially dangerous as it leaves me with no choice but to step off the bus into oncoming traffic. That being said, the bus ride itself was fine. At the corner of Huntington and South Huntington a man got on. I say man because I'm pretty sure we weren't on Sesame Street. As far as I know, the 39 does not pick up there. He looked rather like this chap, but with dark hair. Other than that, not much happened.
Ride #2: After my long, busy day, I make my way to the bus stop. Again, I didn't have to wait long. There were open seats on the back bench and I sat next to the window. I don't really enjoy sitting there as you can easily get trapped and have to ask three people to move just to let you out while running the risk of hitting them with your bag or sticking your butt in their face. One or two stops from when I got on, on of the regular seats opened up (sans adjoiner). I get up and move to that. HORROR. I happen to look at the floor and there's something there. It's liquidy and milky in color. Luckily, I did not step in it. I'm going to assume it was yogurt because anything else will still give me the wiggins. Yes, I could have moved again, but I didn't want people around me to think I was a total freak and then go home and write a blog about it. So I spent the rest of my ride with my feet at a safe distance from this "yogurt". VILE, even it if was yogurt.
Ride #3: This morning again with the parking in the bus stop! Annoying. I sit down on the bench to wait for the bus, listen to my mp3 player (I don't have an iPod), and drink my coffee. This little man walks by and sits down on the bench next to mine. I know him. I refer to him as "The Whistler." Now there's very little that I find more annoying than whistling and humming when it's quiet. It fills me with rage. I'm not overexagerating. I want to punch people in the face to make them stop. As he walked by, I thought to myself, "I swear to all that is holy, if he starts whistling today, I'm going to lose my shit." It was as if he could sense my thought and miraculously didn't even pucker once. Once the bus arrived, I checked the floor to make sure I wasn't stepping in anything and I enjoyed my quiet ride watching some poor guy in the pivot seat with a tissue jammed up his nose and his head titled back. He looked as if he was about to pass out, but would move every now and then.
I'm very sorry about what appears to be a very rough start to your day bloody nose man. I hope it gets better. Here's hoping that today isn't as difficult as yesterday.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes
Fear. We all have moments where we feel the creeping sensation that something is not right. Our primal instincts kick in and fight or flight begins to dictate our actions. What do we humans do? How do we reconcile that which is ingrained in our DNA and the behavior that modern society expects from us? The answer to that, my kittens, is we become obsessive compulsive. We check and recheck to make sure that whatever stalks us in the misty morning air will not catch us unaware. No matter how civilized we say we have become, we will never shake that fear of being devoured by the unknown. This unknown that I fear on a daily basis is sitting down on a urine soaked bus seat.
Yes, urine is insidious. It hides in the fabric covered seats of the 39. The fabric was chosen to mask stains and filth so that it is more aesthetically pleasing to the rider. Woe on them who did not see that I NEED to see the filth. I NEED to know that there is something THERE. Alas, I can never tell.
Now I can see all of you thinking "Can't you smell it? Urine has a very distinctive scent." You are all correct, BUT urine, when still wet, does not emit a scent (unless you eat asparagus or curry, which, frankly, explains a lot). The odor only occurs when the urea dries and becomes oxidized releasing ammonia. So the lack of smell compounded with the hide-everything fabric creates a situation that makes me OCD.
Here's what happens. I walk on the bus and look first for an empty seat without anyone in the adjoining seat. If I find said seat, I do a visual check. If there are no seats sans adjoiners, I'll take the available seat, still doing the visual check. Now, I've sat down. Temperature variances play tricks with your butt. Sometimes the seat is cool and this prompts me to boost myself up a bit and feel the seat underneath. No, I don't want to put my hand in urine, but I'd rather know. Sometimes I'll check two or three times, just to make sure. I try and avoid seats where paper has been put down. Yes, it may just have been put there for no reason, but it may also be hiding something. Something sinister. I also avoid stains, if at all possible. They're just yucky on principle.
So, I have yet to actually fall prey to the pee seat. Vigilance is key. But I will never shake the fear of sitting in the seat that will bring my fears to light. If you see me on the bus with my hand feeling underneath me, just nod and know that I'm not a pervert or freak, but just a prepared bus rider trying to avert a crisis.
Yes, urine is insidious. It hides in the fabric covered seats of the 39. The fabric was chosen to mask stains and filth so that it is more aesthetically pleasing to the rider. Woe on them who did not see that I NEED to see the filth. I NEED to know that there is something THERE. Alas, I can never tell.
Now I can see all of you thinking "Can't you smell it? Urine has a very distinctive scent." You are all correct, BUT urine, when still wet, does not emit a scent (unless you eat asparagus or curry, which, frankly, explains a lot). The odor only occurs when the urea dries and becomes oxidized releasing ammonia. So the lack of smell compounded with the hide-everything fabric creates a situation that makes me OCD.
Here's what happens. I walk on the bus and look first for an empty seat without anyone in the adjoining seat. If I find said seat, I do a visual check. If there are no seats sans adjoiners, I'll take the available seat, still doing the visual check. Now, I've sat down. Temperature variances play tricks with your butt. Sometimes the seat is cool and this prompts me to boost myself up a bit and feel the seat underneath. No, I don't want to put my hand in urine, but I'd rather know. Sometimes I'll check two or three times, just to make sure. I try and avoid seats where paper has been put down. Yes, it may just have been put there for no reason, but it may also be hiding something. Something sinister. I also avoid stains, if at all possible. They're just yucky on principle.
So, I have yet to actually fall prey to the pee seat. Vigilance is key. But I will never shake the fear of sitting in the seat that will bring my fears to light. If you see me on the bus with my hand feeling underneath me, just nod and know that I'm not a pervert or freak, but just a prepared bus rider trying to avert a crisis.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The bus has smelled of fish before...
So this morning was rather uneventful but for one incident with a lure. On my way to the stop, I missed one bus, but luckily it was 7:45am, which means that there will be another in roughly 5 minutes (Unless it's Marathon Monday and then it runs on a Saturday schedule. I <3 Boston.). I know I missed it because no matter which stop I choose, I can always see the bus drive by. The bus I'll never be on, the one that got away.
Once on the bus, I almost caught my leg on a fish hook. Yes, a fish hook. The kind you use to catch big fish with a fake worm on the end of it. It was attached to a fishing pole. I guess some Rastafarian man (for real, dreads and all) figured that today would be the day that he'd finally catch the big one. I'm sure that there's a legend of something that lives at the bottom of Jamaica Pond. It's most likely an old Buick Skylark with a body inside though. (Ha! Rastafarian fishing at Jamaica Pond... it's destiny.)
I do have to say that it was eerily empty. I find it disconcerting when this occurs. I always wonder if there's a holiday that I don't know about. "I saw Whitey Bulger Day" or "Talk like Mumbles Menino Day". Sadly, no, I still had to work.
The poetic justice of it all was that the bus I missed was so packed full of people that my bus, the bus where I had my own seat, the bus where no one smelled of urine, eventually caught up to it. I believe it may be a good day after all.
Once on the bus, I almost caught my leg on a fish hook. Yes, a fish hook. The kind you use to catch big fish with a fake worm on the end of it. It was attached to a fishing pole. I guess some Rastafarian man (for real, dreads and all) figured that today would be the day that he'd finally catch the big one. I'm sure that there's a legend of something that lives at the bottom of Jamaica Pond. It's most likely an old Buick Skylark with a body inside though. (Ha! Rastafarian fishing at Jamaica Pond... it's destiny.)
I do have to say that it was eerily empty. I find it disconcerting when this occurs. I always wonder if there's a holiday that I don't know about. "I saw Whitey Bulger Day" or "Talk like Mumbles Menino Day". Sadly, no, I still had to work.
The poetic justice of it all was that the bus I missed was so packed full of people that my bus, the bus where I had my own seat, the bus where no one smelled of urine, eventually caught up to it. I believe it may be a good day after all.
Friday, May 8, 2009
If it had been full of water with alien pods, it might have been Coccoon
You lucky people, you get Two entries today.
I'm just getting home after leaving early on a Friday. What? I did my time, and lo how I paid for it in bussage. It takes forever for the bus to arrive between the hours of 10 and 3. I think it runs on a schedule of one every three days. So it finally arrived and I stepped on only to find it 375 degrees (fahrenheit, 190 degress celsius, 463 Kelvin). The heat was on FULL BLAST. I could feel the dry, hot air burning my face. My contacts were curling up in my eyes and my knee pits were sweating. It's 72 degrees outside (I'm not converting this time). There is NO NEED for heat. No one could get the windows to crack. It was brutal. The best part was listening to everyone around me bitch about how hot it was. If it had been possible, I would have grabbed my coat out of my backpack and put it on. Then I would have complained about how cold it was and that maybe I should ask the driver to turn up the heat. Alas, this was impossible as I don't want to vomit from heatstroke.
On another note, the other fun thing about taking the bus in the early afternoon is that it's old people on the bus time. See, the 39 goes right past the VA Hospital. It goes past several other hospitals, but I the VA stop provides the best old people watching. This is why I usually sit in the back. It's clearly posted that the front seats are reserved for the elderly and disabled. I also don't want to be responsible for providing life saving measures if something happens to them. Now don't get me wrong, I will help in an emergency, but the bus is just not where I want to do any of the following: mouth to mouth, kneeling on the floor, touching the floor with anything other than the bottoms of my shoes, have people watch me with mouths agape, mouth to mouth, etc. I wonder if they turn the heat up on purpose because they know it's old people on the bus time. It makes sense. All the old people were wearing coats. There just might be a method to the madness.
I'm just getting home after leaving early on a Friday. What? I did my time, and lo how I paid for it in bussage. It takes forever for the bus to arrive between the hours of 10 and 3. I think it runs on a schedule of one every three days. So it finally arrived and I stepped on only to find it 375 degrees (fahrenheit, 190 degress celsius, 463 Kelvin). The heat was on FULL BLAST. I could feel the dry, hot air burning my face. My contacts were curling up in my eyes and my knee pits were sweating. It's 72 degrees outside (I'm not converting this time). There is NO NEED for heat. No one could get the windows to crack. It was brutal. The best part was listening to everyone around me bitch about how hot it was. If it had been possible, I would have grabbed my coat out of my backpack and put it on. Then I would have complained about how cold it was and that maybe I should ask the driver to turn up the heat. Alas, this was impossible as I don't want to vomit from heatstroke.
On another note, the other fun thing about taking the bus in the early afternoon is that it's old people on the bus time. See, the 39 goes right past the VA Hospital. It goes past several other hospitals, but I the VA stop provides the best old people watching. This is why I usually sit in the back. It's clearly posted that the front seats are reserved for the elderly and disabled. I also don't want to be responsible for providing life saving measures if something happens to them. Now don't get me wrong, I will help in an emergency, but the bus is just not where I want to do any of the following: mouth to mouth, kneeling on the floor, touching the floor with anything other than the bottoms of my shoes, have people watch me with mouths agape, mouth to mouth, etc. I wonder if they turn the heat up on purpose because they know it's old people on the bus time. It makes sense. All the old people were wearing coats. There just might be a method to the madness.
My list of grievances
So I didn't ride the bus this morning. My lovely lady gave me a ride. Fridays are hard people. It was really hard to wake up. I was dreaming that I had two alarm clocks and they were alternating in going off. I'd hit the snooze on one and 9 minutes later the other would go off. I woke up confused. Looking back, that sounds like a bad dream.
Aaanyway, since nothing happened this morning, I thought I'd share my thoughts on some bus-related things that I deal with on a regular basis. AKA, my list of grievances.
1. There are no single seats on a bus. There are two seats per row, unless you're in the way back and then there's five. If you sit in the aisle seat leaving the window seat available, DO NOT be pissed when I ask to sit down. I like to sit just as much as you do. Just be thankful that I don't hover over you awkwardly allowing my bag to whack you in the head with each lurch of the bus.
a. In relation to the above issue, do me and you a favor and pick your fat ass up off the seat to let me sit down. As much as you don't want me shoving my ass in your face or hitting you in the head with my bag, I want it EVEN LESS. Although I do feel a bit of poetic justice when it happens.
2. This is similar to point number 1. When in a seat and the bus is crowded, YOUR BAG DOES NOT DESERVE A SEAT OF IT'S OWN!! Don't be pissed when I ask you to hold your bag on your lap so that I can sit down. It makes me think less of you as a person.
3. If there are open seats, where neither of the seats in the row are taken, sit in those. Don't sit next to me. I don't like it.
4. School kids. Aren't there School Buses? I know there are! I get stuck behind them on a regular basis. Then why, oh why, must the bus be packed with kids, who act just as retarded as they would on an actual school bus. (Yes, retarded. I was one of those kids. The school bus was where you acted like a caged animal finally set free and dared other kids to snort Fun Dip powder.) After working all day, I really don't care that Kaylie's parents are going out of town and that Jackson has some friends who can go over to her house and move all the furniture into Kaylie's parent's bedroom. This way she can have the most kick-ass house party! The only issue left to figure out is whos' older brother will buy them beer. Yes, this might prove difficult.
5. People with baby carriages. When did baby carriages become HUGE? Seriously, the other day I saw one that had more gadgets then a car. Do you actually need to carry all that crap for your kid. Sometimes I wonder if there's actually a baby in there. How would I know? Maybe you're just a freak who likes to pretend and take up the space of three people. Do they even make umbrella strollers anymore? Classy, sophisticated, and portable. Again, DON'T GIVE ME A DIRTY LOOK WHEN I TRY AND GET PAST YOU AND YOUR GIANT STROLLER.
I think that's good for the moment. There are more, but I'll share them for a later date.
Aaanyway, since nothing happened this morning, I thought I'd share my thoughts on some bus-related things that I deal with on a regular basis. AKA, my list of grievances.
1. There are no single seats on a bus. There are two seats per row, unless you're in the way back and then there's five. If you sit in the aisle seat leaving the window seat available, DO NOT be pissed when I ask to sit down. I like to sit just as much as you do. Just be thankful that I don't hover over you awkwardly allowing my bag to whack you in the head with each lurch of the bus.
a. In relation to the above issue, do me and you a favor and pick your fat ass up off the seat to let me sit down. As much as you don't want me shoving my ass in your face or hitting you in the head with my bag, I want it EVEN LESS. Although I do feel a bit of poetic justice when it happens.
2. This is similar to point number 1. When in a seat and the bus is crowded, YOUR BAG DOES NOT DESERVE A SEAT OF IT'S OWN!! Don't be pissed when I ask you to hold your bag on your lap so that I can sit down. It makes me think less of you as a person.
3. If there are open seats, where neither of the seats in the row are taken, sit in those. Don't sit next to me. I don't like it.
4. School kids. Aren't there School Buses? I know there are! I get stuck behind them on a regular basis. Then why, oh why, must the bus be packed with kids, who act just as retarded as they would on an actual school bus. (Yes, retarded. I was one of those kids. The school bus was where you acted like a caged animal finally set free and dared other kids to snort Fun Dip powder.) After working all day, I really don't care that Kaylie's parents are going out of town and that Jackson has some friends who can go over to her house and move all the furniture into Kaylie's parent's bedroom. This way she can have the most kick-ass house party! The only issue left to figure out is whos' older brother will buy them beer. Yes, this might prove difficult.
5. People with baby carriages. When did baby carriages become HUGE? Seriously, the other day I saw one that had more gadgets then a car. Do you actually need to carry all that crap for your kid. Sometimes I wonder if there's actually a baby in there. How would I know? Maybe you're just a freak who likes to pretend and take up the space of three people. Do they even make umbrella strollers anymore? Classy, sophisticated, and portable. Again, DON'T GIVE ME A DIRTY LOOK WHEN I TRY AND GET PAST YOU AND YOUR GIANT STROLLER.
I think that's good for the moment. There are more, but I'll share them for a later date.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I’m a better person because I ride the bus
At least that's what I tell myself so that I don't cry. (You know you wanna be me) I also tell myself I'm saving the environment by riding the bus and that Chinese take-out isn't bad for me. We've all been on a bus (I think), but there's a certain mystique about riding a city bus. I ride the 39, Boston's busiest bus route. Running from Forrest Hills to Back Bay, it takes you to just about any place in the city that you want to go, and many more places that you don't want to go. I've decided to chronicle my life as a bus rider because it would be a travesty to not share the kaleidoscope of experiences, observations, and smells (sadly that will only be descriptive).
The daily commute is nothing new. I've taken buses and trains and for a while I even commuted 110 miles a day. That sucked. Did you know that commuter trains don't have bathrooms? Did you know that the bathroom in Back Bay station is the only MBTA public facility I've ever used (and ever hope to use)? No, well, now you do. I currently work in an area where the very idea of driving to work (2.5miles) and parking ($300+ per month) is anathema. That and I don't have that kind of money... or a car, so moot point. From home to work and back again, the 39 is my super stretch limo to destiny, or at least to Copley where I can connect to another bus.
As far as this morning's commute goes, nothing especially entertaining happened. Nothing happened except for getting this brilliant idea to write what happens happened! I would like to dedicate this entry to the woman in the giantly oversized coat, who was sitting next to me. She was talking on her cell phone to her mother. Talking loudly (I'm sure I'll discuss cell phone usage in public at a later date). Normally I tune this stuff out, but I tuned in when she started talking about how she was "pocastinatin'." Really? Pocastinatin'?! REALLY?!? What is "pocastinatin'?" Is it playing castinettes while poor? Is the act of playing castinettes called castinating? This, my kittens, I do not know. All I know is that I spent the remainder of my ride mulling this over. I was entranced and nearly missed my stop. Thank God the stop announcement on the bus was broken making the bus driver have to yell the stops in a Tourette-like shriek, thus breaking me from my reverie. "Garble-ERKINS STR-garble."
So here's to you, giant coat, loud cell phone, made-up word lady. I hope people enjoy what you have inspired me to do.
The daily commute is nothing new. I've taken buses and trains and for a while I even commuted 110 miles a day. That sucked. Did you know that commuter trains don't have bathrooms? Did you know that the bathroom in Back Bay station is the only MBTA public facility I've ever used (and ever hope to use)? No, well, now you do. I currently work in an area where the very idea of driving to work (2.5miles) and parking ($300+ per month) is anathema. That and I don't have that kind of money... or a car, so moot point. From home to work and back again, the 39 is my super stretch limo to destiny, or at least to Copley where I can connect to another bus.
As far as this morning's commute goes, nothing especially entertaining happened. Nothing happened except for getting this brilliant idea to write what happens happened! I would like to dedicate this entry to the woman in the giantly oversized coat, who was sitting next to me. She was talking on her cell phone to her mother. Talking loudly (I'm sure I'll discuss cell phone usage in public at a later date). Normally I tune this stuff out, but I tuned in when she started talking about how she was "pocastinatin'." Really? Pocastinatin'?! REALLY?!? What is "pocastinatin'?" Is it playing castinettes while poor? Is the act of playing castinettes called castinating? This, my kittens, I do not know. All I know is that I spent the remainder of my ride mulling this over. I was entranced and nearly missed my stop. Thank God the stop announcement on the bus was broken making the bus driver have to yell the stops in a Tourette-like shriek, thus breaking me from my reverie. "Garble-ERKINS STR-garble."
So here's to you, giant coat, loud cell phone, made-up word lady. I hope people enjoy what you have inspired me to do.
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