About a bus

Today as I stood waiting for the bus, I had an idea for a blog. You see, the bus and I have a magical off-and-on relationship. Today it was off. So, so off.

Until I moved to Philadelphia, the idea of riding a public transportation bus worried me greatly. I was okay with the underground, but the bus just seemed so poor. I know, this is not an okay thing to think. I know.

I have no car in Philadelphia. Taxis aren't ridiculously expensive, but they add up. Oh, and I live in the ghetto. I mean, it only takes thirty minutes to get to Center City (and thus to work), but it's so much easier just to hop on the bus. Walk up to Grey's Ferry, hitch a bus, and see what happens.

I will say that I have come to love my fellow bus passengers. This morning, two ladies spied the bus and shouted at somebody walking up that they needed to hurry so they would make it. Us bus cronies, we look out for one another. I mean, yeah, sometimes there's a creepy man with his nose gushing boogers into his beard that decides to stare at me. That's no good. But most of the time, the people are pleasant.

When I had an idea for a blog today at the bus stop, this is what I was thinking of writing about. The bond we all share when we ride the bus. But then the bus didn't come. I was cut loose from work at 2 p.m. and waited at the bus stop until 3:05. I waited and waited and waited. My fellow 12-ers stood around looking down the street anxiously as the 21 passed for the seventh time. We hoped and we talked and we laughed ironically about how much we hated Septa in the snow.

But a whole hour passed.

My toes were frozen. Frozen. Waiting for the bus for an hour is fine, unless it's 29 degrees outside. I could have walked home and back in the time that I was waiting for the bus. But I refused to budge. It was a matter of will-power. I knew that the Septa gods would throw a bus at my stop as soon as I had decided to walk home and I wasn't going to risk it. I knew a cab would be expensive. I knew I needed to wait.

I didn't wait.

After an hour at the bus stop, I hailed a cab. I bade my newfound friends goodbye and good luck and hopped into that little yellow car. The only thing I really regretted was leaving my comrades behind. They soldiered on. They waited longer. I gave in to the cold and paid 5 times as much money to get home as I would have on the 12. And dammit, I'm not happy about it.

So here is the real purpose of my blog. It's a big effffff yoooooou to Septa. I checked your website, the bus was supposed to come THREE TIMES in the hour that I was waiting. And your website reported delays for the 35 only, not for my route on the 12. And the lady with me, my faithful companion, she even tried calling you but it was not successful. When we plaintively asked the other bus drivers for the other routes if they knew anything about the 12, they just closed their bus doors and drove off. You hurt my heart. It was injured bad.

But I will keep using you, like any unhappy but convenient relationship. And there's a chance that you'll keep taking advantage of me, like any big fat jerk. Shape up, Septa. Please?

Cultural differences

Krystina and I are discussing the same style shoes in different manners.

"You know what I think SJ would like? Brian was wearing them..." Krystina
"I know, I love them!" I said. "Chukka boots."
"Wallabees..." Krystina said.

As it turns out, they're essentially the same thing, but with different names and by different brands.

We've decided that maybe this is just a locational thing. For example, the different name of Girl Scout cookies in different places. (Who in the frick calls a Tagalong a Peanut Butter Patty?!)

I wish people actually read this blog so they could vote on the issue.

p.s.-They're frickin chukka boots.

Charlie work

It's a blizzard outside. A real, live blizzard. I don't know that I've ever seen snow like this, but if I have, it was in 1996 -- 13 years ago. Cheese and rice, man, this is pretty crazy. This will not, however, stop Krystina and I from working tonight. I am guessing that once the sun dips below the horizon and the snow keeps going, however, it will be super slow.

This said, I'm hoping there could be some sweet Charlie work to do. I really love Charlie work. The other day as I sat waiting for Krystina, Brian asked her if he could give me Charlie work.

"Moira really likes Charlie work," Krystina replied. "No, really, she does."

And I do.

My Charlie work that night consisted of unpacking some sweet new stainless steel pots and pans.

Here's why Charlie work attracts me.

1) I got to use a sharp knife!
2) I got to throw boxes with reckless abandon into the hallway where the dishwashers were not happy with me.
3) I got to peel fun stickers off the pots and pans. Stickers are fun.
4) The pots were so shiny and pretty!

Now you might say, considering the way that all of those pleasures were quite simple, that I am a simple person. And here I must admit that I am. But I don't think I'm unintelligent. I think it's okay to be simple and to like Charlie work (I can write in things other than pictures, so I think I have one thing that Charlie doesn't).

My life in (not quite) shambles

I realize the heading to this post might be a little misleading. My life is not in shambles. But it is in strange little bits and pieces.

Today as I pulled out my handy-dandy-green-notebook (I love that damn thing so much), I looked through it to see what it contains up to date. The contents are so varied... and sometimes kinda kooky.

Here's what's been going on in my book for the past few months:

1) A bit of a story I started writing 2 years ago.
2) Some vowels in Farsi (I wanted to learn)
3) Some pictures of spells from the Harry Potter app so I'd be a better dueler (this is sadly not a joke)
4) A grocery list from when I made my parents dinner
5) A chocolate chip cookie recipe
6) Notes from my "How to Secure a Federal Job in 10 Steps" seminar
7) More of that same story.
8) A different story, completely unrelated, that'll never be published save my "Booked Solid" blog
9) A cost of living worksheet for San Diego (I chose Philly)
10) A list of things I wanted Krystina to order for me from the China food restaurant
11) The menu at Aqua Terra
12) Story map for a new story
13) More Farsi
14) Interview information for the Please Touch Museum (I didn't get the job)
15) Beginning of my new story
16) Menu descriptions for salads at Marathon on the Sq. (I did get the job, thanks Krystina!)
17) Train times to NYC to see Gregs and Emily
18) A record of ponytail Jason getting more action than Chef Brian with the words "BURN!" written below it
19) My most recent addition... my schedule for the holiday season.

Do any of these things go together? Basically, no. I am a madwoman, perhaps. Or at least just not quite sane.