Train games

Dear MTA,

You suck.

Today you made me miss the LIRR in the most pointlessly asinine way.

First you sent by two trains in the opposite direction and none in the direction I needed for about fifteen minutes. I was sure I was sunk. Then the train came and went express, which cruelly gave me hope.

Alas then the train broke down the stop before mine. However, instead of letting the passengers switch to the other train that stopped in, your idiot conductors kept the doors closed. And they played with those doors for ten minutes,  losing all of that gained time and missing my LIRR line by minutes.

If I choke you that might in fact be too good for you.

No love,

Cranky vixen who has to wait an hour for the next train 

(Post written weeks and weeks ago. Blogger fail.)

Shoe abuse

Here is a not so secret confession.

I have a shoe problem. No matter how many I have, I always want more. And I play favorites. Because shoes are not created equal.

So yeah shocker secondary confession, I judge other people's shoes. You guys know that.

But today... today my vision went dark.

What is seen cannot be unseen...

I admit that my position on uggs is that of general disfavor.

But today. Today.  Oh today...

Today I saw an attorney in a courtroom in an attractive dark suit, neatly arranged hair and... uggs.

Honey. Oh honey. Not okay.

I know it's colder than the proverbial witch's tit (which is frankly bizarre and makes no sense) but that is not only hideous but also not appropriate.

But it's okay. After court we can have a liquid lunch so I can cope with my trauma and go shoe shopping. Because shoes.

Stupid people everywhere

(Written 1/17 posted late)

This morning I was stuck on a train that sounded like a busy cafe. Yes. At 7am. Diediedie. Wear gags. Die.

Now I'm stuck across the aisle from a chronic sniffler who is making no effort to do anything about her little noise maker. She had plenty of time to stop for elevensies* but picking up a box of tissues for a clearly runny nose was apparently out of the question.

I know. I know! If I had patience and tolerance with humanity's stupid,  I would be a perfect human specimen and the universe is encouraging me on that path.  But really.  I don't need to be perfect. I'm fine the way I am.

*Please note that it is 11am ish so it is time for elevensies and she got on the train with at least ten minutes to spare. I was making a logistical point not food shaming. And actually I'm kinda hungry so maybe if she shared I would want to kill her less.

Train pirates

Between you and me,  I hate people begging on the train. Whether it's straight up begging or begging disguised as performance art-usually not good art, it's basically taking your audience captive.  And since you never know if the person really needs money or is making good cash from this gig... giving in is mostly a sucker's game.

But whatever.  These are the things a city dweller must live with.

What really makes me peevish though is this - if the train is making an overhead announcement about the route changes, why oh why can't these people shut the Hell up long enough for the passengers to listen? 

Believe me if you weren't getting money from me before you drowned out important travel info,  you are sure not getting it now.  You might however get a black eye.

New York weather madness

Weather in New York means having to own fifteen coats of varying warmth and wearing whichever three the temperature lottery picks out for the season.

Shirts and vests and hats!!!

Sandy is over. The mta is recovering.

In honor of NY, I present:

Dear creepy creepy man,

It's like forty degrees. Everyone but you is bundled up. And we are probably getting snow today.

And you have your shirt oh so stylishly unbuttoned beneath your vest nearly to your stomach because you think we, your not so adoring public, wish to gaze lovingly upon the graying thatch inhabiting your chest.

I assure you, this is not the case.

What is seen cannot be unseen.

Button up.

Save our eyes from the burning and yourself from pneumonia.

No love,

The girl in the hat, scarf and arm warmers.

Door to Somewhere - another writing exercise

It's morning and once again she is in front of elevator doors.  They are ornate, carved designs in golden brass, a metal that usually looks gaudy to her, but not there, not then.  These doors are heavy, majestic, a little like palace doors in some imagined futuristic palace.

The elevator dings and opens.  She steps into the spacious, mirrored cavern, her feet silent against the old but shining floors.  The elevator closes.  She always forgets to press the button.  It is as if she believes that, somehow, the elevator really is futuristic, as if it will know exactly where she is going without her doing anything and take her there.  Or, maybe, it is because she hopes it will take her somewhere else.

With a sigh, she sets down her briefcase and lifts her hand to select her floor, the plastic depressing under the pressure of her finger and the answering light coming alive, the dark red, nearly black of her nail polish sparkling against it.

She drops her hand and sighs again.  The display is counting floors but she isn't watching.  She isn't even thinking really, just existing, moving through water, still half asleep.  She is grateful there is no elevator music.

She feels it come to a stop so softly and the doors begin to draw open.  Bending, she hefts her briefcase, and straightens, expecting to see the neutral wall paint of the walls and the dark spread of the carpeting in the hallway.  She expects.  The door opens.