i drove to work today.

i'm not made of wood!

Mr. Silent Cell Phone Guy

Friday morning, 10:40am
The 22 is 7 minutes late. It arrives nearly empty. This is riding in style! It is virtually silent, and I have my choice of seating in here. I move to the back and sit across the aisle from a guy chatting on his cellie.

Now. Normally if you are on a cell phone on the bus, I must report you and reprint your entire conversation. But as I am staring at him (yes, staring, as he is not unattractive). I see his lips moving but hear nothing. I keep listening. Nothing. Is he faking?

Mr. Silent Cell Phone Guy is very well dressed, with nice boots, fancy designer jeans, and his salt and pepper hair tied back neatly in a bun. Like a guru! I am sitting across from Mr. Sensitive Long-Haired Well-Dressed Meditative Silent Cell Phone Guy!

Of course he doesn't make noise while talking; he's enlightened. I am still staring (he seems oblivious to this, thank goodness), and as we move up to Fillmore & Sutter, I catch him saying something about importing chocolates. He's hot. He imports chocolates?

He's stylish and you can't hear him when he talks. I am mentally planning our wedding as i exit the bus.

Why yes, I do import fancy chocolates. He didn't really
look like Mike Myers, but I need some photos up on here to capture and maintain your interest.

Jehovah's Witnesses Rise Again!

Thursday, 1:40PM.
I am at my stop, standing next to a woman with luggage and 3 young children, apparently on their way to the airport. I am thinking why are they headed down Fillmore to get to the airport? I decide that they know something I do not.

The bus is packed! Wait, am I actually expected to stand all the way up Fillmore? Fuck that. I try to push my way past Mr. Looky-loo, who is mentally undressing me. Ug. Take a fucking picture; it'll last longer!

Anyway, as I push my way to the back I see woman + children. Woman is seated; children are standing. Woman turns to older woman next to her and says, "Well, as a Christian, I have studied the Bible, and you Jehovah's Witnesses have it all wrong! Factually incorrect!" Oh snap! a religious debate on the 22? Sign me up!

I look over at children, who are rolling their eyes as woman launches into her take on Christianity. Jehovah's Witness shirks back a little with her literature and agrees with woman. Yes, perhaps she and her religion are wrong after all. She is not an effective missionary.

I finally sit down next to ..... someone. K, sorry about this, but what is with our need as humans to be able to determine one's gender? I mean, I feel a little lost when I can't tell if you're a man or a woman. Nice dress, though.

Virgin Voyage

When I moved to San Francisco in the days of yore, I couldn't wait to ride the bus. Soon, after I successfully began to navigate what seemed like an impossible matrix ("wait, you mean they're not all the N Judah?"), my enthusiasm faded into malcontent. Now, I take cabs and walk. And drive. Sue me. But when my job took me to Fillmore St, I had to start taking the 22. There was no other way. I'm not biking there in these shoes. I'm not walking there in these shoes. I'm not even driving in these shoes. That's right. I'mma take the bus like all you other fools. And let me tell ya, it's been 2 weeks now and every ride is a cross-section of our colorful, diverse culture here in SF. That's a euphemistic way of saying that there are some freaks on my route. Join me for some eavesdropping, won't you?

So. i'd like to preface my first tale by saying that I couldn't help but feel good about lightening my load on the earth, shrinking my carbon footprint, whatever, when i looked up the bus schedule for my maiden voyage to work. Next bus: 13 minutes. I better hurry! But wait: when I got to the stop a couple blocks away, nextbus informs me 22 arrives in (coincidentally?) 22 minutes. Well, shit. I'm going to be late then. I take off on foot, looking back occasionally. I walk for 20 minutes - through the fucking ghetto (shit! i forgot my bullet proof vest today) - until i make it to work. My feet hurt, and I've put unnecessary milage on my cute shoes. The 22 never came, not even after 22 minutes. Fuck you, 22.

Second try: next day. It's on time. I am sitting next to 2 New York JAPs on vacation. They're headed to the wharf (shocker). Between fielding frequent phone calls from JIM (he's sooooo cute), I learn that JAP #1 refused to buy her Prada wallet from Bloomie's since the salesperson was SUCH a BITCH. She ended up walking around the corner to get it at the Prada store! Win! More cell phone yapping. The conversation shifts to JAP 1's new nose. "Does it still look nosejobby? 'Cause my surgeon said it would settle a little bit in a few months." JAP #2 assures JAP #1 that her nose looks great, not nosejobby! The trannie in front of me looks like she (he?) is tripping on acid and the asian kids behind me (17ish?) convince each other they can handle their liquor.

I decide to start a blog.