Bus Encounters PART DEUX

I used to live in NYC. NYC is a fabulous, fabulous place and there's a reason why everyone who hails from that part of the nation is cocky as all get out. Missy said it best "[they] conceited, [they] got a reason". They sure do have a reason. They have MANY REASONS.

One of which is the best public transportation system in the country.

Yeah, I'm biased.

But I lived in the heart of the city and the PTS opened up the entire tri-state area to my young eyes. I can't tell you how many times I was supposed to come back from school early and just decided to take a little trip down 42nd street or hit up my favorite family diner on the corner of East 76th and York (they made the best milkshakes I have ever had in my life, bar NONE) or give myself a toothache at Dylan's!!!!

Yes, Lord. The excellent subway and busing system of NYC made all of that possible.

Compared to SomeTown, USA? NYC is looking a little slice of heaven. People of all economic stations take the bus in NYC but SomeTown is full of crazies. I can honestly say that I feel very very fragile sometimes when I go out. I am imminently aware that while I am bigger than many girls I know, height can't get me very far. I can fight some people off but not all. I have already told you guys all about some of my bus adventures here. Honestly, a sorrier bunch of people couldn't be found taking the bus. This is not a generalization of bus-takers (well, duh, I'm not including myself!!!!) because there are some of us who are fab and car-less.  But heavens above -

you know sh!t is critical when you find yourself wondering 

why you have yet to purchase a handgun 

every single time you step unto the bus. This is my first thought every time I hop up on these buses out here. I even reach into my purse and look around like I'm strapped, a standard 'Don't mess with me! I'll kill you!' look that may or may not have would-be attackers running. I find that if you keep your hand in your purse, people are more likely to regard you  as the dangerous one. This works for me.   And -

you know sh!t is critical when you also find yourself wondering 

why you haven't spoken to a lawyer about writing a will 

every single time you take a seat. I find myself fingering my cellphone to call my Dad up and get him to connect with his lawyers. I would do it if it wouldn't mean my Dad would kick down my door and point out that this is exactly why I should move back home. [ o v e r   m y    d  e a d     b o d  y ]  

My bus adventures are necessary. If I didn't take the bus, I couldn't get to work. If I didn't take the bus, I'd grow lazy and complacent in my search for a car of  my own. And that won't happen when I am mortally terrorized at least once a week by some fiend on the bus.

This week was a new low.

I work nights. And that is a wretched time for a female traveling alone. I decided that I'd brave the bus from the east side of town all the way to the west side. A single transfer, a forty minute wait - I thought 'Eh, what the heck? It'll save me 26bucks in cab fare that I can use on Sunday when I need it!'. HAH. LITTLE DID I KNOW THAT THE FREAKS CRAWL OUT AT NIGHT.

I got on the first bus and was surprised to see that it was full! Who knew the bus ever got full enough for people to be standing! I nearly face-planted (hello? trademark, much? duh) as usual when the bus driver decided not to wait for me to sit. There was something wet and sticky all over the floor that I didn't spend too much time thinking about before I avoided it altogether. There was also a strange smell that I decided to ignore.

Okay. Standard bus-fare.

The bus was still relatively full for the next fifteen minutes as it headed into the seedy downtown area where one of the city's major bus depots was. I thought that everyone would be getting off at the bus depot too.

And stood corrected when maybe three other people alighted with me. This should have been my-

First red flag. 

The bus depot isn't all that big. Well, I guess it is pretty big but I rarely think about it. It's about nine thirty five or so at night and downtown's night life is sort of active. But the bus depot isn't in the middle of all this active night life. It is off to the side. Which really means that something could happen and few people would be aware of it. 

Second red flag.

I look around once I reach the general area where the bus I'm waiting for will pick up. I count the people in the bus station, a habit of mine I picked up in childhood and never dropped. There are ten people. I look closer and realize that they all look male. I count again. There are ten people. There are also ten men. Which means...everyone here is...male?

Third red flag.

Okay. Okay. So there are a lot of men of varying ages here. I don't let this scare me. There must be a female - oooh, look there's a girl right-

Wait.

Tight dress. Cigarette. Bright make-up. And a come-hither look on her face. Oh dear. This is a lady of the night.

Fourth red flag.

With this realization that I am the single flame of respectable femininity in the immediate area, I begin to really legit worry. How the hell do I find myself in these situations? And why is time going by so quickly? Wasn't it nine thirty a few minutes ago? Why is it suddenly frickin' ten?! And because it's ten, I think of that commercial that comes on before the nightly news... "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?" ... 

Maybe my worry shows on my face. Maybe some men can scent fear. All I know is that where I was sort of managing to blend in before (Dianna Ross hair, be DAMNED) I am being stared at by the men that do look rather dangerous. Like 'Whooooaaaaa lemme cross this damn street to get away from you!' dangerous or 'hmm, he might sell crack' dangerous or 'aye, isn't that that one serial killer who decimated the L.A. population a few years back?' dangerous.

Fifth red flag.

I whip out my phone and pretend start a conversation. Yes. When in doubt, if you can't hit buttons fast enough, PRETEND. I am talking like the person on the other end is a close friend, an ally, someone who knows where I am. I'm thinking that this will deter even the most detemined men. 

Clearly, I don't know men.

Two of them are eyeing me and one approaches me and asks me for something. I talk louder in an effort to make it clear that I'm totally not available to talk. That's how you get into trouble. I breathe a sigh of relief when he wanders away. But another one is eyeing me like a piece of meat that needs to be bought from market. An acting troupe would be frickin' impressed by my skills right now.

Sadly, one brave dangerous soul is not at all deterred. This is where I really really legit got scared. This man walked right up to me like he didn't notice - or care - at all that I was talking on the phone. Maybe he knew I was pretending. He got me right in the lull of my ghost conversation (I mean hey, you have to pause to make it realistic, ne?) and asked me what my name was.

The question is harmless. 

THE KNIFE HE IS TWIRLING IN HIS LEFT HAND IS NOT.

For a minute there, I'm pretty sure that my eyes simply centered on the knife and my ears blocked out what he was saying.

Thank God for my childhood in NYC. All I can say is that I was floored for about four seconds before I got my sh!t together and scrambled up with  something mundane and serviceable that fobbed him off in under a minute.

The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back.

God can't even tell y'all how quickly I moved to whip out my cellphone to go through my phonebook and call a ride. Thankfully, a friend was down to come get me - it would just take her another fifteen minutes. and call my beloved Bethany because I knew she'd be either at home getting ready to go out or at home...cuddling with her cat. In either case, she was going to pick up the phone. AND THAT"S WHAT MATTERED. I needed to make it look like someone  on God's green earth would care if I was attacked. She answers and her voice is like a baby's bare bottom - soft and welcome.       [Okay, that has tones of pedophelia that I hope you ignore.] My point is that I was ecstatic to hear her voice as I power walked to a new area of the depot and made sure to keep Mr. Knife Player in my sights at all times.

When my friend arrived fifteen minutes later, I can tell you without hesitation that I moved like the wind to get to her car and nearly cried when I closed the passenger door behind me.

Why don't normal people take the bus here?

A Big Giant FML

Otherwise known as what-on-earh-has-my-life-turned-into.

Ah, to have no worries. It would be lovely. It would be incredible. It would be unbelievable. It would be perfect.

I have no car, few prospects, a job that is no less than 25minutes away from my house on a good day and at least 40 on a bad one, no concrete plan of how I'm going to pay off my tuition, no permit not to speak of a driver's license, little food, and half the money for next month's rent. It's looking like if I rely on either Providence or my friends' mercy, I will always be stranded at my job late at night with no way to get home. If I rely on the taxi cab (which is the 'herro duh!' option here) I will be forking over somewhere in the vicinity of 160 every two weeks. Which...makes me want to slap a toddler. I am also an aspiring writer and yesterday, a story that I've put my entire being into was consummately denied. Let me go ahead and air out my shame -

'Unfortunately due to several complaints we have now received about your story and lack of betaing in regards to the story, we have taken the drastic step to delete your story from our archive. Please be aware that we do not often take these steps, but with the number of complaints we are receiving and the fact you are a qualified beta, we cannot have your story in our archive without it reflecting badly on our site. We are painfully aware that we allowed this story into the archive in the first place and we agree that it was our mistake and not reflected on you at all. However, your story does need quite an overhaul. We have removed you from the site until such time we are confident in your abilities. This email has been cc’d to the admin of the website.

 Kind Regards,
She-Who-Wishes-Me-To-Commit-Suicide'

This is the first time in my entire life that I have had a piece of writing not just rejected but flat-out voted off the island. I have been writing since I was in 6th grade. SIXTH MOTHAFLIPPIN' GRADE. To say that I was shocked is a gross understatement. To say that I'm over it would be a lie from SATAN'S OWN MOUTH. Hah. So I shan't tell a lie. I promptly ran off to the bathroom and cried. A lot. Possibly enough to end famines in a few third world countries. I am also at the beginning of what is looking to be the whopper of a sore throat. My job requires I talk. My committees require I talk. My life requires I talk.

Is this enough rainbows and sunshine?

...

To put it mildly:
1) I almost wish someone would come along and put me out of my misery.
2) I have had five meltdowns in the last two days.
3) Of those five meltdowns, two have been in public and quite obviously embarassing.
4) I have had nightmares of waking up and realizing that NO THIS IS NOT A DREAM.
5) I have had daydreams where I joyfully picture being hit by a car, mugged on the street, held up in a string of bank robberies - anything to get me some time off of reality.
6) Of those dreams in which I am mortally wounded, I morbidly wonder what my funeral would be like. Is it electronica playing? Neo soul? Who's going to give the speech? Should I donate my laptop to goodwill or shall I just give it to my baby sister so she now has two Toshibas? What would they bury me in? What do they bury people in? Do I have to instruct this in a will? Do I even have a will?!

I am beginning to understand that this, my dear fellows, is not a good place to be. It makes me forget to find my center, or to return to a place where I can pray frankly for some help. Any help. Any divine intervention, really. Where has all my back to school happiness, my joi de vivre gone? I cant imagine that I'll be any fun to be around. I'll be the Mad Eye, except instead of CONSTANT VIGILANCE i'll be wailing CONSTANT DEPRESSION to remind ppl of how good they really have it.

Or maybe I'll become a Moaning Myrtle (this seems way more likely) and just kind of shat on everyone else's life and rain on everyone else's parade all day err day. Who knows, the loss of friends might give me less to worry about.

But alas, I have so much to worry about that I fear that the day will come when I channel this animal right here:

...

Signing out.

...

...

CONSTANT DEPRESSION!

Past Your Prime

So, as I bragged about last post, I have a loose group of fabulous friends! In the last semester my old mates from high school haven't been able to talk to each other as much as we would like. But

Let me just regale you with the tales of Simone, she who is in Texas at the moment. She has been having the most absurd bar experiences and I thought it was absolutely disgusting to hear about the fact that there were still wet tee-shirt contests done in small town. As she said, 'you live in the same place as the people! have you no dignity?'

I simply want to focus on a single aspect of Simone's story that stuck with me. I mean I'd love to delve into the band of merry men who wore some white bikini pants looking type thing that may or may not have doubled as the loin cloth for some long deposed prince of Europe. Hell, I suppose if you think you're attractive, you think you can get away with anything.

But if you're not hot (which was the case) then you, my bold bold friend who is wearing loincloths in the club for applause, are just playing past your prime.

But that sordid affair doesn't hold a candle to the FLAME that is the true illustration of my point.

And yes, although her story included naked dancing men and very extreme wet tee-shirt contests in which lady parts were yanked out of shirts to win the cash prize, I still want to go ahead and discuss what I think is a growing phenomenon.

Men and women, well into their middle-years, who are still hanging out at the bar scene.

I want to know what drives these people to get up and get out and get in when they can barely run under their own steam. Simone speaks of an old lady, honestly this woman couldn't have been a minute under forty years old according to her, who was at this bar that they were at. First of all, I don't personally how Texas does it and maybe Texas does it a lot better in the big cities but...where she is, a good time is what I would call a shot of low-dose cyanide to the jugular.

Heart-stopping, breath-taking, and seizure-inducing. And possibly fatal.

After a failed bout of dancing and an argument of seating arrangements, Simone finally made her way to a seat near the dance floor where an old women with a cane was sitting. I don't understand how someone can get inside a bar with a cane. I don't understand why someone would want to be inside a bar with a cane. I'm not sure why it is she thought that cane would give her the energy to last a night in a bar that allows smoking on the dancefloor but...alright.

But why is it that when she needed to go to the bathroom Simone and Co had to help her on her way? If you need assistance that is neither drug nor alcohol induced in a club, you really must evaluate your night life options. I don't mean to sound callous. But, really?! You want me to physically lift you back unto your stool? While I hold your cane? Should I also follow you to the ladies' room to make sure you don't break a hip on the way there? Or perhaps help with the process of absolution?

What are the motivations of people who do these things? Why bother? Don't you find it exceptionally tiring to have to get in and get out with  help? Is it fun for you?

What do you really get out of it?

People.
Stop playing past your prime.
And if you must play, please play elsewhere!

TheBB Wednesdays - Long Gone

“You know those movies where the girl is all over the guy who doesn’t give two sh!ts about her?”

Yes, that depressing line brought to you by Victoria is just about the way I'd like to start off this Wednesday's birds and the bees blog.

[I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything in a week! I actually thought I had put in a post but I guess that didn't go through - NONSENSE.]

Anyway.

Today is part one for realizing that every person who runs through your life leaves their footprints behind. Today's story is (again) from our heroine Vicky who is not only battling whatever is going on with Ben but is also feeling extremely...hm, what's the word...wistful, I suppose. You know how you know you're really over someone? When the memories don't do anything more violent than make you smile or make you frown. Remember how I was talking about those stories and experiences that everyone (girl and guy, really) share that make them cautious about crushes and love?

Good. Now with that in mind, I want you to reminisce about those stories.

And with that in mind, I want you to go to the memory that still rings the loudest for you.

There.

You've found it! This is the person who, for some godforsaken reason, still has a hold on a tiny bit of you. And if you have more than one person who fits the bill, well, God help you then.

Talking to my girls - Vicky has someone whom she had a thing with for over a year and they were unable to remain friends at the end of it. Most of us thought he was no good because he held waaaay too much power in that ship (relationship), and I at least thought it was a good thing that they quit talking.

Yaay for these thorns in our literary sides.

Everybody who's ever been around anybody has got one of these.

Whether you choose to acknowledge this or not, he (or she) is a bit of an Achilles' heel for you.

Thinking about your Achilles heel is an addiction for a looooonnnggg time after it's over.

I've got one! And I can tell you about him since he's nowhere anywhere near me, nor has he been involved in my life for a very long time.

High school. Soph year. It's like the most perfect thing in my little teeny bopper head and the boy can do no wrong. It's the entire Disney cake of romance served to me on a platter - he's funny and Even as I sortofkindanotreally wonder why I have no backbone when it comes to him, I enjoy the rush. The rush is crazy. The rush is good. The rush is breathtaking. Until he turns around and takes it away. Granted, my story is a bit complicated since nothing was ever clearly defined one way or another but it doesn't change it.

He's my own personal shackle, the warning that says 'HEY! If you trust too easily, it'll come back to smack you in the face!". But he's also something I look back to fondly - yeah, it sucked (and oh boy, did it really effing suck) when it was over and it ended terribly but it wasn't all bad.

Okay, prepare yourself since I'm going to get sappy here-

I think of him from time to time. He's a college basketball player for a school in NYC and every now and then, I'll mistakenly catch a glimpse of him on tv. I always change the channel. There's no point in indulging in a little dreaming.

It's not that there's bitterness or anything. It's just that I don't fancy a walk down memory lane when the walk will make me feel tired at the end!

For others, it's that you don't know how to quit them (hahaha, yes BMref) and sometimes the idea of them is like a little light you've been hiding under a bushel.

It's like a demon baby that you keep in your room and feed it little pieces of dreams and hopes. You know that it's not good for you, and that nothing will ever come of it, and that you're quite possibly delusional to still hold a flame for this person but goshdarnit! You still like to think of that one time 8 months ago when he told you he thought you were the smartest girl ever or that other time where he touched your hair and-

BLAH.

Is he thinking about me? Do I cross his mind from time to time? Hm, maybe I should stalk him on facebook or ask one of his friends for his number? Or what if I just kind of figure out his schedule and put myself in the places where he's going to be? Actually, wouldn't it just be better if I show up at his house on a rainy night wearing a trench coat with nothing underneath?!

Yep.

That's when the crazy-Jekyll&Hyde-obsession-stalker thinking begins. And that's when you need to cut the ish, simmer down, and remember what's past is past.

 Talking to Vicky today, she believes that she’ll always be a little in love with him, that a part of her goes where he does.

"I wish he loved me," she says.

Well, shoot.

Don’t we all?

But I think once something is done it's DONE. And I think she knows that deep down too! We all do know it's over but that stubborn hope just won't die that maybe he'll turn around and figure out that 'Duh! I'm supposed to marry you! We're tots perfect for each other!'. Hah. I don't find the idea of pursuing old flames romantic. I know it's easier said etcetera but-

It died, didn't it?
It's over. It's done.

And as long as you know you tried when you had the chance, then you should be able to fully make peace with the fact that they're never going to be yours.

So...you know those movies where the girl can't get over the guy who doesn’t give two sh!ts about her?

Let's not be her.
If it's meant to be, something is going to toss you two together by fire and by force.

The BB - The Men Conundrum

a.k.a the Birds & the Bees - the dating scene

Because I like to write about things that I know and that I experience, there is going to be ten billion follow-ups to this first initial. I'm probs going to talk about relationship and dating and courting every Wednesday because it is a big slice of life.

So, I have a fabulous group of friends who all happen to be mostly mature, sometimes girly, and always pragmatic. At least when we look at each other's lives. Some of us are classier than others (haha!) and some of us are more romantic than others and some of us are more content than others. We have girls who literally draw men like honey draws flies, the confident and overlooked, and the quietly self-sufficient - and crosses of all those types. But, at some point, we all have some sort of story that says 'Hi, my name is Jaded. What's yours?'.

So is this what is stopping us from being the best - most amazingly fabulous - us that we can be?

Being a modern girl, I like to think that I'm independent and confident and strong and everything good. This belief has kindasortreally been shaken by my friends. *Simone, *Marie, *Caroline and *Sherry made me face these things. I've had to really face the fact that there is definitely a place where I refuse to look at why I rather be seen one way vs. another. I'm really comfortable with compliments from girls but, for some reason, not so much with boys.

This LEADS ME to my point (I've been winding along, I pronise I do have a point). In the last two weeks, my market value has apparently SKYROCKETED.

I don't know WHAT THE HELL IT IS but I can honestly say that I've gotten more compliments over the last fourteen days than the entire two months prior. And not just the rude slightly leery 'oooh girl you fine, can has yo numba' but the-

"Hey, I just wanted to come over here and tell you that you are very beautiful. I don't even want your number - I just wanted you to know."

...

...

I cannot say that I'm not pleased but I also can't say that I'm not alarmed. So here's what I'm asking fellow femmes out there:

1) Why are we naturally suspicious of men?
2) What the hell am I supposed to do with a genuine compliment from someone who appears to not want anything at all?
3) Why is this suddenly happening?

and most importantly though this def only applies to me out of all my besties at the moment

4) Why are they all over thirty?!!!!

I don't understand it. I might have to rename it something legit and official sounding, like 'THE CHICHI PHENOMENON'.

Hah.

But really - the fact that I'm also considering men who are a decade over my age is sort of baffling and troubling to me, especially when I ragged on some of my mates in the past. I'm sure they'll return the ribbing!!!!

A best friend (who we shall call Victoria) belongs firmly in the 'attracts men like flies' category. She's recently free to mingle and has been pretty damned determined to stay that way. And then BAM the seemingly perfect man comes out of nowhere.

Perfect is a relative effing term, ain't it?

But right now, this boy whom we shall call Ben, is hitting all the right targets and saying all the right things and making all the right moves. The present he got her for her bday is worthy of jealousy. And Vicky, my poor dear, is stressed the hell out. She's also the kind of person I secretly think of as a bit of a Cinderella. Her standards are high. Her men literally need to read romance novels and watch chick flicks to figure out how to make her happy. She doesn't want to be in a relationship. But Benny boy is looking really really good.

So some of you might be asking - okay what's the problem? But what if you don't want to like someone because that means you actually have to care more about what he thinks than you should? IT'S TRUE. Because you're overthinking something that should be fun and breezy and easy! And now you feel freaking DESPERATE because you don't want to like this boy. Man. Whatever.

Her question, which I relay to you, is -

1) If we know that we're going to get jaded, what's the point?
2) If I don't want to like him, then how am I supposed to break this off?

3) And if I do break this off, then what does this say about me? Am I too jaded to have a relationship? Am I too cynical? Did I handle it the best way?

Bottom line is dating is stressful. Being liked or liking someone is stressful. Even a simple 'crush' can give anyone a coronary. But it's supposed to be a fact of life. So, if you've come to a place we're the male/female (or m/m or f/f, whatever you're into) is looking like a damned hunt in a safari, then it's time to step back and re-evaluate. I say Vicky should coast for a few more days and then see if it's getting so serious that she honest-to-goodness can't think about anything besides Ben. I say Vicky should come to terms with being the kind of girl who is always open to a relationship, and can't be GUARDED and single.

What say you?

Ignorance is NOT Bliss

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