Homeless Diabetic

Now I'm not one to mock the homeless, I do realize their grave situation, but sometimes they amuse me... when they're not scary.

When I was young we took a trip to New York city to visit relatives, and the homeless were rather persistent. They would follow me and talk inside my personal space asking if I had any money. I was 8, like I had any money on me. Well, scratch that, I had saved up to buy a packet of color changing markers. But because I'm selfish I supported my coloring fantasy, and ignored the dreams of others for food, clothing, or booze. Plus, they scared me.

Then there's the famous lady of the night that Claire and I always saw outside the Brueggers in Colorado Springs. She looked like she got in a battle with a cat and won, then wore it's pelt on her head as a trophy. But that paled compared to her fabulous makeup job. Well, her tattered hoochie clothes with the ripped stockings were also competing for attention. The fact that she was probably in her late 90s didn't help either. I couldn't help but shutter as I thought of which poor desperate man that would enlist her "services". Blech.

My most recent encounter was yesterday at a bus stop in St. Paul. I'm waiting at a stop that has a rather diverse collection of riders. None of them are sketchy. So, I'm standing for what seems like 50 minutes behind some Muslim women who are chattering with each other in a rapid cadence. Then along comes a chubby guy who looks like that high school-aged lost soul who once was a band geek, but decided his social stature would be greatly increased if he greased his hair and wore black clothes with an unnecessary amount of fasteners on them. He of course still has the geeky looking face, and the glasses (they always have glasses, wouldn't they do better with contacts?) and the timid shuffle of their walk. He comes and asks the Muslim women if they could spare any change for a homeless diabetic. They looked nervously at each other and started chattering even faster and clustered closer to each other. I think that they didn't have a clue what he said. Then since I'm standing behind the mob of draped women, he tries to wedge between them over to me, and asks me if I had any spare change for a homeless diabetic. I shake my head, because I only had enough for my bus fare. So, I wasn't actually lying, I was just being selfish because I didn't want to end up a homeless hypoglycemic. Does he actually think that he's going to get money? Why is he out there. Not to be cynical, but he seriously looked like his mother would be standing outside with a mug of hot chocolate and a cloth to polish off his glasses. He was well dressed, articulated his needs in a coherent manner, and he didn't smell.

I'm baffled.

Snow Snow Snow!

Snow
It won't be long before we'll all be there with snow
Snow
I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow
(ok so granted we already got some, but not enough to wash with)

Snow
I long to clear a path and lift a spade of snow
(I could actually do without the lifting of the snow)
Snow
Oh, to see a great big man entirely made of snow

Where it's snowing
All winter through
That's where I want to be
Snowball throwing
That's what I'll do
How I'm longing to ski
Through the snow-oh-oh-oh-oh
(amen)

Those glist'ning houses that seem to be built of snow
(ah, perhaps they are made out of snow)
Snow
Oh, to see a mountain covered with a quilt of snow

What is Christmas with no snow
(a very sad Christmas indeed)
No white Christmas with no snow
Snow

I'll soon be there with snow
I'll wash my hair with snow
And with a spade of snow
I'll build a man that's made of snow
I'd love to stay up with you but I recommend a little shuteye
Go to sleep
And dream
Of snow

Yay! I hope more snow is on the way! I love it!

Merry Mariah

I'm far too obsessed with the Mariah Carey Christmas CD. It's been going on for years, but I've finally come to terms that it's unhealthy. I need to stop... next year.

All I want for Christmaaaaaas is youuuuuuuu!

Listen and you'll love it too. It's my addiction, far stronger than any drug.

Time Is The Enemy

It's the last day of my first week at my new job. Wow... you know Joe, he's the second cousin of your mom's friend's daughter's husband's sisters friend. Nevermind. I thought they sounded the same. Which perfectly clarifies my week. What?

Anyway, so I got the bus thing down without a hitch, and actually found out that I can get picked up at a far less sketchy bus stop right outside of my building. Woo! The first day was a little intense waiting at the other bus stop for 4 score and 7 years. Many a lost soul ended up mumbling something at me. I pretended I was deaf.

On to the job. I like it so far... not really much for me to do seeing as I don't have my own computer yet. I have a temporary laptop that's older than Joan Rivers. So, I can't be on the server, I can't join the rest of the company in the 21 century, and I can't open any of their applications/software. Oh well. Maybe next week.

Getting up early is a real bugger. I am not a morning person, I never have been, and I never will. I was always the last kid up on Christmas morning, and grumpy because my sister bounded into my room at the ungodly hour of 7am on the dot (our parents made the rule of no Christmas before 7am, otherwise I'm pretty sure I would've been accosted at 4am). Then I tried to take that 8am class at college thinking that I would force myself into being a morning person after all these years of torture, I just ended up just not showing up on non-exam days. And now, I'm out the door by 6:20am, and into work by 7:20 (my boss is one of those morning people). I'm ready to die.

I thought if I started so early that I would have the whole day ahead of me, and I could push my day closer and closer to the desired 21 hours of productivity. Alas, it hasn't happened. I'm up, I'm out, I'm home, I'm busy, and I'm off to bed. I leave earlier than I ever have in my life, and yet my bills are overdue, the house is a mess, and I've got more luggage under my eyes than Samsonite. How does that happen? And how does that happen on a week free of choir rehearsals, and teaching? I think the universe has been split.

But I am alive. And as a caring holiday gesture, grab me a luggage trolley for my eye bags if you happen to see me. Thanks. I'll owe you one.

Bumbling Busser

Well that was a disaster.

So, we wait out in the cold for a while at the park and ride, and I ask the first bus to make sure it was the right one. (See previous post for the mind boggling bus schedule.) It wasn't. So we wait some more, and then all these people come out of nowhere to get on the bus. Oh, the smart people that wait in their cars at 6:30am until the bus actually shows up. Yes, thoooose people.

So we hop on the bus, and it's not a bad ride at all, until we get to St. Paul. On the schedule it says there's only one stop in St. Paul. So, I just sit and wait, but then there's cords being pulled and a red sign saying "stop requested" flashing up and random people getting off. What?!?! I have to pull the cord? I thought it only had one stop! Who can see where we are when it's still black out and all the lights are on in the bus!! So, when it stops at a pavilion and lots of people start getting off, I got caught up in the masses and exited the bus. Hmmm I think. This is not where I intended to be. I am severely directionally impaired and probably couldn't find my way out of a paper bag. So we stop and think. And ah ha! We see the bus depot at our pick up spot. We have 15 minutes, and we have plenty of time to spare. So we wait and wait in the bile smelling building. Then it's time for the bus arrival and we still don't see it. I look at my printed out directions again, and oops, we've been waiting at the wrong stop! Dah!

I really felt like I was back in the grade school. We huddle together trying to decide who's parent we can call to come and pick us up because we missed the bussy wussy. After we make the call, I thought I would make a run to my new office to see where it was in relation to the bus stops. Yeah. 20 minutes later I finally find it after walking to the ends of the earth and back, and then back around. We decide to hit up the McDonalds for some coffee. I tunnel vision my way straight past the homeless man, and to the register where I have to charge my nickle coffee. Mmmm caffeine. As we walk out, my haze clears, and I realize that there's a Caribou right in front of us. I kick myself for getting my 2 cent coffee, and then splurge and get a 83 dollar coffee at the 'boo.

Lesson to the story? Rachel can not function without coffee. Not even enough to see her Mecca calling to her right in front of her face. Lesson learned.


Trial run #2 set for Saturday.

It's My Last Day!

I'm bursting with desire to dance down the halls and shout, "I'm free!! See ya' sucka's!!" But I can't. I just can't. I didn't wear the right shoes. Damn!

I've been trying to figure out this whole bus route thing for the past couple days, and man, all I can say is I'm glad I'm doing a practice run tomorrow. Sure I have to get up earlier than I ever have in my entire life, but I'm going to have to get up at that time every day from now on. (God help me. No, seriously, help.)

So, I've opted to take the bus everyday. Everyone seems to rave about it. And I think I like the idea of someone else battling rush hour for me. (Plus, I can't drive on the shoulder, always wanted to, but never did. Now is my chance!) So, I call the lovely people at the bus company, because they're website is as clear as mud. It has 2 pick-up times on the same route at the location I want to get on. Apparently it's for people who want to drive all the way to Stillwater, just to get on a bus and take it into a different part of Stillwater. I have no doubt that some people do it, there's crazies all over this world, but I am going to catch the same bus a half hour later (at the same spot) and coast my way into the crawling city.

So, I call and I call (in hopes of getting a second, third, fourth opinion that surely will surpass the previous in clarity) and none of them really make sense. Especially when my question is answered. So, I shall explain my confusion... and then the confusing answer. There are 2 buses arriving 2 minutes apart from each other (sounds like a math test) at 6:30. I need to catch the one that's already done its loop around the rest of Stillwater, and is headed for St. Paul. I don't want to get on the other one that's picking up for the first time and is heading towards the rest of Stillwater. So, I ask how I can tell if I'm getting on the right bus. I was thinking one would say "A" or "B" on their flashy pimp boards overhead. But, no. Apparently I have to ask every morning of my life if I'm getting on the right one. The buses are identical and so is their light board sign of no help. So I ask the customer service man if it's the same driver so that I don't have to hold up all the morning crankies by asking the driver to hold my hand and make my lunch every day. Apparently no. Not a good assumption to make because the drivers change. Suck-ola. So tomorrow I could be stranded, wandering aimlessly through the streets of St. Paul if I miss my return bus 15 minutes after my drop off.

I am one special gal. A gal with no clue about public transportation. I'm embarking on more than one new adventure next week. I could end up in a neighborhood near you!