Tag Archives: bus

Booty shorts and birth control

The 7 headed Downtown, early afternoon:

A woman of indeterminable age, wrapped in layers of fine black cloth, head wrap and tattooed hands talking to younger woman with unkempt hair and booty shorts.

Tattooed hands – I’m pregnant with my ninth.

Booty shorts – Nine? Whoo! I got five, I’m tryin’ for one more.

I wanted to scream at these ignorant assholes. I mean, fucking seriously? Overpopulation is a critical issue and we have women competing in breeding races. Yes, I am contributing to the problem but I was responsible with my reproductive health for many years until I was prepared to provide for another human being taking up space on this planet.

Disclaimer: I can talk shit about welfare recipients because I was one most of my life.

The more kids you have the more money you get. Backwards cultures believe a huge family gets the most respect. Ignorance breeds ignorance. How many poor, stupid kids have to be born into this overcrowded world before public assistance programs will require family planning education courses to be taken in order to receive each monthly check?

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Filed under I am Pregnant, Something that happened

Last Night’s Dream – Revised

Failed suicide attempts, over and over. Men shot themselves in the face and woke up completely healed.

I walked for days from bus stop to bus stop, the bus never came. I fell to my knees in exhaustion, people passed me, ignoring me completely. The hot gravel road dug into the palms of my hands, I looked towards the road and knew that I had only to crawl a few feet and it would all be over.

I later met a man covered in maggots, I wanted to clean him but he loved the maggots, they were all he had.

My (blind) Mother was driving a hearse, maneuvering around a graveyard, stopping to give directions to the men who were once again making suicide attempts. She was giving them advice.

Ok, I published this dream earlier today and apparently many people found it quite disturbing. It was not my intention to cause anyone concern. I always have dreams like this, in no way does it mean that I am in any way feeling suicidal. I am actually in a really good place right now. I am excited about being a Mom and I can’t wait to meet my little man.

Maybe a little interpretation of the dream might clear things up a bit.

Failed suicide attempts – I feel like I have done a lot of damage to my body over the years, not caring about my health at all. I am so grateful that I am in good health now that I am pregnant.

Walking for days, waiting for bus – This part of the dream took place near where I used to live in a  somewhat rural area. I would literally wait for hours in the sun for a bus that sometimes never came. It was a flashback of sorts to that period of my life. I felt very removed from the world there and trapped by the seemingly constant stale heat.

The man covered in maggots – I have always had extreme empathy for homeless men, disfigured men, lonely outcast men. But I know that I really can’t help anyone, the best I can do is to give a smile and say “hello, in there-o.”

Mom driving hearse – this one I can’t get into.

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the 7 around noon

witness to an unevent

old woman on bus (disheveled, purple cat hair covered sweater, very few teeth) – hey

young woman on bus (low rise jeans cutting into thick waist, long hot pink nails) – (consumed with her cell phone, oblivious to surroundings)

old woman – Hey you girl, I’m talking to you.

young woman – (looks up annoyed, looks around)

old woman – Yeah you girl, who you is?

young woman – Look lady, I don’t know you.

old woman – Yeah, I know you. You that girl been runnin round with my tony.

young woman – Lady, I don’t know no Tony. You old and confused is what you is.

old woman – All you’s ho’s the same any damn ways.

young woman – Yeah lady, I guess we is.

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Slinging coffee and swigging booze

I have taken some time off from my job as a Barista. At this point I have no intentions of returning to this type of work. I was a Barista for over 13 years. I spent over a decade of my life making lattes and mopping floors; asking “room for cream?” and chirping “have a nice day.” I cared about my profession and I was a good Barista; I made perfect foam and pulled beautifully creme topped shots. I honestly liked most of my customers and made many life long friends. I always loved waking up at 3:30am and taking the first train downtown. Early commuters are a curious crew; the chatters, the sleepers, the zombies and the roll takers. I appreciated how we looked out for each other, strangers on a train united by our predawn migration.

My years as a Barista were not all pleasant, not even close. Most shops I worked at were poorly managed and I was never appreciated. I worked hard because that is the only way I know how to work. I worked myself to exhaustion; mentally, physically and emotionally. Meanwhile I entertained the shit out of customers and coworkers with my ridiculous behavior and strange sense of humor. I was literally laughing to hide my tears most days. When shit got real bad I just got funnier.

I realized a few months ago that I needed to make some real changes or……..I don’t know. I just knew it was time, I knew it the way you know you have a split second to move your ass when you see a truck about to hit you. (Fuck, did I just use that analogy? At some point I will share why that just made me almost throw up).        So, I lost my job (stuck in a set cushion? vacuum bag? bottom of my purse? who gives a fuck!) Then I got sober. I spent a few weeks discovering what my home looked like during the day and examining the bedroom wall for hours every night avoiding the sweaty sleep. Being home was such a strange experience after having spent the past year working over 50 hours a week. My dogs stared at me as I wandered around my yard shouting, “Wow! I haven’t stood here in a year! I haven’t walked down this step in a year!”

Sobriety is fucking weird. There were so many things that I hadn’t done sober in years; sleeping, watching movies, grocery shopping, cleaning house, having sex and taking a bath. Oh, bubble baths with a glass (bottle) of Cabernet, a pack of Winston cigarettes and John Frusciante to bring on the tears. I was finally free to drop the smile. I still have my baths and Frusciante but the tears got lost somewhere in between, somewhere I haven’t looked yet, somewhere I might not be ready to look. I’m getting used to daily sober life. People aren’t quite as loud and teeth gratingly annoying as they were a few months ago and my nights are a little easier to sleep through. My dreams are still as fucked up as always only now I am also plagued by the moment of guilty awakening with the hangover of the drunken dream.

My life of slinging coffee and swigging booze is done. A decade gone and far from forgotten. A period of my life is over and I have said good-bye and farewell.

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, I am Pregnant, I remember, Something that happened

smelling some ass

I have never had a driver’s license. When people ask why I don’t drive I usually give my standard answer of, “I choose not to drive for the sake of every other motorist, passenger, pedestrian and bicyclist on the road.” There has to be a more involved reason, a better story behind it all. I am 31 and live in Southern California; not known for its efficient public transportation system. If I lived in New York I would be amongst thousands of people to have never had a driver’s license. But I don’t and I’m not that good of a liar to pretend that I just moved here and haven’t gotten around to the whole driving thing. The fact is….I just don’t drive.

Maybe it started when I was five years old and my Mother was going blind. She was in denial that her eyesight made her no longer fit to drive. She would ask for my assistance with street signs, directions of traffic and whether or not it seemed safe to turn or merge into traffic. I was five fucking years old! We would get lost for hours until the car ran out of gas or she simply parked and cried. The feelings of insecurity must have been intense. I also remember feeling like I had let her down every time we got lost, as if my very existence had caused all this trouble and my lack of knowledge had only exacerbated it. One time she pulled the car into a gas station that was under construction. She had no idea until the car almost turned over into a gaping ditch. That had to be it, right? Nope, she continued driving for months with me as her unwitting co-pilot.

Years after she gave up driving I dreaded the day I would have to be her driver. I knew once I had my license I would be forced to chauffeur her around. And when would that Daughterly duty end? Never, I knew I would be stuck. When I was fifteen they offered a behind-the-wheel driving course at my high school. My Dad immediately signed me up without asking me if I was even interested. He wanted out of the driving Miss Daisy job as much as I dreaded it. I showed up and I did fine with all the pen to paper parts but when it came time for foot to pedal parts, I freaked. My nerves took control and I scared the shit out of the instructor and two of my fellow classmates with the unfortunate luck of being in the back seat of the car. At one point I was on the freeway literally going twenty miles per hour while screaming, “I don’t want to do this!” I then took the next exit and pulled into a gas station (thankfully not under construction). The car had barely come to a stop before I jumped out and ran to the bathroom. I sat on the filthy floor and chokingly cried through my violent convulsions of fear. I truly had no idea until that point that driving a car would have that sort of effect on me.

My next attempt at driving came many years later when I bought a car. I suppose I figured that if I spent all my money on a car then I would force myself to learn how to drive. Plus the car was just adorable and it would be the perfect accessory. It was a 1974 Ford Maverick Grabber: original red paint with black racing stripes, 302 V8, manual brakes. You know, the perfect car for someone who is terrified of driving. I gave it a few attempts but no matter how fucking cute that bitch was I could not do it. I barely touched the gas and goddamn we were moving, stopping the thing took two feet jammed down on that brake until my calves cramped and my toes were numb. So, the Maverick sat in our driveway for about five years until I admitted defeat and sold her to a cute young boy who promised to treat her right.

The bus has been good to me. I have seen some shit I will never forget, shit that I never would have seen otherwise. I have met people who have inspired me, scared me, touched me (literally and figuratively), made me laugh and made me cry. I have watched a young girl get propositioned to be a “ho” and gladly accept the offer as long as she could get “mad faded”. I have seen Mothers dangle infants like rag dolls while screaming on their cell phones, “you the baby daddy bitch, why you trippin’ like you ain’t got shit!” I have seen drunken old men piss themselves, smiling. I have smelled more ass on the bus than I have ever smelled in public restrooms. I have repeatedly been mistaken for someone who gives a shit when it comes to a lone white girl getting beaten by five black girls. I am the last person you should run to in that situation, I will not save you, I will look the other way. And if you ask me for some money I will probably give you some even if you smell like beer and especially if you are honest and say it’s for beer. I never would have had any of these encounters sitting in a car by myself stuck in traffic. I like the choice I have made. Fuck driving.

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Filed under I remember, Something that happened