Assumptions of Appendage Action

So the other day I am leaving my office. And I get on the bus to go home. And it's one of those smaller busses. My route typically has some of that big ass reticulated double bus action during commuter hours.

But not on this day.

So now bunches-o-people are trying to cram themselves in a bus half the size of what is typical for this particular time and day and place and space and so on and so forth. So we did what anyone trying to get their asses home would do. Shoe horn ourselves in and hold on and hope for the best.

And I'm standing because we now live in a world where men no longer offer their seats to women because we are all "equal" and shit even though we still only make $0.74 on the dollar compared to the average male wage.

But I'm not bitter or anything.

So I'm standing. And I'm fine with this because I have some serious bus surfing skills. We're stuffed into this bus like a can of sardines. Well, I assume we're like a can of sardines. I can't really say, because it's been a long time since I've been in the vicinity of a can of sardines, but I imagine that a can of sardines can't have changed all that much since the last time I saw one. And I don't really remember when I last saw a can of sardines. And I guess it doesn't really matter, because now I'm totally off topic. And this is a perfect example of the tangential nature of my communication and why it is necessary for you to direct the path on occasion.

So what I'm saying is that there is just no way not to be close to other people on the bus in these circumstances. You're all packed together in some sort of bus goo and that's just the way it is. There are things you just have to accept and deal with in these situations. You pretty much expect to get bumped and knocked and such. So I'm standing and I'm thinking. I'm thinking about how I need to clean my bathroom. And I'm humming this little tune that's been running through my head as of late. And life is good.

And then it happens. I'm just standing and thinking about Dow Scrubbing Bubbles and humming in my head and it happens. I feel something.

And at first I didn't pay much attention.

And then I feel it again. I tried to pretend I was imagining things. But I couldn't. This time it was unmistakable.

Someone touched my butt.

And in case my words seem vague, let me clarify this for everyone. SOMEONE on the bus TOUCHED MY BUTT. And if that wasn't bad enough, I think, although I cannot be certain, that someone on the bus touched my butt with a part of their anatomy that was quite possibly NOT their hand.

Eww. Let me just say that again. Eww.

And the worst part of this whole situation was the fact that I had no idea who did it. You might be wondering how it is possible not to know who just TOUCHED YOUR BUTT with a non-hand appendage, but I didn't know. I didn't have a clue. And the prospects were not looking good.

Now let me say that it wouldn't have mattered who was touching my butt, assuming all strangers are created equal. For a stranger touching my butt in a public place with a non-hand appendage, or any appendage for that matter, is just too creepy for me. I have my own set of kinks which I will not discuss here and now because that would be so off topic that I don't think I could find my way back. And I would guess that I have just as many kinks and such as the next grrrl, but I'm really not down with the unsolicited stranger non-hand appendage butt touching on the bus thing.

And if you are down with the unsolicited stranger non-hand appendage butt touching on the bus thing, that's great. I'm not being judgmental. It's just not for me. My biscuit does not get buttered by the unsolicited stranger non-hand appendage butt touching on the bus thing.

Now I realize that my butt tends to be out there in the world taking up space more than most and therefore, it sometimes get in the way. I understand this. Really, I do. But this does not mean that I WANT YOU TO TOUCH IT! Good grief, I mean if you want to touch my butt, you could at least have the decency to ask.

"Excuse me Miss, may I please touch your butt?"

I might spit in your eye, but at least I would have respect for you for having the decency to ask. I'm a sucker for folks who are polite. Oh yeah. Polite is sexy. Unsolicited stranger non-hand appendage butt touching on the bus without even having the decency to ask first is not so much sexy.

So let me just say as an aside that If any of you currently reading this have an overwhelming desire to touch my butt, with or without a non-hand appendage, I promise not to spit in your eye if you ask me first. I might kick you, but I will not spit in your eye.

Direct Line to the Lord

So you should all know by now. Strange things happen to me. Let me provide yet another example in the never ending list of strange encounters that I experience in life. Last Saturday night I was standing on the corner of First and Pine. Perhaps it was Pike. I never can seem to remember if it is Pike or Pine. Pine or Pike. I suppose it doesn't really matter, because no one else can ever seem to distinguish the two either. I do know that Pine is north of Pike. Northern pine. Get it. Aren't I clever. Nevertheless, this still does not help me determine where the hell I am at any given moment in the Pike Pine vicinity.

But I digress.

So I'm standing on the corner of First and Pike or Pine or Pike and I'm waiting for the bus to go home after a thoroughly entertaining evening with thoroughly entertaining friends. It's like that. This bus waiting thing. Waiting. And I'm minding my own business. And then it happens.

Someone attempts to speak to me.

And in case you were wondering, this is exactly what I want to happen at one o'clock in the freakin' morning while I am waiting for the bus. I want to speak to strangers at this hour. That makes me feel special. It makes me feel like I am loved and wanted. It makes me think that perhaps a good friend of mine has a point when he talks about wanting to purchase a taser. Okay not so much, but you get the idea. So this guy approaches me and begins to speak to me in Spanish. I know a little bit of spanish. Un poco. Enough to know that I don't know what the hell he is talking about. And I am able to explain to him in Spanish that I don't really speak Spanish and I don't have a clue.

I'm thinking about this and I'm realizing that it probably would have been much more convincing to tell him in English that I don't really speak Spanish. There's that hindsight thing again. Always creeping up on you when you least expect it.

Where was I. Oh yes. Yes. Now I remember.

So this guy who decides he must talk to me at one o'clock in the freakin' morning asks me if I am Mexican. In case any of you were wondering, I am not Mexican. This isn't the first time that someone has asked me if I am Mexican. However, it might be the first time that someone has asked me if I am Mexican at one o'clock in the morning while I am waiting for the bus in downtown Seattle.

Are you noticing a bit of a theme here folks. Good. You're smarter than I thought. Well, some of you are. I hope the rest of you are at the very least damn cute. You've got to work what you've got to work with. But this is not the point.

So I'm feeling like this is the typical one o'clock in the morning waiting for the bus pick up line. Because let's face it, what womyn doesn't want to be hit on at one o'clock in the morning while waiting for the bus in downtown Seattle. But I was wrong. This gentleman wasn't merely trying to hit on me. However I was not aware of this at this particular point and time in the story.

And I'm getting ahead of myself. So let me just continue on with the story. When we last left our hero, she was waiting for the bus at one o'clock in the morning and she was about to hear the line. You know the one. That question that men ask. And it is usually not a good sign. Because no one that I might want to ask ever does ask. Unless of course they are being amusing and sarcastic because they have already heard the story that I am about to relay. And then it's kind of cute. But that doesn't really count. That isn't the kind of "bad sign questioning" I am referring to. No, not at all. And you will see exactly what I mean in a moment. Patience my dear friends, patience.

So back to my story. Here we go. Then he asks the question. Oh you know what question I'm talking about. Yep. He asked it.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Now I've got to give the guy credit for being so bold at one o'clock in the morning while waiting for the bus in downtown Seattle, but how am I really supposed to answer this question. I've never been one of those womyn that lie to men about these things. I've never given a fake phone number. I don't let men I don't know buy me drinks so that I can either a.) feel good about myself, or b.) drink for free. That shit just isn't me folks, but most of you already know this about me. However, if you are a man I do know and you would like to buy me a drink, by all means, bring it. As long as it's not a forty of PBR. Nevertheless, what I am saying I suppose, is that I am not one of those grrrls. I'm fairly blunt, but not to the point of hurting people's feelings. I don't usually bullshit people. Unless it's work related. But that doesn't really count.

Okay, as a side note, I'm actually a big freakin' sap. The truth is out. Fine. Are you happy now. Well are you. Wait. What was I talking about again. Oh yeah, I remember. Nevermind.

So he asks the question and something tells me to lie. And it isn't the screaming fluorescent LIE sign blinking in front of me. No, it was something else. So I tell him that I do in fact have a boyfriend. I have lots of friends that are boys so I can easily justify this lie. And I'm trying quickly to think of a name of one of you just in case he asks. Do you see, this is the problem with lying in the first place.

And then I realize why I lied.

Dude tells me that he has seen god. Three times. In downtown Seattle no less. That's right. The man has the red hotline phone to the lord and he decided he was going to tell me all about it.

And when I say all about it, I mean ALL about it. Suddenly this man was my new best friend and he decided he would spend the next five or so minutes until the bus arrived describing in full and complete detail, his conversations with the lord. But that's not all folks. I was fortunate enough to ride the bus with this particular gentleman all the way freakin' home. Therefore, if there was any part of his story I missed on the first telling, I would most certainly receive clarification. As well as any additional significant details that he may have forgotten the firs fifty times I got to hear about him meeting the lord.

So for those of you who aren't hip, I thought I would provide you with some information. Here are some things you should know about the lord:

-- The lord has purple eyes. That's right, purple. According to my new pal (I will refrain from using the name he provided to me) god has beautiful purple eyes.

-- God is a pretty big dude. I sort of expected as much. I mean I wouldn't really expect god to be a short guy. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm short myself and I tend to have a preference for shorter people. But god ain't short.

-- The lord don't like evil. Okay, you probably already knew this. But maybe what you didn't know is the fact that there is a lot of evil out there. People with money are basically evil. I can't say that I entirely disagree with my new pal on this point.

-- God wears some sort of cream colored outfit and there are some sort of flowers either real or embroidered on his calves. This is a bit more obscure because at this point my pal was speaking in English and Spanish and I couldn't follow a great deal of this description. Maybe he was trying to tell me that god has some sort of flower tattoos on his calves. That would be pretty sweet.

-- The lord got strength. My pal told me that god hugged him and his entire body shook violently because god is a strong man. I suppose this isn't exactly surprising either. I mean it would be a problem if god was kind of a wimp and other folks could kick his ass. You don't get to be god having your ass kicked.

-- God can introduce you to Jesus. Again, probably not surprising. I mean after all Jesus is the son of god so it seems to make sense that such an introduction would be possible. Most parents like to introduce people to their kids. Unless you've got some bad ass anti-christ meth smoking kids. Then maybe not so much. But I'd be willing to bet that most parents can't introduce you to their kid in some ring of smoke like god can. Then again, most parents aren't god.

-- The lord can make some shit happen. If you have seen god and spoken to god and god tells you that you are a good person, then god will probably make some shit happen for you. For example, if you've got some bad stuff in life, god might be willing to give you an extra nod or two. That seems to make sense.

So I basically spoke with my new pal all the way home. And when I say all the way home, I mean all the freakin' way home. As this guy lives in my 'hood, chances are good that I will run into him again. Maybe if I run into him again at one o'clock in the morning, on the corner of First and Pike or Pine or Pike or Pine, he will have more information to provide to me about the lord which I can then relay to you.