the oh so interesting bus stop **updated - now with pictures**

I did end up looking in the sketch book and it was just ugly sketches of furniture. So weird. The suitcase was really cool, if only it hadn't been filled with underwear (????) I might have taken it.

Also recently a man at a bus stop stared at my chest for an uncomfortably long time and then asked me if I had a tattoo of a dragon there. A dragon? Really?

And then that evening a crazy person was listening to super loud hiphop, like not even using headphones, and straight up headbanging to it with sunglasses on. For forty five minutes. I tried to ignore him by turning my music up and looking out the window but I could see his reflection! Raaa!

I know I said I say things to people when they're being idiots but not when they are clearly on drugs and would probably just punch me in the neck. Ah the bus.

***UPDATE***

I may not have instagram but I hardly ever leave home without a camera. Unfortunately my bus came as I was shooting, and I was trying to make the pictures not just look like ... pictures of piles of garbage at the bus stop so I only got these two photos but still...you get the point.

Requisite calling the sponsors for March post. Sort of. Plus a huge catty bitchfest and gratuitous swearwords.

This photo is supposed to represent me being impatient or bored. I'm already losing steam on this sponsor thing. I'm just not that serious of a blogger and it's feeling like a huge boring obligation. How about this, if you are already over on my sidebar and you want me to change something let me know. If you're cool just staying there then don't say anything and I'll leave your button there and we can just continue the swap indefinitely.

If you want to do a sponsor trade thing and we haven't talked about it yet, shoot me an email and we'll work something out.

I've been falling out of love with the whole blog world gradually over the past year or so, which is why I've been trying new stuff like sponsors. I even almost did a giveaway, but couldn't bear to spend money on jerks I don't even know who won't even stick around unless I keep giving things away.

A few people have written recently about how most blogs these days are exactly the same, and I guess that's my problem with them too. Since when do you have to write outfit posts, DIYs with beautifully lit photoshopped photos and shopping lists featuring shitty flowery crap from Etsy?

I've been on a huge unfollowing spree. First it was the people who don't properly credit their photo sources, then it was people who only promote their shops full of things I'm not interested in, then the people I never felt any real connection with and were more like fashion magazines than people hulking over their laptops in sweatpants.

Now I'm starting to unfollow the people who are clogging up my feed with the same boring shit every day. I follow through bloglovin', and so I'm clicking on each individual blogger and seeing if they have written anything interesting or original in the past two weeks. If not, goodbye.

I just unfollowed a massively popular blogger because she bores me and I smiled. I also unfollowed somebody whose posts have become so depressing I was actually dreading seeing her name appear on my screen. Why on earth was I doing that to myself? I don't owe her anything. Goodbye.

Anyway whatever. My real life is interesting enough without learning how to make glitter bunting or paint my nails in some impractical and time-consuming fashion. And seriously guys, FOUR of you posted those zig zag nail tutorials in the same week. Get an original idea, won't you?

All this being said, I have to say that some people who do outfit posts, zig zag nail tutorials or talk about their shop are fucking killer awesome. Like Beca for example. Or Kaylah. Because they make it their own and put their personality into everything they do. Stop trying to be cool and just be yourself.

Things that make me hate people - two recent encounters.

Picture this: I'm on the city bus. Me and two other people are sharing the five person bench seat at the very back. I'm in the middle and there are comfortable spaces between the three of us.

The bus stops and I see about fifteen people get on. Instinctively I get up and move to the sideways-facing seat that is directly in front of where I had been sitting. A large man in hiking gear with a backpack instantly appears where I had been, placing his backpack between himself and the young girl by the window to his right.

People are still getting on the bus.

An obese man storms to the very back, and in a very aggressive tone, says to backpack guy "Could you move please?"

Backpack guy is also ridiculously aggressive. It's an instant showdown of what I can assume are men with very tiny penises. "I don't think so."

"There are five seats there, buddy."

"Yeah so pick one, asshole."

"I would like my fucking girlfriend to sit with me, so move over."

I had been staring at a library book this entire time, eavesdropping, but I had to get a look at these people. I glance up and yes, he is holding hands with an equally obese woman in pink sweat pants. The backpack guy makes a big deal of moving his bag to the floor in front of him and surprisingly slides over without another complaint.

The couple sits down, literally taking up three seats worth of room with their thighs, and squishing everybody in the row. I thank my bus guardian angel for warning me about them. I sure have cultivated some sharp bus instincts over the years.

But it's not over yet...they start talking. My iPod was in the bottom of my bag somewhere and there was no way for me to fish it out without dropping tampons or flinging change around or generally making a ruckus, so I just kept on pretending to read my book.

"So they just want to talk to us each seperately, but as long as we keep our story straight there's nothing they can do. Soon enough I'll be going home."

"Yeah."

"What did she say on the phone?"

"She said the kids are fine and the lawyers called again."

"I talked to the lawyer and he said I should be going home as soon as we talk to the social workers. Just make sure you tell them the right story. It's fucking crowded in here."

"I'm really hot."

"There's so many fucking people on this bus. Hey buddy. HEY BUDDY! HEY. Fuck. HEY BUDDY COULD YOU OPEN THAT WINDOW? IT'S FUCKING HOT IN HERE."

It was NOT hot in there, and it was like 2 degrees celcius outside. (Let me convert that into Fahrenheit for all my American buddies...um, 35 degrees!) I shivered and stared at my book nearly all the way home, hearing more and more about what I assume was some sort of child abuse charge. They finally got up to get out of the bus and the fat man stepped on backpack guy's foot.

"You fucking stepped on my foot," he said.

"Shut the fuck up," he replied. And then, turning to his girlfriend, "This is why I don't like taking the bus, the people are so rude."

---

Picture this: I'm tired and very grouchy and just had a frustrating day at work. I'm depressed because it's the grey season on the wet coast and while walking to the bus stop to go home I remembered that I had dropped some film off at the photo place like three weeks ago. It definitely should be ready by now! (They have to send it super far away to get it processed for some reason.)

I figured I could pick up my photos and then spend a few minutes looking at them before catching the bus. I was nearly half an hour early anyway. I changed trajectory and headed into the mall. The photo place was pretty empty, there was one employee and one old man looking at cameras.

The old man needed some help, and I allowed him to cut in front of me to talk to the employee who we will dub 'Johnny Eager' from now on.

Johnny came out from behind the cash register and explained the auto focus function on a standard pocket sized digital camera to the man. He took a couple example pictures of faces, and explained the macro settings. I stood there for maybe five minutes, my feet already getting sore (they hurt the worst when I'm standing still). I was patient. My bus wasn't coming for at least twenty five minutes anyway. I could wait.

They came up to the till. Johnny scanned the box that the camera came in. The old man asked about the memory card, and said he had one at home but wasn't sure it would fit into this new camera. Johnny assured him it would, but the old man thought maybe he should just go look at the selection of cards anyway. Johnny left the counter and went with him, not even acknowledging that I was there.

Two girls walked into the store and stood behind me, and we officially became a line-up. One had an accent and they were talking about how silly it is that the passport office didn't have its own photo-booth. They have a point.

The old man decided he was fine with the four gig memory card because "twelve hundred pictures is plenty", and they made their way back to the cash register. Johnny still did not acknowledge our presence.

The old man asked where the memory card went in the camera. Johnny put it in for him. The old man asked how to look at the pictures he had already taken. Johnny showed him. Another man lined up behind us. Johnny did not acknowledge us. My bus was coming in fifteen minutes.

I cleared my throat. The man at the back of the line asked if this was a line-up. We all said yes.

Johnny handed the old man a flyer advertising free digital camera lessons, and instructed the old man to try the camera for a few days and write down any questions he had, and come in for his free lesson. The old man said he would. He still hadn't paid but at least they were nearly finished.

Johnny asked the man his full name and address for the warranty. His postal code. His phone number. He didn't even look up at the growing line-up. He asked the man to sign something. He explained every single thing the warranty would and would not cover.

The old man paid with a bank card and finally made moves to go, saying 'thank you very much'. Johnny asked him if he wanted him to set the date and time on his camera. The old man said yes. The rest of us groaned.

Once the time and date was set, the old man took the camera back. I looked at the time. My bus was coming in ten minutes. Johnny said "Do you want me to put the strap on that camera for you?" The old man said yes and handed it to him. My feet really hurt. He put the camera strap on, struggling to get it through the tiny plastic 'D'. My bus was coming in eight minutes.

"Okay sir, we are all set. Here's your camera, and...oh, wait. Let me explain how you zoom in on something." He took the camera back.

"FORGET THIS" I shouted and stormed out.

...

The day isn't over yet. Because then I get on the bus. It's a double decker. I am up to my ears in frustration at this point because the one thing that was going to cheer me up has made me angry.

I take a seat upstairs, where there's only me and one other guy who is quietly reading a book. I decide to distract myself from my poison thoughts by making a playlist of happy songs like Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

At the next stop about fifty freaking people get on the bus. But it's fine. I'm locked in my own little world of Sweet Caroline and Mumford and Sons and that one Primus song that goes dun dun dundundundun.

But then somebody plays a slide whistle. Over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over.

And the rage builds up inside me with each whistle until I turn around ready to say "Can you please stop that?" in a calm yet intimidating voice. But when I turn, it's one of seven teenaged girls who look like mini crackwhores and I know that anything I say will be used against me and I'll just make it worse.

I try to ignore them but the whistle is so loud and why isn't anyone saying anything and why isn't the bus driver doing anything about this and I just want to punch that girl in the face and maybe I'm going to go on a killing spree.

Finally it's really too much, it's either scream for real or get away from the sound, so I get up and go downstairs. It was pretty full down there, but there was an open seat right in front of a couple drunk guys talking about really disgusting sex stuff. P.S. it was like two thirty in the afternoon on a Monday.

I turned up the volume on my music until their slurring words were just background noise and stared out the window, deciding I just might survive the day after all.

And then there it was. Slide whistling. Over and over and over and over. The crack whores had come downstairs to get off the bus. But at least they were getting out. It would be okay.

I smiled as they stepped out of the bus. But, as slide whistle sounds are apparently very catchy, one of the drunk men behind me began WHISTLING THE SLIDE WHISTLE SOUND. Over. And over. And over. And over.

And that's when I killed everybody. Just kidding. But my head literally* exploded.

---

True stories.

*Duh, I know what literally means, I was just trying to get you to imagine my head exploding in a bus, so save it grammar jerks.

I actually love Mondays because Mondays are my Fridays

Image via laughingsquiddotcom

worst day ever.

Yesterday was a bust. 

It was cold out when I left the house. Not like, "I'm gonna die" cold. More like "gosh my fingers hurt after thirty seconds outside of my sleeves" cold. 

I always compare the weather here with the weather in central Alberta, where I grew up. The temperature is never as extreme. But here's the thing I have to remember: when I lived in Alberta things were different. I had a completely different lifestyle. I never ever walked 2.3km to get anywhere. And here I do it twice a day between the bus stop and my house.I never waited outside for the bus either. I had a car. They plow the roads in Alberta. They don't here. People know how to do winter in Alberta. They don't here. 

-9 degrees Celsius is really tough here.

I should have just stayed home; called in 'snow day'. Instead, I psyched myself up (literally telling myself "You can do this."), put on layers upon layers of clothing, and went about my day as usual. I waited at the bus stop for 25 minutes out in the blustery cold, but hey, it's winter right? Suck it up, buttercup. It was fine.

I got to work...which was totally dead so I left after a few hours. Victoria is like a ghost town when it snows and yesterday was no exception. And it was really starting to come down out there.

The 12:00 bus was super late, and when it arrived at 12:35 around thirty people got on with me. The bus was completely full by the next stop. I'm talking double decker full, which hardly ever happens. It holds over a hundred and twenty people. 

And, long story short, my twenty minute bus ride took four hours. 

The traffic was so bad. 

SO BAD

I'm looking at various news reports right now, and they're saying stuff like "literally countless traffic accidents occurred" because "police stopped taking calls for minor fender benders", they barricaded a bunch of main streets for "snow related closures" throughout the city, and along my bus route "a dozen or more vehicles were involved in a chain reaction pile up".

It was such a mess. 

After a couple hours on the bus with a hundred people, you start to make friends. I was lucky, I got a seat upstairs. There were probably forty people packed like sardines in the stand-only area downstairs. ("Standees", the bus driver called them.) Some people had to pee. I was really hungry though. Some people had packed whole lunches and stuff. My seat neighbor was eating a roast beef sandwich so I didn't ask to share. But if it were veggie...maybe I would have.

I read about a hundred pages in my book, stared out the window, laughed along with others' jokes about a hundred car pile-up that wasn't even funny, texted people about where I was now, and played an entire game of Tetris on my phone. And we still weren't there! 

It really doesn't sound that bad on the outside but...have you ever taken a city bus for so long you've wondered what happens if it runs out of gas? Have you ever been in traffic that literally took half an hour to go two blocks? It was mentally exhausting. It's really hard to explain...I felt so trapped and there was nothing I could do because that was my only way home. And I really wanted to be at home.

Finally, after almost four hours we made it past...nothing. Just all of a sudden the traffic was normal. It was so weird. Ryan told me he read that it was the traffic lights in the city themselves, and the ultra slippery roads that was causing people to slide, not be able to get going for an entire traffic light's length of time, and then have to stop again right away. That, plus the mass exodus of people trying to get home early and all the little fender benders...ugh.

When we made it to my stop, I phoned Ryan right away and shouted into the phone "I'M FREE!" but then had to hang up in a hurry because it was FREEZING out and my hand was too cold to hold the phone. I walked home. The wind was so strong my hood wouldn't stay on my head and I had to hold my hat down too. I thought my chin was going to get frostbite, and for the first time in years I wished I had worn a scarf. 

When I burst into the door twenty minutes later I was so exhausted and hungry, and my hands were so cold that I couldn't unzip my boots. I literally sat on the floor and just started crying. 

Terrible stupid day. 

-----

Hey, my coffee's ready. And it's my day off. And all I have to do today is lay under blankets and watch movies with my cat. 

Things are lookin' up.

oh snow!

Oh yeah, it snowed last night. And I am not really excited. At all.

(view from my window this morning)

Somehow over the past few years I've turned into a real weather wimp. It's this damn temperate island climate that's softening me up! I guess it's the lax attitude everyone here has about shoveling their walks, combined with the terrible winter drivers and the  fact that after a little teensy weensy bit of snow like this, the power keeps flickering on and off helps me with my fear and hatred of the stuff.

(view from my other window)

A couple years ago, when I lived near the university and was a full time student, I was shocked to arrive at school after it had been snowing for a few days straight to find that all classes were canceled! (WTF) There was maybe a foot of snow on the ground, but half the roads in the city were closed and I suddenly found myself with something I had only ever heard of in Alberta (where it snows ten months of the year)... A SNOW DAY! It really seemed ridiculous.

Nobody salts or plows the roads when it snows here. I've been on a fishtailing bus before. It's as scary as it sounds. At least in a car you have a seat belt in case you roll.

Do I even have a pair of winter boots?

OH it looks very windy out. I need like...a scarf and mittens and a hat too. What the? Yesterday looked like this:

I'm not ready for real winter right now!

-----

Meh, at least it's pretty, right?

(view from my other other window)

Oh, the bus. I hate you so much.

After work it is near-dark out this time of year. I'm usually mentally tired from talking to strangers and keeping up a happy face for eight hours. (Not that I'm not normally happy, it's just the off-days where I have to pretend.)

I then walk the five blocks to the bus stop and wait.

The crazies are always there; they don't take a day off. There's the staring lady, the moon-the-bus guy, the yells-random-things guy and the ask-for-change crackhead, and sometimes a surprise guest.

Then there are the 'normals' who are also there, waiting for the bus; the think-you're-looking-at-him-when-you're-actually-looking-for-your-bus-number narcissist guy, the openly-evaluating-your-outfit lady, the loud Cantonese speakers, the talk-on-the-cell-phone-about-personal-things girl, the stands-too-close-to-you lady and the impatient bouncy dude.

And then there are those who fall somewhere in the middle.

Are they on drugs? Are they mentally ill? Are they just extremely socially inept? Who knows?

One of those was on my bus today. A real winner.

Oh yes, he was gangster to the max. You know how I could tell? He had baggy pants, a big hood on his jacket and he listened to the rap music. Also? He was shout-rapping along with his iPod.

You read correctly: shout-rapping. It was top-of-his-lungs shouting things like "YEAH" and "UNGH" and all kinds of swear words and really super cool rhymes that I tried hard to ignore. It was beyond obnoxious. It was extreme rapping, y'all!

I was reading and listening to music and could actually do neither because I was so distracted by all the shouting. And it's not like he didn't know he wasn't alone; it was a pretty full bus. And he was sitting in the very back.

"RAP RAP RAP SWEAR WORD SWEAR WORD RAPPING SOME MORE SO LOUD"

Finally someone did the ol' turn-around-and-glare passive aggressive move. Well, that was what he was waiting for the whole time! He jumped at the chance to challenge the guy to a fight.

"What? What? You wanna fight? Let's go, bitch. What'cha looking at bitch? Huh? Turn around. You got somethin' to say son?"

"Yeah, shut up."

He said it! He said what we were all thinking!

OUR HERO

Well rappy mcrapperson was incensed by this provocation and shouted back all kinds of swearwords and threats and was not deterred.

"You shut up. BITCH. Why don't you go back to listening to your music?"

Well, the bus hero was not afraid of this punk's bad attitude. I was though. I phoned Ryan so he could hear some of what was going on. And be a witness in case we were all killed by this ridiculous tough guy.

"I was trying to," said the bus hero coolly.

"What? What'd you say?"

"There are twenty of us up here and I guarantee they're all thinking the same thing that I'm saying."

"Fuck you, man."

Then another guy turned around. "Shut up"

And another. "Yeah."

And that was when I turned around because I just had to have a look at this p.i.m.p. who deemed riding the Victoria public transit gangster enough to grace it with his presence. And it wasn't scary anymore because everyone else was turning around too! 20 against 1!

"FUCK YOU BITCH." Ah shit, he was glaring right at me. I smiled and waved and turned back to my book.

He didn't stop rapping for four more stops, but now it was interspersed with various insults and curses directed at some of us as well,. And then he shouted and swore his way down the aisle. I met his eye as he went down the stairs and I didn't break eye contact; it felt as though I were trying to bring on an attack from a bulldog.

He was younger than I expected. He had a spiderweb tattoo on the back of his neck. And he was hiiiiiiiiigh as a kite. His eyes were glassier than the bus windows.

What a gangster loser.

I hope when he straightens out he remembers being on a bus, shouting at strangers. I won't forget what he looks like. I hope I see him again when he's not on drugs.

Even though he was gone the aggression made the last 20 minutes of the ride home tense and uncomfortable for me, and I assume everybody else who sat through that. It's unfair to everybody for one person to be so disruptive and threatening. I wish I could say this was the first time I've had a bus ride like this, but as a matter of fact I can think of four other very recent occasions where I felt threatened and/or disturbed by other passengers.

What ever happened to 'social grace' or 'consideration'?

If you can't say anything nice...(rant)

I got a package this week in the mail for my thirtieth birthday from my grandma on a day I was feeling kind of bad about myself. Which would have been a lovely surprise except I just turned twenty eight.

Also this week ... people were not nice.

Everything was "just a joke" or "the truth". I "laughed it off" like a champ, but after a few days they started to add up. According to neighbors, co-workers and friends I am:

chubby

weird looking

bad at dealing with people 

 

and I look like:

a lesbian with my new haircut

There were more that I can't recall at the moment. You guys.

Take it from me...these things are not funny. Digs are still digs, even if you say it in a joking tone. If you have to say "no offense" when you tell someone something, maybe reconsider saying it at all. Because...yes offense.

If you can't say anything nice, then just SHUT UP.

/end rant

be GONE spider corpses

What is it about my clothes that make spiders want to crawl around in them and die? I'd say on average I find one spider corpse per week in my clothing. Clean or dirty, in the closet, in the dresser or on the floor; it doesn't matter what I do. They sneak their way into my clothes and ... just die.
And what is killing them? The detergent we use? Should I be worried?

Or is our bedroom like some kind of elephant graveyard where the infirm and the elderly go on some kind of final quest to their ultimate demise?

I'd say the spiders are the second worst thing about living here, after having to take the bus because we are so far from downtown. There's all kinds of spiders and lots of them. House spiders, web makin' spiders, black widows (I haven't seen any of these yet). All the ones I've seen are big and hairy, and after Googling them I've learned that they all bite and they all have venom. Which is not cool. I'm honestly a little afraid to walk around our backyard for all the gigantic webs which look almost sturdy enough to catch me.

Today I washed the papa smurf costume we had stuffed in the toy room closet, because I'm considering wearing it on the 31st. If not I have a skeleton onesie that works just fine. Anyway I'm glad I decided to wash it because...yeah. Spider corpses as far as the eye could see.

WHY?

Any time I wake up in the middle of the night I do a mental survey, checking to make sure it doesn't feel like any spiders are on me. If my mouth tastes weird it's because spiders probably walked in it. I have to knock my shoes on the ground before putting them on to make sure there's nobody making a home in them. And I definitely have to shake out my t-shirts to get rid of the corpses.

Disgusting.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

Hey you.

Arachnid! Eight eyes. Spindle legs. Creepazoid. Yeah, you.



GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!

Wh..wait. Where do you think you're going?


Aw hell no. You can't fit in that crack...


Okay maybe you can.

Hey. HEY! I can still see you, you know.


Not cool.

Dear everyone who keeps asking...

I have 20 tattoos. Now shut up about it already.

the last day of the german, plus some whining!

One of the worst things I've found about getting tattooed on the back of your thigh is that for, oh, three days now, sitting down is a pain in the (almost) ass. Walking too. And don't even get me started on using the bathroom. (Hint: it's a real balancing act up in there lately.)

And the clothing sticking was out of control for a while too. If you've ever gotten a fair-sized tattoo, I'd say anything with solid coloring that's palm-sized or larger, you'll be able to relate. For those who haven't, I'll explain.
As your body heals, your giant fresh wound secretes a bunch of plasma (white blood cells). And it's all ... moist ... for a day or two. Also? It's healing and trying to form scabs and new skin. And during this phase, if you, say, wear pants...they'll kind of partially heal into your body.

Okay, not really. I'm being overly dramatic, but they stick to the drying plasma.

And then you have to peel your clothing off of your very sore new tattoo.

Thursday, the day after I was tattooed with something fairly large, I wore a nice breezy skirt for maximum airflow and the minimal touching of my leg that it does. It was awesome until I sat down on the bus. I tried to casually skooch my butt forward on the seat so none of my thigh touched...anything, but being that I have such short legs, it kind of left me so hunkered down in my seat that my neck was bent at a right angle and my back curved in a big C.

So I thought "Hey, just sit kind of normally, and cross the sore leg over the other leg. It's cool."

Yeah, all good until my stop came up half an hour later and I stood up and my skirt was fused into my leg.

Every time something like that happens I panic for a moment. What if my skirt is stuck there forever? What if I pull it off and my tattoo comes off with it? I hope nobody can tell what's going on here, because it's really gross.

I peeled it off (painfully) and limped my way off the bus and to work.

Multiple stick and peels later, I noticed my skirt was feeling kind of stiff.

I'll let that sink in for a moment.


...


My skirt was feeling stiff. From my leg goo getting on it and drying.

I felt like slimer from the Ghostbusters.

Anyway, I actually started writing this post to complain about something completely different, something about going to The Reef for dinner with all the tat bros and our friend Becca finding a mothereffing BOLT in her salad*, but then I sat down and my stupid leg hurt a bunch. So this is what you got instead.


*Yeah, a gigantic olde tyme bolt that looked like it was from the industrial revolution era. Check it out. Later, the chef came by and Cody jokingly told him there was a reciprocating saw in his hot sauce. I laughed for hours. Still laughing in fact.

Needless to say, after the terrible service we got, all the attitude I got in booking the reservation for twelve people, all the attitude when we arrived (because we were fifteen minutes early?), the super slow service, the gross drinks, the flat beer, the 'free shooters' we got after the bolt incident that were really just juice I swear, the lack of apology from anyone except our really nice poor server, and the gratuity still included in the bill and all of us still paying full price, none of us are ever going back there.

That's The Reef, a Jamaican restaurant on Yates street, Victoria B.C.

Other than that though, we had a really interesting day yesterday.

First Roberto was tattooed by Gerry.
Then Gerry was tattooed by Roberto.
Then Sarah was tattooed by Roberto.
Then Becca was tattooed by Roberto.
Then Savannah was tattooed by Cody.
Then Colin was tattooed by Gerry.

Then we went for food and got 'screwed'. Get it?


Then...get this...karaoke.

In the weirdest place ever. Pics to come. I did not sing. Here's a few I stole from Sarah for now. Also, the photo above is stolen from her.


p.s. you don't see those alcohol containers. There's NO BOOZE allowed in there. The sign on the door said no, but the way they gave us a locking room for an hour in the back with no supervision on a Saturday night said yes.

The good, the bad, and the...

Good: Sunday mornings I get to sleep in an extra hour.

Great: Yesterday I got to wake up to Ryan in the house, and the coffee was already made.

Greatest: We watched an hour of The (American Version of the) Office, thus making our morning ultra silly.

Acceptable: Then he had to leave to collect his children from another city.

Tolerable: I left soon after he left, and was right on time.

Excellent: The weather changed and I was able to wear my new hoodie without any heat strokes at all.

Fine: I got to the bus stop on time, with minimal sweating. Still in the hoodie.

Ominous: There were many people waiting at the bus stop.

Peculiar: They were all talking to each other.

Upsetting: There was a sign posted over top of the bus schedule saying that our stop was closed.

Relieving: The sign said it was closed from 7am to 9am and it was at least 9:30 when I arrived.

Bad: A guy told me he had been waiting since 9am and there was no bus.

Confusing: The sign also said to catch the bus "after VMP" and nobody knew what that was.

Inconsequential: I decided to phone the Transit Help Line for information.

Dissatisfactory: For some reason my phone got no reception.

Inspired: I tried going on their website via my iPod.

Inadequate: Their website is NOT iPod friendly and I found no information.

Defeated: I texted a guy I work with that "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S UP WITH THE F**KING BUS BUT I MIGHT BE REALLY LATE"

Frustrating: I stood there with like ten other people for like ten other minutes wondering when the bus will come.

Enlightened: It hit me. VMP stands for Veteran's Memorial Parkway. A street. Like five bus stops away.

Exclusionary: I tell one girl beside me where the stop is and start walking, totally ditching everyone else. They were fine though, an octogenarian with a walker was informing them of what to do, as she had been waiting at the next stop down the road for 'quite a spell' before realizing what the sign said.

Unfortunate: I had to take off my hoodie because the sun came out.

Uninteresting: We all had to walk together in a gang of self-righteous bus-pilgrims. People were sharing their worst-bus-experience stories. I stood to the side, not in the mood for talking.

Lame: With all the waiting and walking we missed the last two busses and I made it to work five minutes late. LATE! I'm hardly ever late.

Poor signage: reason number 482 that I hate public transit.

Hey MTV

Hey MTV you bunch of assholes, what kind of a sham was that fucking twitter contest anyway?

Okay, let me start that again, this time with less swearing.

LiLu, or @LivitLuvit on Twitter...she deserved to be the MTV twitter jockey. She had the most votes on the twitter thang and the facebook thang, and she's a social media pro.

Did you hear that, everybody? She had the most votes.

Twice.

And she didn't even make it into the top five.

Can you say rigged contest?

So MTV, I'd like to say fuck you very much. And if you had something on your channel that wasn't total garbage, I would boycott it, but since it's all crap anyway, no skin off my back.

You fucking suck. From,

Pretty much everybody on the internet. In the world. Especially those of us who have participated in and/or fell in love with TMI Thursdays for years. (It's a lot of people, y'all.)

Peace.

p.s.

I hate you.