Someday I Might Miss Commuting.... But Not Today

I would say that full-time bus riders are made up of four main categories*

55% Sleepers

30% Readers

10% Laptop People

5% People Who Talk Really Loudly On Their Cell Phones About Very Personal Business

*non scientific data

One of the games I play with myself while riding the stupid bus to work every day is trying to figure out what the 30% is reading.  The other game is trying to take pictures of people with my phone.

So far, these are the titles I have been able to discern:

Angel Time

1832

Everyone Worth Knowing

Pilcher

Looking for the King

Medieval Europe

Lost Light

Instant Relief

The Arctic Event
Inside of a Dog
Kardashian Konfidential

I had not previously heard of any of these books (except for Kardashian Konfidential... ironically).  Anyone know if there's one in here worth reading?  At a later date, I may further investigate these titles just to get a sense of who it is I am spending my commute with.

Here are a couple of random bus people pictures.  Just for fun.

At the bus stop.  This girl had cute shoes.

This guy is actually really nice.

I just think its funny/clever that he sleeps with an eye mask on the bus!

I'm not convinced it's worth it

link

Standing outside in frigid temperatures and violent wind at six-something-in-the-freaking-morning breeds some type of camaraderie among bus-goers.  Everyone huddles together behind the covered bench area to shield themselves from the wind.  Common complaints are passed around about how the bus is always 10-15 minutes late on the worst days and some even venture to get-to-know-you small talk: "Which side of the railroad tracks are you from?"  (I'm from the west side, yo).

And then the bus finally comes and it's every man for himself and I get stuck sitting next to Mr. Boogers who literally has snot dripping from his nose.  I wanted to puke just looking at him. I mean, it's like having plumber's crack: how could you NOT know?!

Behind me?  Well, behind me is Mr. Zzzz's who not only snores the whole 90 minute commute (which normally is 40 minutes, thank you very much crappy weather), but periodically kicks the back of my seat.

So excuse me if I show up to work 45 minutes late sans mascara and sporting a terrible wind-blown 'do.  Next time I might just throw caution to the violent wind and drive myself.  I may not get my nap, but it seems far better than the alternative some days.

Of Airports and Blogs

Denver International Airport

Last week I was sitting at gate B14 or something just minding my own business with my Starbucks blueberry scone and orange juice, waiting to board my plane.  I was contemplating the right time to finally apply my makeup when this guy came over and asked to sit two seats over from me.  I told him it was fine as long as he did not sit right next to me.  I need my personal space, you know.  (I am just so witty like that).  I thought he would leave me alone after that, but I soon discovered that he was insistent on talking the rest of my trip to Colorado.

The next question I got was "Well, you obviously know what I do, but what do you do for a living?"

I did not obviously know what he did.  I actually thought he was a flight attendant or some kind of co-pilot or something because he had a military-like jacket with some wingy type things on it.  Clearly I know nothing about nothing because I realized later he is in the Navy.  (I'm an idiot).

He commented on the lack of shine on my boots and how I was drinking the wrong brand of orange juice and was terribly surprised when I told him I am Mormon.  "I normally have a good radar about these things!"  He exclaimed.  I wondered what his perception of Mormons is (or of me) for him to be so surprised by this news.

At this point, he was not at all surprised when I told him I have a blog.  He actually rolled his eyes and said something to the effect of, "Oh of cooourrsee you do.  Why do so many Mormon women blog anyway?"

I had no answer.  Just that I like to blog and I also happen to be Mormon.  I have thoughts and ideas and funny things that happen (like talking to strangers in airports) that I like to write down in my spare time.  So there.

At any rate, I laughed to myself when I heard about this article on salon.com addressing this very issue (as well as the succeeding article here about the salon.com article).  I had to laugh when the author referenced Anthropolgie-like closets and something about domestic life made easy.  No really, I'm laughing.  My closet is far from Anthropolgie-esque and I hardly consider my domestic life easy.  Although Kyle has been doing the grocery shopping lately...

Anyway, I loved that the author felt that "Mormon mommy blogs" were uplifting (albeit strangely uplifting) and I hope in some sense along the way, this little blog of mine has been uplifting for someone.  Oh yeah, even if that someone is me.  :)

So what do you think about "Mormon mommy blogs?" 

Do you have thoughts on why so many Mormon women blog?

Did you also read this article?

But There Are No Seatbelts On The Train?

Speaking of public transportation...

I was so lucky as to spend thirty minutes on the train.  There is no personal space on the train.  I was smashed up to the greasy window when I noticed my seat partner was reading what appeared to be a rather interesting novel. 

my attempt at photographing my neighbor-reader.  he is on the left. 

the woman you see on the right is a starer.

Since I was wearing sunglasses, I figured there was no harm in reading over his shoulder.  It's a Dan Brown.  But which one?  One I've read or one I should read?  I was just getting to the bottom of this when he turned ninety degrees to the left, severing my visual contact with his pages. 

Did he actually notice my eyes glancing sideways over his shoulder to read his mystery novel?

Was he reading my mind as I was reading his pages?

Did I forget to put on deodorant this morning?

Will he notice me trying to get his picture with my phone?

Whatever the reason, I was slightly put-out at his sudden change in direction and am still left wondering which Dan Brown novel was so interesting as to deny clever strangers an over-the-shoulder read.  I guess now I just have to read them all.

Then I noticed the girl across from me who was wearing a very large puffy jacket with what appeared to be a seat belt around her waist. 

But there are no seatbelts on the train? 

And am I the only one suffocating in this muggy space?

actual photo from my phone

On the train you sit two to a seat, each seat facing another.  So pretty much if you're not reading something, you're staring at the person sitting across from you.  She was reading a local newspaper of some kind.  I caught a glimpse of an ad that had "HUGE YARD SALE" written in bold letters and she turned the page before I could find out the location of such a great sale.  The nerve!  What is with people and their inconsiderate reading?  Don't they know I'm trying to read too?!?

actual photo of mystery woman (on the left)

Enter Mystery Woman B, who had seemingly bathed in a vat of alcoholic beverages just prior to boarding the train.  She sat within arms length of me and smelled so awful I forgot why I was even on the train in the first place. 

Please, for the love of all that's holy, do not enter my personal space when smelling so foul. 

Oh that's right, there is no personal space on the train.

Bus-going Idiots Unite!

It all started yesterday when God commanded the wind to blow like unto a hurricane.  I drove sleepily to the bus stop at 6:40 AM.  As I approached the other bus-goers, a sweet Asian man shouted in broken English, "You inside! More people, more warm!" 

So there was a dozen of us crammed in all spaces of the bus stop booth thing sheltering ourselves from the gale-force winds.  A few minutes later the bus arrived and the Asian man shouted, "Everyone on bus!"  So we all got on the bus.  I mean, wouldn't you?

I fell asleep. 

Forty-five minutes later I woke up to find myself not at all in the place I should be.  I was on the wrong bus.  The hurricane winds soon mixed with rain and snow and once I figured out where we were, I hopped off the bus and ran to the train station where I braved the evil weather in my brown leather flats and itchy nylons. 

I arrived at work one hour late with wet, wind-blown hair and runny mascara.

Today I met a man at the bus stop who confessed he'd also gotten on the wrong bus yesterday morning.  I expressed my sincere condolences and chuckled relief to myself.  So I guess I'm not the only idiot after all.

Of Gym-Goers and Moving Boxes

 I've been much too distracted these past many weeks to go to the gym.  But on account of there being jiggly parts that ought not to be so jiggly, I ventured over gym-ways for some much needed calorie burning.  Also, Kyle had already gone to the gym when I got home from work and I suffer from inner guilt of laziness if he goes and I do not.  Furthermore, I gave in to the peanut butter m&ms, the irony of which is that thirty minutes on the treadmill does little to compensate for said sugar indulgence. 

During my speedwalk/Simpson's episode, an unknown fellow gym-goer hopped on the treadmill next to me while talking on her cell phone.  She continued to talk (quite loudly) for the duration of The Simpsons.  My reading of the subtitles was severely impeded and caused me to wonder, but aren't there rules of etiquette about talking on the phone so loudly in the gym while others are exercising/reading subtitles?  I should like to post some rules regarding this problem.  To add insult to injury, she was not at all very jiggly and should therefore not have been running alongside me and my jigglyness.

So we begin our move in EIGHT days.  I have spent the last six months primping and organizing our tiny apartment to have some semblance of our personal style only to spend the next eight days (plus the previous five) packing it all away.  All those months of decorating now seem a little futile. 

 Kyle has been collecting boxes from work and spending many evenings packing away all our stuffs.  I was so proud when I came home with a single paper box to add to our collection.  My pride was dashed when I walked in the door to find that Kyle had brought home a few dozen boxes of varying sizes that were lined up along the wall, waiting to be filled.  "So much for my box contribution," I say!

I have, in fact, helped to pack several boxes.  But I feel that my moving-into-a-new-house contribution lies heavily in the preparing-to-decorate-the-heck-out-of-this-new-place category.  You see, I am a project-oriented person.  I really am.  When there is something new to look forward to, I obsess over it.  I google everything I can about it.  I draw pictures and diagrams.  I make color-coded charts.  (You think I'm joking?) 

This obsessive planning phase has been applied to several recent events including, but not limited to: wedding planning (a project-lover's guilty pleasure), selecting the tiny apartment, the searching for the perfect house, and now the decorating of the new house.  I spend most all of my free time scanning interior design blogs, pictures, magazines... whatever I can get my hands on.  And yes, I made a nerdy PowerPoint presentation to illustrate each room and my specific plans therein. 

I believe I was made to be a secretary. 

Pretty Freaking Awesome

Today was especially nice: sunny skies, spring weather, perfect for celebrating new beginnings, don't you think?  It was after lunch on this fine day that I happened upon this...

...and subsequently laughed myself to tears.  I'm sorry anonymous bride for making a mockery of your bridal fashion of choice.  But really, where is the sensible bridesmaid to tell you you look like a cake-topper?  I know that you meant well and perhaps wanted to accentuate the smallness of your waist but I feel it my public duty to inform you that your skirt is much too big.  And tell me, am I the only one who finds this hilarious?

It does however provide us all with a good peek at your tennis shoes. Nice touch!

As if THAT wasn't enough to make your day... I would like to present to you the public unveiling of Twitterman!  Yes, that's right, for the last few months my Kyle has been moonlighting as a radio station promotions assistant/Twitterman.  I'm so proud!  I love that he would willingly wear this costume and hand out t-shirts in public.  It's pretty freaking awesome is what it is!

Twitterman may be Kyle's alter ego, but tonight I was the superhero for I obtained 2 tickets to the Jazz game!  And the seats were pretty good!  Feel free to call me "Sugar Mama."  I think I've earned it.

Mission Nearly Impossible

Assignment: Find Kay (whom I've never met) who is possibly standing outside the Neighborhood Market.  But one can never be too sure. 

Known facts include:  Caucasian.  Female.  Mid 40's.  Blondish hair.  Heavy-set.  No cell phone.

Would you believe that for 15 minutes I chased down 6 women outside the Neighborhood Market asking them if they were Kay?  Because I did.  It occurred to me that every woman in Salt Lake must be a heavy-set caucasian female with blondish hair in her mid-40's.  But we do have a thing for blonde here.

There was some particular confusion with one of the strangers I approached because her name was Day.  She thought I said Day, I thought she said her name was Kay... 

I wonder, have you ever met a woman named Day?

I shouted "Kay!" to another woman across the street and we subsequently ran towards each other as I waved frantically in the air.  She thought I shouted "Hey!"  She was not Kay. 

I did manage to find Kay, or rather Kay found me.  She was inside the building I was supposed to help her get into.  After observing me for a few minutes while I harrassed innocent Kay look-alikes while dodging downtown traffic, she poked her head out the door and said, "Are you looking for me?  I found my own way inside."

Well there you go.

For the Love of Strangers

I am a self-proclaimed people-watcher.  I'm totally that creepy girl at the gym that stares at people.  I need to stop that...  I just find people so interesting and I wonder where they've come from, what they're going to eat for dinner, where they work, and most importantly, what were they thinking???  Every now and then I find a really interesting one and I try to sneak a picture with my cell phone so I can look back on their individual strangeness when I feel a little bored.  Here are a few of my favorites:

I caught this guy trying to get on the Front Runner.  It's hard to tell from my poor-quality cell phone picture, but he is, in fact, wearing rollerblades.  He is also carrying a medium-sized cage in both hands.  I could understand the rollerblades - perhaps a nod to the early nineties?  too busy to get in a proper workout?  or maybe he's a good samaritan who gave away his commuter bike to an underprivelaged child.  But what of the cages?!?  Amateur trapper?  Maybe he has a problem with feral cats?  The world may never know...

This guy has abnormally long legs.  He should meet Svetlana Pankratova, the woman with the world's longest legs.  I bet they'd play a crazy game of Twister.

Working on Temple Square, I see brides almost every day.  This one was pretty different.  It's hard to tell in the picture, but she's wearing hunter green leggings under her gold dress ???  Maybe she's from a foreign land where this is culturally symbolic of something really cool.  I give her points for being unique.