Friday, June 27, 2008

Raging Against the MBTA

Alternate titles for this post:
1. Fuck you motherfucker
2. Why I can't shop at the Shaws in Porter Square anymore
3. Need more pills
4. Pyschotic Episode: the 95-degree Red Line addition

As I mentioned last night, the Red Line has been sucking of late. Always slow, always hot, always annoying. But I hate driving in the city and I'm trying to be greener and I am a big believer in public transporation, so I take the T.

I had an appointment in Boston at 6 p.m. tonight. I left our house around 5, took the stroll down to Davis and gave myself a mental high five when I realized that the train was sitting in the station waiting for me. I found myself a seat, whipped out my copy of Sisterhood Interrupted like the wannabe college student I am (see: feminist literature, glasses, oh-so-cynical disposition) and settled in.

5:20: Train is still not moving, and getting rather crowded. People are getting antsy. A woman that was born around the same time as John the Baptist is getting extremely vocal about the hold up. "Young man, young man. Go ask what the delay is." A young dude obliges. "Traffic" is the answer we get back.

5:22: Still sitting in the station. No AC. More people crowding on and much more bitching. John the Baptist Lady still annoyed. She has an appointment she needs to get to. The rest of us are apparently just hanging out.

5:25: Doors close and we finally start moving, if you can call it that. The train lurches pitifully out of the station and we start inching toward Porter. I relearn Valerie Solanas.

5:30: We arrive at Porter Square. Doors open and stay open. Again, no AC. I should mention here that it is about 95 degrees out and humid. People are now visibly and vocally agitated.

5:32: John the Baptist's sister gets off the train and starts yelling at the conductor the way only an old lady can. "You are a very stupid driver. You are a very stupid driver of this train, young lady."

5:33: More grumbling. It starts to smell like B.O. Probably mine.

5:34: We're still at the station. I put the book away and ask the conductor if we're going to have delays at every station. She says yes, so I decide to cut my losses.

5:35: I head over to the Porter Square plaza because there are always cabs picking and dropping off at Shaw's and I figure I can grab one. I call my appointment and confirm that I can come in late -- that 6:30 is okay.

5:40: No cabs at Porter. I start a line and am immediately joined by a few others who left the subway. It is beyond hellish hot.

5:45: Give up and call a cab. They tell me 20 minutes and I say I can't wait that long. I call another cab company. They tell me someone is coming right away. Wussy looking guy next to me does the same.

5:50: No cab.

5:55: Still no cab. Call YG and vent, giving him reaon to remember that the crazy is always lurking somewhere within me.

5:56: Wussy guy and I chat about how much this very much fucking blows.

5:57: My cab is still not here, but a Green Cab pulls up. Because I am first in line, I open the door and hop in. The driver tells me that I cannot have this cab because it is not MY cab. I ask if he is there for a pick up specifically and he says no. So I tell him that I need him to take me to Boston. He again says he's not picking up, that I need to take the cab that's coming for me. I tell him that I'm tired of waiting, can he take me? He orders me out of the cab and tells me that I need to wait. All of this is done with an accent I can't really understand so there's a lot of "huh? what? I don't understand" too.

5:58: As I'm getting out of the cab, sweaty and angry, I shout, "Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?" The driver starts swearing back, and as we're arguing, Wussy Guy gets in the backseat and tells the guy he wants to go to South Station. I shout, "Wait a minute! He's waiting for another cab too. HE NEEDS TO WAIT TOO!" and start grabbing at the door handle. The driver starts to pull away with a final "Bitch, you crazy."

5:59: I do not take the high road. I take the very low road. I start pounding on the window, screaming, "Fuck you, motherfucker" and to the Wussy Guy that stole the cab, "I hope I don't find you, Fuckface, because I'll fucking stab you, fucker."
The two of them actually LAUGH.

6:00: I stomp back to the sidewalk, kick some bottles that are lying around and SHAKE. I am too in my fit of rage to be fucking mortified, but there are people watching me. People shopping, people trying to enjoy their coffees outside the bookstore...people.

6:03: My cab finally shows up. The driver must sense that I am a mess because he asks me to "tell me everything." I give him the whole story, tell him that I need to get to Boston by 6:30. He tells me not to worry, that he'll get me there. He also has AC so I am in love with him.

6:04: We hit Somerville Ave and it's a traffic nightmare. He asks me to trust him and not to judge his route. I tell him I won't.

6:24: We pull up at my appointment. I tip big and tell the driver that he is awesome.

6:25: Appointment. Re-tell story. Receptionist calls a bunch of friends who are also bitching about the suckage of the Red Line. I decide that I'm going to pollute the environment AND waste money and cab it back.

7:00: Hail another cab. This time the driver is a really friendly singer who sings the whole way back to Cambridge and tells me that I look like a professor. He adds, "a smart professor."

7:25: Back at Davis. Buy burrito.

7:35: Home. Eat burrito, drink champagne. Chase with fro yo.

Now: Totally in my head, reliving the crazy. WTF? I am not a rager, but I sometimes end up in these situations where I totally and completely enter a fit of rage and go off the deep end. Where the crazy is way beyond the suckage of the situation. I told some guy I was going to STAB him. I am beyond mortified. And I'm so afraid that there's going to be "Wanted" pictures of me in the Porter Square parking lot.
My God.

And, oh, the appointment? Was a wax appointment. Apparently, a neatly-groomed vagina and smooth legs are important enough to me that I'm willing to risk possibly landing in jail to get them.


And You Should Check This Out

The Fat Experience Project is really pretty awesome and a brilliant idea.

From the site:

"The Fat Experience Project® is an oral, visual and written history project which seeks to be a humanizing force in body image activism.

By collecting and sharing the many and varied stories of individuals of size, the Fat Experience Project® seeks to engage with, educate, empower and enrich the lives of people of size, our allies and the world at large."

This one was my favorite, but all the stories resonate. I'm thinking of sending something in.

The Corporate Challenge Sucked

I ran the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge last night and it was the first race I ran where I didn't really have much fun. It was rainy and humid all day and I was already thirsty by the time I got downtown, but I couldn't get any water because it was all reserved for "after." I also managed to remember to bring my iPod, but forgot to bring my ear plugs. Grumble, grumble.

I lined up with the rest of the people in my time (10 minute mile). Well, I cheated a little. I moved up to the 9 minute mark. Over 12,000 people ran so it was crowded -- it took 4 minutes from the race start just to move across the start line. And then the rest was just packed and sweaty and gross. It got so crowded again near the turn that I had to walk because I couldn't get through. Grumble more. After about 20 minutes, I finally broke free and thanks to a nice homeowner spraying runners down with his garden hose, I felt okay and finished. My time was 36:52 which was not great.

Afterwards, I reported my time to our team captain and found the nearest Porta Potty to change out of my sweaty shirt and sports bra. I LOATHE porta potties. It's a feat of gymnastics to try and manuever out of sweaty clothes and not touch anything, but I did only to discover I forgot another bra. So my big nipples and I made our way to 7-11 and then the T stop in a white t-shirt. Brilliant.

Other discoveries:
* Cliff bars are nasty
* Even if the food you find is nasty, you should ALWAYS eat it after a race instead of throwing it out, figuring that you'll be home soon and that all that stuff they tell you about replenishing is only for real athletes and not you
* People will stare and point if you walk around with D tits and a white t-shirt and no bra
* 7-11s always attract the crazy

The T sucked ass. We sat at Park for about 20 minutes while it kept getting more and more packed. The girl sitting next to me had a take out box of Dominos pizza and I would have killed her for it, if she had not gotten into loud, threatening bitch fight with a hozzle who wanted her to move said pizza box so she could sit down. Actually, that was kind of awesome. The T finally got moving, although I could have taken vacation in the time it took to cross the Longfellow Bridge, but then we had to get off at Harvard because it was an express train, wait another eternity for a new train, and then get on again. Grumble.

All did not suck, though. My disgusting sweaty, large nippled self got off at Davis, met SKB and then snarfed down the biggest, most delicious hot fudge sundae with walnuts.

And that my friends is a rather boring recap of the corporate challenge. I'm off on vacation for a week!

Monday, June 23, 2008

Monday Night Recaps

I am exhausted and eating Thin Mints (read: not really in the mood for the ol' blog tonight). That sounds more depressing than it really is. Actually, I left work early (if 5:30 is to be considered early) so I could come eat dinner with YG and then get back to my deliciously good book. I'm reading Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. It's pure Russo, with lots of wonderfully drawn small-town characters. Not nearly as good as Empire Falls, but totally engaging anyway. In reading through the reviews, a lot of people didn't like it, but I disagree. I LOVE it when I get into a book like this.

Two movies:
* YG and I watched Recount on HBO last week. A bad idea. If you want to feel sad and depressed about the state of the country, watch it. We were feeling really maudlin and "what might have been." Eight years have, but I still have this rage about how those motherfuckers actually STOLE an election. Unbelievable. He stole it the first time, and then the people actually elected him a second time. I'm a registered Independent, and I'm certainly not in the I-Hate-All-Republicans camp, but what does it say about your party is George W. Bush is the best you can do? Not much.

* I'm almost done watching the documentary, Jesus Camp. Almost done because I can't allow myself to watch it in more than small snippets at a time. It's about a Pentecostal summer camp for children and is probably one of the most disturbing films that I've seen in a really long time. I feel remarkably lucky to have had a rather "normal" religious upbringing, and am really digging our new church. I feel extremely sorry for these kids because they're being raised in a culture of a fear and hatred.

* Continuing the theme of "things I find unbelievably sad,"The Gloucester pregnancy pact keeps making headlines. I understand that teenage girls get pregnant all the time by accident, but if you're 15 years old and making a pact with your friends to get pregnant on purpose and raise your kids together, what does that say about how you view your future? Who are these girls and what were they thinking? I don't mean that in a judgey way, but more in a "don't you think that there might be something out there that's bigger and better for you" sort of way.

* George Carlin died. Kevin Smith remembers.

* Last week, I ran 11 miles and biked 30, including some monster hills. My god, I love this warm weather.

* I am still in the midst of career woes. It was a gray day today and nothing went seriously wrong at work, but I spent some hard core time wondering what the fuck I was doing there. I mean, I know what I'm doing there. I'm all about politicking and saving money and making the relationships now because I'll need them later in my life, when I want to either shift to a part-time or contractor schedule so that I can write, but some days, I feel the full weight of "what's the point?" I KNOW the point, but I hate that it has to be so hard. So I make up lists of alternate careers that I would like. They include my usuals (consignment shop owner, personal shopper for plus-sized women) and some new ones like food psychologist (I probably mentioned this before, but that is a REAL job. Seriously.), personal trainer, trainer for plus-sized people, freelance writer, etc.

My classes start again in August and that usually helps offset some of this career crap. I haven't written anything since the last class ended and that was before I went to San Francisco for work. That makes me sad. :-)

So back to the book. If I could be a professional student and constant reader of books, I'd choose that in a heartbeat.