I am not a fan of public displays of affection in most situations. I’m not talking about a quick embrace or a sweet peck on the lips. I am referring to the people who don’t seem to notice the 42 other people crammed into their train car as they attempt to devour each other.
I have recently encountered a number of these Bart lovers during the course of my commute. I just happen to be blogging from my Bart seat right at this very moment with a voracious pair of Bart lovers right in front of me. One half of this couple insists on tickling the other’s inner arm while the other longingly nuzzles her noses into the crevices of her beloved’s neck. These two are making love with their eyes and body language 2 ft away from me. Barf.
Over the last several months I have also had the joy of encountering the weekly Bart lovers. This pair is usually on the same morning train as me about twice a week. The first time I noticed this love-crossed pair was while on my morning walk to the train. They were holding hands, giggling and basically doing a post-coital cuddle right in front of oncoming traffic while waiting for the stoplight. When the female turned I could see that her neck was emblazoned with her lover’s mark- a raspberry colored hicky the size of a golf ball. Hmm… nothing says romance like broken blood vessels on display.
Call me cold-hearted, a popsicle, whatever you like. Let’s just keep the train and the bedroom a separate affair. If not for your co-riders, than at least consider the millions of bart-based micro-organisms you are passing along by giving your sweetheart a little nibble.
Watch your back bed-bugs. There is going to be a new fabric in town. Vinyl! Too bad this is not happening until 2017. Seriously? I don’t think my ass can endure 6 more years Check it out:
BART’s Fabric Seats May Be Fading Out – The Bay Citizen.
I do not hate anyone, because I believe that I am called to love others as I would love myself. But I sure do get irritated by a certain group of people- Hardcore Hippies.
Because I have lived on Vancouver Island and now in the eclectic San Francisco Bay Area, I have encountered my fair share of hard-core hippies. I am not referring to people who enjoy nature or strive to be Green, I am talking about the type of individuals that will only wear recycled clothing, do not bathe, do not wash their hair and live in a tent or trailer by choice. I am going out on a limb here, but I have yet to meet a single hippy that is nice, kind and uses reasonable logic. The people that I have met smell, are self-righteous about their lifestyle and interact with others in a condescending way. Yes, this sounds like stereotyping (actually I am pretty positive it is stereotyping!) but this is based out of my own personal experience.
So imagine my delight when I stepped onto a train last week filled with hippies. Ahh.. yes. Just who I felt like spending 30 minutes with after working a 57 hour week. I even unknowingly sat across from King Hippy himself. He looked like he had not bathed in 7 weeks and he definitely had an arrogant air about him. But this is what took the cake… he proceeded to play with the 5 long hairs sprouting out of the tip of his chin for the entire ride. I must preface this statement by saying that another one of my Top 5 annoyances is men who play with their long facial hair in public. There is nothing creepier than this. Onto the tale.. so this guy twisted, turned and scratched at his long facial hair for 30 minutes. If I had a personal hell it would probably consist of being inside a small room, filled with hard-core hippies, playing with their obnoxiously long facial hair, while hacking up a lung in my face (that’s another annoyance I will leave for a different post).
While King Hippy was busy playing with his facial hair, I was delighted to notice Grandma Hippy to my right. Grandma Hippy has probably been pulling off her whole look and lifestyle since the hippy heyday several decades ago. She took the time to painstakingly paint a peace sign onto her well-worn Crocs and had long, white hair that cascaded down her gnarled back. Grandma Hippy amused more than annoyed, especially when she poked fellow passengers with her walking stick when they inched too close to her personal space.
I would love to be proven wrong and meet a really nice and genuine hippy (preferably one that showers), so let me know if you are personally acquainted with one of these anomalies.
Now that I am fast approaching 30, the tell-tale signs of aging are catching up with me. In recent months I have become a tiny bit obsessed with the idea of Botox. Don’t judge me. It’s not for everyone and I am still just considering it.
Recently I have started playing a little game with my fellow BART passengers. Botox? or No Botox? I look intently at their foreheads and then determine if they have been jabbed with the toxic substance. Then I look at their hands because a person’s hands are always a dead giveaway to their true age. If the hands and the forehead don’t match I know something is up (or altered).
I was intensely gazing at a passenger last week and tried to decipher exactly what she had done to herself. Her forehead was perfectly smooth and she possessed a giant pair of fish lips. Despite her expensive attempt at youthfulness, her gray roots peaked out of her finely sculpted coif betraying her actual age. She looked bizarre.
Women like this do not deter me from my desire to maintain a youthful, carefree countenance. They just make me want to go to a doctor who actually knows what they are doing.
If in 6 months from now I am super angry with you but unable to scowl.. you will know why.
Over the week between Christmas and New Year’s, BART is gloriously empty. I was able to lounge across multiple seats, read my book and eavesdrop on a few conversations.
As I have mentioned in an earlier post, one of the unspoken codes of conduct on BART is no talking to fellow passengers. People become belligerent and glare at those who talk above the hum of the train. Apparently one group of ladies did not get the memo.
Woman #1 :”Girl, he’s so fine, he’s my next husband and he doesn’t even know it yet.”
3 other women crack up, hooting and hollering at 7:45am.
Woman #2: ” You just need to ask Him and tell Him that you need a new husband!” pointing towards the heavens.
This went on for another 10 minutes. Their laughter was infectious and caused a ripple effect across the train of solemn faces. Grins, smiles and laughter emanated from the group’s co-passengers.
Another woman sitting close to the group asked if they were friends on their way to a day of shopping. This was the answer she got, ” Nope, we just take the 7:18 train together every day and we are on our way to work.” Friendships forged because of BART! To observe these women together and to hear the personal nature of their conversations you would think that they had been best buds since grammar school. Connections made through public transportation.
When I leave the office and fight for my 7 inches of space on BART I tend to be too tired to do much more than stand there. While bracing myself from the jolts and bumps thrown my way, I sometimes eavesdrop. It’s not completely intentional. My ears just seem perk up when people inches away start dishing on juicy topics.
Last week, a couple of twenty-something girls started talking about their love lives for the entire duration of my 30 minute trip.
Girl #1- ” I am going on another date with Steve tonight.”
Girl #2- ” You are? I talked to him last week and he said he didn’t think that you two had a spark.”
Girl #1- Awkwardly pauses and looks down at her shoes.” Oh, hmm. You mean he isn’t really into me? I thought that he was just shy.”
10 minutes later…
Girl #2- ” I am very attracted to wealthy men. But that’s not the only quality that I look for. That would make me a gold-digger. I would like to be with one, but I have not had a chance to date a really wealthy guy yet.”
Girl #1- ” Yeah, I can see that.”
Girl #2- ” I just don’t understand why inteligent, successful men end up marrying women who are beautiful, 20 years younger and lack any type of brain-power.”
I gasped for air trying not to laugh outloud. I looked over at Girl #2 in disbelief and got a good look at her. She was about 25, hair in a bun and wearing a sesame street colored backpack. Her self-confidence and her knack for belittling her ‘friend’ were quite the combination. I hope I see her in 5 more years and find out how the search for a rich guy has gone. Maybe he will lavish her with a brand new multi-colored backpack for her trips on public transportation.
It always amazes me when people speak about very personal topics in a public setting. Perhaps they just don’t realize that their conversations might be documted for all to see on the world wide web 🙂
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