Write and Write and Write, Right?

I think that everyone should write. It doesn’t matter if you think you are “talented” or not. (It’s all subjective … except when it’s not. Sometimes you really are just not good at something. Me? I’m not good at a lot of things. You want an example? Ask me to dance for you one day … you’ll see.)

Still, people should write anyway. Forget about supposed talent. Think Nike and Just Do It.

The reason? Writing allows you to say what you are really thinking without being a jackass. So, come on, tell us how you really feel.

Ok. I will!

Dear Lady who half-sat on my leg on the bus this morning:

My swat boots and skirt were not a fashion statement – Did you see any safety pins attached to my skirt? Was I wearing fishnets? No? No! – I just don’t have any other shoes at home (I leave my flats at work). Understood? Now, please rest easy knowing that my “punk ass” will not try to steal your change purse.

Also, if you are going to read over my shoulder, at least have the decency to pretend you aren’t. Or, please just refrain from commenting. No, I don’t think I should read Nora Roberts. If you want to read Nora Roberts, stop being such a cheapo and buy your own book instead of reading mine.

And no, I am not sorry I turned the page before you finished it.

That is all, have a great day, and please don’t sit next to/on me again.


PS. In future, please don’t shower in “scent”, you smell like a box of magazine perfume samples and it hurts my nose.

See, writing has allowed me to vent my frustration while still being polite!

What actually happened?

After defending my choice of footwear (I don’t know why I acknowledged her criticism, I didn’t owe her an explanation) and assuring her that yes, I do have a job, I attempted to ignore her. I tried to read while she leaned fully into me, telling me that she thinks “fantasy books are for children” and suggesting “real authors” I should be reading. I even pointedly fiddled with my ipod hoping she would get the message.

She didn’t.

Tired of breathing through my mouth to avoid the smell of perfume, I got off the bus three stops early and walked the rest of the way.

This is just another example of why I should STOP smiling at people on the bus.

As an aside, if you are wondering why I didn’t just tell the old bat to piss off, it’s because I have been trained by my parents to “always be polite”. Just because a woman is bat shit crazy, doesn’t mean I should point it out.

I only hope that people who take Victoria Transit are less irritating. And if not, maybe my Dad, the bus driver, will cut me some slack when I finally snap.

Bus Troubles in Transit (get it? Cause, transit is another way of saying bus. God, I’m funny)

I need to stop smiling at strangers on the bus.


I try to keep myself as inaccessible as possible by listening to music and reading, and then I go and ruin it by appearing friendly. It’s counterproductive.

I can’t even count the number of times I’ve sat through an entire bus ride while Mr. Smells-Like-Pee tells me about his collection of “vintage” strip club matchboxes, or while Ms. Emotional-Baggage asks me if I think her latest one night stand will call her (he doesn’t). E.B and I have actually taken the bus together six times, she recognizes me now and will deliberately sit next to me. Awesome.

On the bright side, I have perfected the sympathetic nod and the interested “Hmmm?”

Back to the point, I’m not sure why I smile at strangers. Perhaps it’s because I hold out hope that Ms. Frizzle will appear and, after shouting “Bus do your stuff!” we will go on a zany adventure?

It hasn’t happened yet.

One can dream

More likely it’s because of my Mom. My Mom has the amazing gift of being able to talk to anyone. She makes friends everywhere she goes and it’s something I’ve always admired and tried to emulate. But while she meets normal people, I always seem to encourage the weirdos. (Like attracting like?)

Maybe I meet weirdos because I didn’t inherit my Mother’s gift of gab. I’m extremely awkward at the best of times and, while I like to think it’s part of my charm, I usually just make people uncomfortable. Like, really uncomfortable.

With that said, I probably shouldn’t be so judgmental; I’m sure Mr. LOVES-Tacos *wink* and Mrs. Collects-Pokemon-Cards (but doesn’t play them) are perfectly nice people.

They just aren’t nice people I want to get to know.

The trick is to remember that the old adage “a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet” doesn’t apply to people who take transit.