Starting my very first blog with something I wrote several years ago. Just wanted to get something in here.
Wednesday January 26th, 2005.
I worked late tonight & some of the guys I work with (in the Financial District) convinced me to come have drinks with them after. Fun, but not much to report. The usual conversation about how I am "so cool" to come along and fit in as "one of the guys" and then lots of frat boy type talk no intelligent girl should ever be subjected to. So then. I'm on the Transbay bus, the "O", on my way home to Alameda. We're on the bridge, no traffic, breezing along at a good speed. There are so many cracks, and barely opened windows on this bus where air is squeezing through that it makes this certain sound. A high pitched squeaking sound, all slightly different pitches, and all at different times, so it sounds like the bus is being pulled along by a million, trillion little birds. Tiny sparrows, or finches... I like this idea. I close my semi-drunken eyes and imagine the bus being powered by a million, trillion little chirping birds. I've heard a million, trillion birds all chirping at once too, before you think I don't know what I'm talking about. Really! They're in this tree, just outside the bus terminal at First & Mission. You can't see them, but you can hear them. There'r so many of them, millions and trillions-all singing at once. It's insane. It's so good, and at the same time, too much. You feel you might lose your balance, if you stand there and listen too long. Anyway. There are only about 6 other people on the bus. The guy right in front of me is sneaking bites from a Jack in the Box bag everytime he thinks the driver can't see him. He has a big nose, pointy, and sharp. I like his nose. It reminds me of Dave. I wonder fleetingly what it'd be like *with* him. This random guy, eating the nasty, mayonaissey smelling JITB with the big nose that reminds me of Dave. I stop myself, reminding me that I've had 3-20 oz Stellas and a shot of Fernet, and that Dave is so very, very over. BUT... I continue to check him out, as there's not much else to look at. He has a medium size bald spot on the top of his head, a perfect circle. I have an almost overwhelming urge to touch it, to run my index finger over the smooth, shiny, hairless skin. I resist the urge, telling myself I won't ever go drinking with "the guys" after work again, if this is the sort of stupid shit my mind will resort to out of boredom and drunken silliness on the way home. I tell myself that this is probably the sort of thing psychopaths think of and that CAN'T be a good thing. I stare out the window, and try to ignore the guy in front of me. I try to hear the "birds" again, and focus on that, but now we're off the freeway and traveling slower, so the cute birdy noises are no longer. What else can I do? I'm staring in front of me again. Dave look-alike puts on his hat, and I kind of breathe an internal sigh of relief, thinking the hat is extra proof that I shouldn't get tactile on the top of his head. Two seconds go by, and he takes the hat OFF again. He reaches into the pocket of his yellow and gray North Face jacket and pulls out some headphones, puts them on, and starts rocking out. And I'll be damned if he isn't listening to LeFreak, by Chic. Fucking DISCO, man. I think this could be a SIGN. If I shouldn't touch his head, ('cause beleive me, I DO know I SHOULDN'T) then I should do SOMETHING. I think, since I know all the words to LeFreak, By Chic by heart, and I can hear them clearly, (its fairly quiet on this bus) that it might be interesting to see what happens if I pull off one side of his headphones, put my lips up to his ear, and start singing along. WHAT would he do???? (I know what I'D do....) (kill a fool) But of course.....these are just my thoughts, and I didn't DO anything. Except trip out even more when the next song this on-the-younger-side-of-middle-aged-somebody's-husband-looking guy played was "Upside Down" by Diana Ross. More disco! ~How weird~.... I'll always remember that song, & the first time I heard it, how I loved it on the spot. I was in London. In Marks & Spencer, and my parent's friend who I was "living" with wouldn't buy the record for me. I begged & begged. I was 12. She kept threatening to sell us (me, and her 2 kids) to the Gypsies. I don't know about NOW, but at that time in this suburb of London, there were Gypsy Caravans parked all OVER the place, like, at every freeway on/off ramp. Every time we'd get on or off the freeway, my mom's hysterical Peruvian friend would threaten to sell us all to the Gypsies if we didn't behave. I was TERRIFIED of Gypsies. That was the summer I was first kissed, (on my 12th b-day, in a game of Spin the Bottle, by the next door neighbor, a boy named Ian, whose unfortunate skin led us to call him Ian Boil)....
I worked late tonight & some of the guys I work with (in the Financial District) convinced me to come have drinks with them after. Fun, but not much to report. The usual conversation about how I am "so cool" to come along and fit in as "one of the guys" and then lots of frat boy type talk no intelligent girl should ever be subjected to. So then. I'm on the Transbay bus, the "O", on my way home to Alameda. We're on the bridge, no traffic, breezing along at a good speed. There are so many cracks, and barely opened windows on this bus where air is squeezing through that it makes this certain sound. A high pitched squeaking sound, all slightly different pitches, and all at different times, so it sounds like the bus is being pulled along by a million, trillion little birds. Tiny sparrows, or finches... I like this idea. I close my semi-drunken eyes and imagine the bus being powered by a million, trillion little chirping birds. I've heard a million, trillion birds all chirping at once too, before you think I don't know what I'm talking about. Really! They're in this tree, just outside the bus terminal at First & Mission. You can't see them, but you can hear them. There'r so many of them, millions and trillions-all singing at once. It's insane. It's so good, and at the same time, too much. You feel you might lose your balance, if you stand there and listen too long. Anyway. There are only about 6 other people on the bus. The guy right in front of me is sneaking bites from a Jack in the Box bag everytime he thinks the driver can't see him. He has a big nose, pointy, and sharp. I like his nose. It reminds me of Dave. I wonder fleetingly what it'd be like *with* him. This random guy, eating the nasty, mayonaissey smelling JITB with the big nose that reminds me of Dave. I stop myself, reminding me that I've had 3-20 oz Stellas and a shot of Fernet, and that Dave is so very, very over. BUT... I continue to check him out, as there's not much else to look at. He has a medium size bald spot on the top of his head, a perfect circle. I have an almost overwhelming urge to touch it, to run my index finger over the smooth, shiny, hairless skin. I resist the urge, telling myself I won't ever go drinking with "the guys" after work again, if this is the sort of stupid shit my mind will resort to out of boredom and drunken silliness on the way home. I tell myself that this is probably the sort of thing psychopaths think of and that CAN'T be a good thing. I stare out the window, and try to ignore the guy in front of me. I try to hear the "birds" again, and focus on that, but now we're off the freeway and traveling slower, so the cute birdy noises are no longer. What else can I do? I'm staring in front of me again. Dave look-alike puts on his hat, and I kind of breathe an internal sigh of relief, thinking the hat is extra proof that I shouldn't get tactile on the top of his head. Two seconds go by, and he takes the hat OFF again. He reaches into the pocket of his yellow and gray North Face jacket and pulls out some headphones, puts them on, and starts rocking out. And I'll be damned if he isn't listening to LeFreak, by Chic. Fucking DISCO, man. I think this could be a SIGN. If I shouldn't touch his head, ('cause beleive me, I DO know I SHOULDN'T) then I should do SOMETHING. I think, since I know all the words to LeFreak, By Chic by heart, and I can hear them clearly, (its fairly quiet on this bus) that it might be interesting to see what happens if I pull off one side of his headphones, put my lips up to his ear, and start singing along. WHAT would he do???? (I know what I'D do....) (kill a fool) But of course.....these are just my thoughts, and I didn't DO anything. Except trip out even more when the next song this on-the-younger-side-of-middle-aged-somebody's-husband-looking guy played was "Upside Down" by Diana Ross. More disco! ~How weird~.... I'll always remember that song, & the first time I heard it, how I loved it on the spot. I was in London. In Marks & Spencer, and my parent's friend who I was "living" with wouldn't buy the record for me. I begged & begged. I was 12. She kept threatening to sell us (me, and her 2 kids) to the Gypsies. I don't know about NOW, but at that time in this suburb of London, there were Gypsy Caravans parked all OVER the place, like, at every freeway on/off ramp. Every time we'd get on or off the freeway, my mom's hysterical Peruvian friend would threaten to sell us all to the Gypsies if we didn't behave. I was TERRIFIED of Gypsies. That was the summer I was first kissed, (on my 12th b-day, in a game of Spin the Bottle, by the next door neighbor, a boy named Ian, whose unfortunate skin led us to call him Ian Boil)....
Another time, another story. I AM rambling.
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