Some people just shouldn't open their mouths

So, I know I rant often, maybe too frequently. However, this time, I'd like to take the time to rant in someone else's defense rather than in my own. Wednesday night, same old, same old. Leave work 3:30pm. Walk to the bus. 3:46pm and the bus is off, headed toward Central. Normal bus stuff. I'm the only one on the bus, then their are two, then ten, there are a few seats left, and then standing room only. Today, the bus was no more crowded than it ever was, even though I myself was getting a little hot and uncomfortable sitting next to strangers, but really, who am I to care that much? I'll get on with it somehow under the protection of my book. Ha, there. Satisfied.

The next stop, like, two people get off, but four more get on. So what? And then, from behind my, she starts in.
"Oh my God, who does she think she is getting on this bus?"

I look up from my lovely poetry to juxtapose myself with the cretins of the real world in order to see what in hell is so provocative. An old woman in a wheel chair was getting on the bus. The bus driver gets three people to move in order to fold up the row in order for the woman to fit her wheelchair. Standing room had just become sardine room. Just for the record, I would have been happy to stand if I were in that row. Again, from behind me...
"Who does she think she is getting on a crowded bus and inconveniencing the rest of us? What nerve she has. Crazy. And knowing her kind and what type of person she is I bet she's a rich kook."

Now, it must be said that the old woman had not inconvenienced the lady behind me at all. She had a seat. What more does she want? And 'knowing her kind?' What in God's name? A few blocks of this and I was literally banging my head against the Plexiglas while my blood pressure what trying to get me all hot so that I would turn around and give her a piece of my mind. I refused. I'm not getting kicked off my only mode of transportation. The old woman gets off the bus, nicely cautioning the people to watch their toes.
"I bet she's rich. She looks like she could afford a taxi, I mean come on, there are services for people like her. For a couple of dollars she could have called a special bus. I wish their were more special busses for those types of people. If you can't afford it fine, but yeesh."

It also must be said that the old woman didn't look rich at all, in fact, fairly normal. There was nothing to lead one to believe that she had any more money than the rest of us. What a moron. At this point I was toying with the idea of telling her how much I wished there was a bus for the type of person she was but my stop was coming up and there are only so many ways to get to class.

It wouldn't have bothered me so much if she had said one snooty thing and moved on, but it was on and on and on. She wouldn't shut up. It was like she was obsessed. I was pissed but you didn't see me tapping the person next to me on the shoulder and starting in "do you believe the nerve of this woman, getting on a bus, talking the way she is, and while I'm trying to read no less. A real kook." Yeah no.

And just for the record...there are no special busses. The regular city bus is more than equipped for wheelchair access.

Can't we all just get along like the Little People???

Jo is a fantastic plumber...I challenge you not to buy a toilet.

http://www.josplumbing.com/


Okay, this has got to be one of the most useful sites for selling anything. You could sell men their souls back on a plate of rubber duckies the way this woman is selling toilets. My fascination stayed on getting to flush whatever I wanted down the toilet...but volleyed between that and Jo's hilarious sexually provocative comments. Yes, society has made it possible for toilets to be the subject of sexuality. After all, it is the toilet who never fails to touch our asses every time we greet it.

The Perfect Taco

Last night I spend a relaxing, dreary night with my bored yet far from boring companion. After my imagination had its way with a couple of pumpkins and a knife, I spent my time on the edge of my couch cushion reading about love and perfume and beets while Chris was flipping through channels like the hopeful flip from refrigerator to freezer and back again hoping something better had mysteriously appeared. No good horror flicks and very few trick-or-treaters. My attention became split between my book and a combination of myth-busters and extreme pumpkin growing. However, the night became highly ordered after I had unintentionally insulted some appropriately aged kids who had come to the door who were self conscious about saying "trick-or-treat." As a result, Chris took candy duty, while I took scary dog duty. It worked beautifully for the hand full of groups that showed up at the door. Later, when we were certain no one else was coming and we were stuck with a bunch of candy and a bunch of lame-ass television, focus began to flux away from staying awake. Try as we might to stay up long enough to fully enjoy each other's bodily pleasures, the eye lids won out, but the familiarity of the person next to me stayed with me through my sleep. What a way to live, I thought. The night had been unimposing and uneventful, but left with me a residue of something I have rarely felt. Content, happy, life was simple, and one of my favorites to this date. Not just with Chris, but with anyone. I can't tell you how much joy he brings to my life. It takes a special kind to be able to make you feel warm inside on such a cold and windy night and make Taco Bueno feel like the Taj Mahal.