I am finding that I have been meeting a lot of negative people lately. Where do they come from anyway? I used to think it was the abundance of rain in Seattle, but we haven't had much rain as of late. It must be something else. Maybe it's me, because it is, afterall, ALL about ME isn't it?
Seriously though, what is up with the negativity? This is not a rhetorical question people. Now this is not to imply that my middle name is Pollyanna. It isn't. I am quite skilled at complaining about this or that or the other thing. I am also prone to exaggeration, but that is merely for my own amusement. It seems that everyone I have been meeting as of late is not only always complaining, but they are downright miserable "oh woe is me-ing" all over the shitdamnmotherfucking place.
I mean really, just because I don't have any other color in my wardrobe except black, doesn't mean I'm a negative person. I'm not. Quite the contrary. I'm perky. I'm fun. I'm pretty damn cool if I do say so myself. I am also empathetic, but a grrl has got to draw the line at some point. This constant negativity shit is not attractive.
The bizarre thing is that some of these miserable fucks don't really seem to have that much to be miserable about. The one person who has gone through utter hell for the past few years, who SHOULD be fucking miserable, isn't. In fact, she's pretty damn positive under the circumstances. However these other folks, geesh! At least try to fake some happiness people.
Why are people so miserable? Now you know I love you all in Seattle, but I have never met a larger group of miserable and pretentious folks. I'll save further comment about the pretentiousness of Seattle for another post, before Seattelites hunt me down and whip me with some wheatgrass or pho noodles. I'm sure you will all tell me to stop whining, bitch slap a few of these people, and get over it myself. Well before you can even type out the "b" in bitch slap, I assure you, the point has already been noted.
So you all know who you are. I am not your psychotherapist. If you wish me to be, please be advised that my fee is $85/hour, and I require a non-refundable minimum retainer. This is tough love baby.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
Exhibitionist Exhibit Eschews Excitement
Today I was riding the bus. Route 18 to be exact. I was just minding my own business. When it happened. Again.
I must be a lucky person, because this is not the first time I have had the pleasure of witnessing a detailed unveiling of the male anatomy in a public place. Just in case there might be any confusion regarding the above statement, I am being sarcastic. I could go into great detail as to why I don't particularly want to view the typically covered nether regions of the male anatomy on the bus, but for the sake of brevity, which I do not normally possess an ounce of, I will focus on one, and only one reason as to why I find this...problematic.
But first, let me tell you what I witnessed.
So I'm sitting at the front of the bus. I am sitting in one of two rows of seats that face each other. As I said, I am minding my own business. A man enters the bus and takes the seat opposite mine. He is wearing a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood up covering his head and part of his face, sunglasses, and very short nylon running shorts. I take note of the glowing white legs and proceed to look out the window across from me.
I feel as if someone is staring at me, so I look up. Then, I see it.
Yes. It.
It is no longer enclosed in the aforementioned running shorts. It is now out, on the seat of the bus. So I did the only thing I could do.
I laughed. Loud. People looked in my direction.
I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't, but I found it amusing. Apparently this wasn't the reaction running short man wanted, because he stood up and moved closer to the front of the bus.
Now, let's get to the point. The reason that I laughed. While I certainly do not appreciate being flashed on the bus...isn't it bad enough I am on the bus to begin with people...but if you are going to be an exhibitionist, I feel strongly that you should, at the very least, have something worth exhibiting. Running short man did not.
Did I mention it appeared to be er, fully extended? Maybe I'm wrong about that. At least I hope I am, for his sake.
So here is my tip for the day. Don't expose yourself on the bus. This should be a given, but obviously it isn't. However, if you feel the need to get your exhibitionist fix while riding Metro, please take my words of wisdom to heart. Simply put, if you're going to take it out, be sure it's something to brag about.
I must be a lucky person, because this is not the first time I have had the pleasure of witnessing a detailed unveiling of the male anatomy in a public place. Just in case there might be any confusion regarding the above statement, I am being sarcastic. I could go into great detail as to why I don't particularly want to view the typically covered nether regions of the male anatomy on the bus, but for the sake of brevity, which I do not normally possess an ounce of, I will focus on one, and only one reason as to why I find this...problematic.
But first, let me tell you what I witnessed.
So I'm sitting at the front of the bus. I am sitting in one of two rows of seats that face each other. As I said, I am minding my own business. A man enters the bus and takes the seat opposite mine. He is wearing a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood up covering his head and part of his face, sunglasses, and very short nylon running shorts. I take note of the glowing white legs and proceed to look out the window across from me.
I feel as if someone is staring at me, so I look up. Then, I see it.
Yes. It.
It is no longer enclosed in the aforementioned running shorts. It is now out, on the seat of the bus. So I did the only thing I could do.
I laughed. Loud. People looked in my direction.
I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't, but I found it amusing. Apparently this wasn't the reaction running short man wanted, because he stood up and moved closer to the front of the bus.
Now, let's get to the point. The reason that I laughed. While I certainly do not appreciate being flashed on the bus...isn't it bad enough I am on the bus to begin with people...but if you are going to be an exhibitionist, I feel strongly that you should, at the very least, have something worth exhibiting. Running short man did not.
Did I mention it appeared to be er, fully extended? Maybe I'm wrong about that. At least I hope I am, for his sake.
So here is my tip for the day. Don't expose yourself on the bus. This should be a given, but obviously it isn't. However, if you feel the need to get your exhibitionist fix while riding Metro, please take my words of wisdom to heart. Simply put, if you're going to take it out, be sure it's something to brag about.
Friday, February 11, 2005
The State of this Disillusioned Union
So can I just rant and ramble for a moment. Notice, although this appears to be a question, I have not added the proper question punctuation. This is not an oversight. Since this forum is under my soul control, I really don't need to ask permission to rant, do I. Again, note the punctuation. So let us begin. And of course by "us" I really mean me. However, as always, feel free to comment. I would enjoy a comment. However, be prepared for me to flip you shit if you are going to dish it out.
Where was I? Notice this is a proper question. Pardon the tangential nature of my meanderings, but I am, after all, a Gemini. Ah yes, ranting. Now given the state of the universe, the world, this country, state and city, my neighborhood and so on, and so forth, there is certainly a significant amount of material about which I could rant. For example, I could vent my anger at the disproportionate number of persons of color arrested, convicted, incarcerated and executed in this country, on a daily basis. The ways in which our government continues, as it always has, to spread misleading propaganda, creating a nation of fear and distrust, rather than attempting to rebuild communities that have become so fragmented due to said fear and distrust. The fact that there are human beings, in our cities, municipalities and townships, that are living in conditions identical to those in third world countries.
I could wax poetically and express my rage regarding any one of these matters, or any one of a multitude of other equally frustrating scenarios. And perhaps in a future post I will do just that. But this post is not about any of this. This post is not about the inequities, inequalities, brutalities, or apathies that exist in our time, or any other time for that matter.
I don't want you to have to think about these atrocities. I imagine you have had a long day. Perhaps a long week. And you're tired. You just want to put your feet up and turn on the television. You're tired of hearing about young men and women dying in places you can't pronounce, let alone attempt to spell accurately. You've heard far too much about the plight of the homeless. After all, you bought a copy of Real Change today, didn't you? It's okay that you don't have the energy to read it right now. And last week you dropped all of the change from your pocket into a cup on First and Jackson. Understandably, taking extreme care not to actually touch the cup, or the hand of the...was it a man or a woman? Rule number forty-two, don't make eye contact with the homeless.
I don't need to talk with you about these things, because after all, you are a card carrying member of the ACLU. You know all about racism, sexism, classism, homophobia. You know all about your rights and my rights, and his rights over there. You know, that guy standing at the far end of the street. You're a leftie, a liberal, progressive, a communist. You know all about this. You have read the Marx-Engels Reader. You have read James Baldwin. You have a gay friend.
If I seem angry, it's because I am angry. It's one of those days. You know, those days when people, who have expressed their sense of "getting it" say or do something, or many things that cause you to discover that they don't really "get it" at all. That they never actually "got it" in the first place. And every once in a while, I get tired. Not because I am perfect; I'm not. I am flawed and I recognize new flaws that appear daily. I am a constant work in progress, as are we all. But sometimes I get tired and I just need to walk away, because I cannot fight every single battle, and it appears that the reserves I called so long ago, got lost along the way and never made it here.
By the way, if you are one of the reservists that I have called so long ago, and you have not been captured, I may have to kick your ass, 'cause I've been waiting a long time. I am putting on my steel toed boots as I type. This of course slows my typing down considerably, but I feel I need to be prepared.
Nevertheless, my glass will remain half full. My sense of humor will see me through this challenging time in history, when it appears that the backlash is causing a severe backslide. The question now is, what exactly is in my half full glass?
Where was I? Notice this is a proper question. Pardon the tangential nature of my meanderings, but I am, after all, a Gemini. Ah yes, ranting. Now given the state of the universe, the world, this country, state and city, my neighborhood and so on, and so forth, there is certainly a significant amount of material about which I could rant. For example, I could vent my anger at the disproportionate number of persons of color arrested, convicted, incarcerated and executed in this country, on a daily basis. The ways in which our government continues, as it always has, to spread misleading propaganda, creating a nation of fear and distrust, rather than attempting to rebuild communities that have become so fragmented due to said fear and distrust. The fact that there are human beings, in our cities, municipalities and townships, that are living in conditions identical to those in third world countries.
I could wax poetically and express my rage regarding any one of these matters, or any one of a multitude of other equally frustrating scenarios. And perhaps in a future post I will do just that. But this post is not about any of this. This post is not about the inequities, inequalities, brutalities, or apathies that exist in our time, or any other time for that matter.
I don't want you to have to think about these atrocities. I imagine you have had a long day. Perhaps a long week. And you're tired. You just want to put your feet up and turn on the television. You're tired of hearing about young men and women dying in places you can't pronounce, let alone attempt to spell accurately. You've heard far too much about the plight of the homeless. After all, you bought a copy of Real Change today, didn't you? It's okay that you don't have the energy to read it right now. And last week you dropped all of the change from your pocket into a cup on First and Jackson. Understandably, taking extreme care not to actually touch the cup, or the hand of the...was it a man or a woman? Rule number forty-two, don't make eye contact with the homeless.
I don't need to talk with you about these things, because after all, you are a card carrying member of the ACLU. You know all about racism, sexism, classism, homophobia. You know all about your rights and my rights, and his rights over there. You know, that guy standing at the far end of the street. You're a leftie, a liberal, progressive, a communist. You know all about this. You have read the Marx-Engels Reader. You have read James Baldwin. You have a gay friend.
If I seem angry, it's because I am angry. It's one of those days. You know, those days when people, who have expressed their sense of "getting it" say or do something, or many things that cause you to discover that they don't really "get it" at all. That they never actually "got it" in the first place. And every once in a while, I get tired. Not because I am perfect; I'm not. I am flawed and I recognize new flaws that appear daily. I am a constant work in progress, as are we all. But sometimes I get tired and I just need to walk away, because I cannot fight every single battle, and it appears that the reserves I called so long ago, got lost along the way and never made it here.
By the way, if you are one of the reservists that I have called so long ago, and you have not been captured, I may have to kick your ass, 'cause I've been waiting a long time. I am putting on my steel toed boots as I type. This of course slows my typing down considerably, but I feel I need to be prepared.
Nevertheless, my glass will remain half full. My sense of humor will see me through this challenging time in history, when it appears that the backlash is causing a severe backslide. The question now is, what exactly is in my half full glass?
Friday, January 21, 2005
I Heart Metro
So. I ride the bus. I've actually gotten pretty proficient at it. As it is the ONLY "mass transit" option we have in our fair city of Seattle, I must, if nothing else, deal with it. I've explored many a Metro route, including, but not limited to, the 7, 10, 15, 18, 26, 28, 43, 44, 130, 132, and 150. But by far, my FAVORITE route is the 358.
Ah, the 358. Anyone who has ever had the opportunity to ride the 358 knows exactly what I'm talking about. In fact, I probably don't even need to finish this post. You 358 riders can just skip this if you wish. However, if you feel I have forgotten to mention anything about this route, please feel free to comment.
For those of you unfamiliar with Metro, or the 358, please allow me to explain. Route 358 extends from downtown Seattle (I'm not really sure where it begins) up past Shoreline (I'm not really sure where it ends). What is most important to know about this route, is that it travels all the way up Aurora. It's touted as an "express" but I have never found it very expressful. Although there is quite a bit of expression on the bus.
Wait, coach. Metro prefers the term coach over bus. Very Cinderella-esque. Last time I was on the 358, I saw/heard/smelled the following:
A 50+ year old 70's style pimp, complete with Jerri curl
A man carrying a chainsaw
A young woman talking on her cell phone about how her boyfriend just got arrested because he waived his glock in some guy's face
Cheap ass beer
Unfortuately, this is not a complete list of all of my observations.
For all of you inspiring writers out there, this is the bus for you. There is tons of great material waiting to be plucked from bowels of this route and transfered to the pages of your next novel. Without fail the bus, er coach, driver has to stop the bus at least once to tell someone to stop drinking or get the hell off.
Now, and this is for those of you who ride this route on your morning commute, for you may disagree with my above characterization. The "commuter ride" is full of, well, commuters, which isn't quite so entertaining. Commuters are a different breed. They sit on the bus, typically in silence even though they ride with the same group of folks every day, arms and legs drawn close to the body for fear of making physical contact with another human being. But I suppose that is another topic for another time.
If you want to know more about where route 358 travels, or any other Metro bus, shit, coach, check out the attached link. Metro has a pretty cool trip planner attached to their website. Much like Mapquest and the like, it will help you get from point a to point b on the bus, ACK, coach, without having to wait on hold for an hour with customer service.
The opinions expressed above are entirely those of the author and in no way intend to represent the opinions of Metro or any of its subsidaries. The author was not paid a fee for this post.
Ah, the 358. Anyone who has ever had the opportunity to ride the 358 knows exactly what I'm talking about. In fact, I probably don't even need to finish this post. You 358 riders can just skip this if you wish. However, if you feel I have forgotten to mention anything about this route, please feel free to comment.
For those of you unfamiliar with Metro, or the 358, please allow me to explain. Route 358 extends from downtown Seattle (I'm not really sure where it begins) up past Shoreline (I'm not really sure where it ends). What is most important to know about this route, is that it travels all the way up Aurora. It's touted as an "express" but I have never found it very expressful. Although there is quite a bit of expression on the bus.
Wait, coach. Metro prefers the term coach over bus. Very Cinderella-esque. Last time I was on the 358, I saw/heard/smelled the following:
A 50+ year old 70's style pimp, complete with Jerri curl
A man carrying a chainsaw
A young woman talking on her cell phone about how her boyfriend just got arrested because he waived his glock in some guy's face
Cheap ass beer
Unfortuately, this is not a complete list of all of my observations.
For all of you inspiring writers out there, this is the bus for you. There is tons of great material waiting to be plucked from bowels of this route and transfered to the pages of your next novel. Without fail the bus, er coach, driver has to stop the bus at least once to tell someone to stop drinking or get the hell off.
Now, and this is for those of you who ride this route on your morning commute, for you may disagree with my above characterization. The "commuter ride" is full of, well, commuters, which isn't quite so entertaining. Commuters are a different breed. They sit on the bus, typically in silence even though they ride with the same group of folks every day, arms and legs drawn close to the body for fear of making physical contact with another human being. But I suppose that is another topic for another time.
If you want to know more about where route 358 travels, or any other Metro bus, shit, coach, check out the attached link. Metro has a pretty cool trip planner attached to their website. Much like Mapquest and the like, it will help you get from point a to point b on the bus, ACK, coach, without having to wait on hold for an hour with customer service.
The opinions expressed above are entirely those of the author and in no way intend to represent the opinions of Metro or any of its subsidaries. The author was not paid a fee for this post.
Monday, January 17, 2005
More Newsworthy Bar News
Perhaps I should begin to describe my job. I work with insane people. Now I don't mean that literally, although I suppose that it questionable, and I certainly don't mean to be offensive with the use of the word insane. I could say that my co-workers are emotionally challenged, but that doesn't really provide an accurate picture. They are all absolutely, positively, fucking crazed.
I work in the legal field. I will leave it at that. Not because there isn't a great deal to be said about my occupation, but there is little that I can say without violating one ethical rule or another. Since I cannot speak of clients or cases, I will talk about the individuals I work with on a daily basis.
There are numerous adjectives fitting to describe my co-workers. Manic. Goofy. Confused. Egotistical. Nervous. Cruel. Self Absorbed. Humorous. Brilliant. Diligent. Aggressive. Abusive. Dorky. Manipulative. Hard Working. I don't think these descriptors are in any way different from anyone's co-workers. However, there are some things that I have seen that make me wonder if I am working in Wonderland.
I have decided that an example is in order. Here we go.
Alice: (Knocks on Partner #1's door) Hi.
Partner #1: Hi. Come on in.
Alice: I have a question.
Partner #1: You're not allowed to ask any questions. (Phone rings) Hello? Hold on just a moment. Alice, I'm sorry, I apologize. Just a moment please. (Partner #1 continues talking on phone)
Alice: (Waiting for Partner #1 to finish call)
Partner #1: (Finishes call) Yes, I'm sorry, I apologize.
Alice: Uh, my question is...
Partner #1: No questions allowed.
Alice: Okay, well that's fine, but in XYZ case...
Partner #1: No. NO!
Alice: Yeah, um, well need to finish this...
Partner #1: (Sticks fingers in ears) I can't hear you. I can't hear you. I'm not listening. I can't hear you. La-la-la-la-la-la-la.
Alice: (Waits patiently) Are you done yet?
Partner #1: La-la-la. (Phone rings) I'm sorry, I apologize, one moment, please, just one moment. Hello? (Continues talking on phone)
Alice: Sigh.
Partner #1: Okay, yes. I'm here.
Alice: Nevermind, I forgot my question.
Partner #1: Question? No questions. La-la-la-la-la-la-la. I can't hear you. I can't hear you.
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Quite frankly, I'm not that creative.
I work in the legal field. I will leave it at that. Not because there isn't a great deal to be said about my occupation, but there is little that I can say without violating one ethical rule or another. Since I cannot speak of clients or cases, I will talk about the individuals I work with on a daily basis.
There are numerous adjectives fitting to describe my co-workers. Manic. Goofy. Confused. Egotistical. Nervous. Cruel. Self Absorbed. Humorous. Brilliant. Diligent. Aggressive. Abusive. Dorky. Manipulative. Hard Working. I don't think these descriptors are in any way different from anyone's co-workers. However, there are some things that I have seen that make me wonder if I am working in Wonderland.
I have decided that an example is in order. Here we go.
Alice: (Knocks on Partner #1's door) Hi.
Partner #1: Hi. Come on in.
Alice: I have a question.
Partner #1: You're not allowed to ask any questions. (Phone rings) Hello? Hold on just a moment. Alice, I'm sorry, I apologize. Just a moment please. (Partner #1 continues talking on phone)
Alice: (Waiting for Partner #1 to finish call)
Partner #1: (Finishes call) Yes, I'm sorry, I apologize.
Alice: Uh, my question is...
Partner #1: No questions allowed.
Alice: Okay, well that's fine, but in XYZ case...
Partner #1: No. NO!
Alice: Yeah, um, well need to finish this...
Partner #1: (Sticks fingers in ears) I can't hear you. I can't hear you. I'm not listening. I can't hear you. La-la-la-la-la-la-la.
Alice: (Waits patiently) Are you done yet?
Partner #1: La-la-la. (Phone rings) I'm sorry, I apologize, one moment, please, just one moment. Hello? (Continues talking on phone)
Alice: Sigh.
Partner #1: Okay, yes. I'm here.
Alice: Nevermind, I forgot my question.
Partner #1: Question? No questions. La-la-la-la-la-la-la. I can't hear you. I can't hear you.
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Quite frankly, I'm not that creative.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)