Time Flies Coach & WithHold The Affection
Ever wonder why people you like alot (and visibly show it) don't quite like you back equally, and yet, those scummy bastards you really dislike, somehow manage to fall in love with you?
Not you either? Oh well. :)
Anyway, I took the bus to the beach last Sunday and discovered the distinct difference between real city public transportation and Los Angeles public transportation. I'm not saying either one was bad, just different, that's all.
For starters, Los Angeles bus stops are not clearly marked. Or at least some of the ones that are -- well if it's lying on the ground, apparently the bus drivers have forgotten that it's a bus stop. Walk on my friends to the next nearest bus stop. Only in Chicago will a bus driver slow to the side when you wave at it (New York taxis behave similarly) -- but folks do not try this at hometown Los Angeles. You will not be noticed no matter how freakin weird you look.
Also, people don't touch you. It's weird; no jostling or whatever, that random stuff that happens when you're on a moving vehicle without seatbelts. In Chicago, people will tackle you trying to get off, if you happen to get on when they are attempting to exit the bus. Not so folks in Los Angeles; you may even scoot over, but they'll stare at you as if you are a 450 lb. sumo wrestler when the space is as big as a condominium lot. Also, there will be empty seats on the bus with people standing. Weird. You're on PUBLIC transportation. Everyone is the public. Get used to it.
Other than that, nothing more eventful than that ever-so-Indian-not-so-hygenic scent. I'm not racist; I have friends of all cultures, but mine take showers or at the very least use myrrh.
Anyway, that was my colorful adventure to the beach. Other than total unchaotic relaxation.
Sidestep into the future, I end up writing a title from two lines forged from "Dead Like Me." The most hillarious TV show in existence, mainly because I love sarcastic dark humor. Every line in that script is uncannily truth, even when a reaper is speaking about life. You want to laugh your effing head off. You really do.
Anyway, I ta ta for now and think happy thoughts. Perhaps, each day should be lived not on what I forgot to do yesterday, nor what I must remember to do tomorrow, but on that pleasant in-the-moment place where dreams do come true and nightmares die.
Good nite.
Not you either? Oh well. :)
Anyway, I took the bus to the beach last Sunday and discovered the distinct difference between real city public transportation and Los Angeles public transportation. I'm not saying either one was bad, just different, that's all.
For starters, Los Angeles bus stops are not clearly marked. Or at least some of the ones that are -- well if it's lying on the ground, apparently the bus drivers have forgotten that it's a bus stop. Walk on my friends to the next nearest bus stop. Only in Chicago will a bus driver slow to the side when you wave at it (New York taxis behave similarly) -- but folks do not try this at hometown Los Angeles. You will not be noticed no matter how freakin weird you look.
Also, people don't touch you. It's weird; no jostling or whatever, that random stuff that happens when you're on a moving vehicle without seatbelts. In Chicago, people will tackle you trying to get off, if you happen to get on when they are attempting to exit the bus. Not so folks in Los Angeles; you may even scoot over, but they'll stare at you as if you are a 450 lb. sumo wrestler when the space is as big as a condominium lot. Also, there will be empty seats on the bus with people standing. Weird. You're on PUBLIC transportation. Everyone is the public. Get used to it.
Other than that, nothing more eventful than that ever-so-Indian-not-so-hygenic scent. I'm not racist; I have friends of all cultures, but mine take showers or at the very least use myrrh.
Anyway, that was my colorful adventure to the beach. Other than total unchaotic relaxation.
Sidestep into the future, I end up writing a title from two lines forged from "Dead Like Me." The most hillarious TV show in existence, mainly because I love sarcastic dark humor. Every line in that script is uncannily truth, even when a reaper is speaking about life. You want to laugh your effing head off. You really do.
Anyway, I ta ta for now and think happy thoughts. Perhaps, each day should be lived not on what I forgot to do yesterday, nor what I must remember to do tomorrow, but on that pleasant in-the-moment place where dreams do come true and nightmares die.
Good nite.
posted by JadedTLC at Tuesday, July 26, 2005
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