In my days before returning to the left coast I blogged almost everyday about the usually unusual happenings in the Subway and streets of NYC. Since I arrived here in Los Angeles- I have not come across anything as unusual as a seemingly normal person watching porn (without the use of headphones) on his mini dvd player on an uptown 9, or the small Asian ladies who would bark and shove me to make sure they and their push carts got on to the 7 train, all the while running over me and my new high heels to make sure they got out. I have not seen a bum pee into a water bottle on public transport and I haven't been cursed at for hailing a taxi and getting in it before an upper eastsider claims I am stealing his ride-while he stood at a distance under a canopy during a summer rainstorm and yelled at his wife on his cell phone. Sadly, I miss the characters- and endless ability to people watch. Is that so wrong? Besides Venice beach and the occasional hooker on Hollywood Blvd. I just don't come across these people anymore. Where have they gone? I'm positive they exist here in the Land of the fur coat in summer time-but do I just not pay attention anymore-am I waisting my time driving? I could use the "GULP" public transportation system here in la la land..but would it be worth it?
The two or three people I see a week picking their nose while on the 134, just isn't cutting it. Is Los Angeles just too spread out to get access to the nut jobs, assholes, pricks, bitches, sluts, old bitty's and dirty old men-all in one place? Nothing quite compares to the ny subway-everybody takes the subway. The bum's to Mr. Wall Street. It's the ultimate inspiration for people watchers, and noticers such as myself. Someone please inspire me...
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Things I have come to know 2004...2009 coming soon.
Thursday, December 2, 2004
9:44AM - Things I have come to know.
When that tall skinny girl is starting at you in the subway, it’s not because she thinks you’re ugly or fat. It’s because she is imagining that you are a gigantic loaded baked potato. What is fashion to you is crap to somebody else so go ahead and wear what you want, in a city this big someone is bound to pick up some trash.The recession special at grays papaya is the yummiest and cheapest meal in Manhattan.Gay men (born anywhere but here) are bitchier then a rich Manhattan born women. When writing in your journal on the subway be sure to let the older man next to you read over you shoulder, that way he can get to know you without really “getting to know you”If you take the “I’m not budging stance” when you are on the subway, stick to it. The worst thing to do is move for somebody, if you do you’ll be trapped in a corner, and when you try to get out the person you moved for won’t let you by, no matter how many times you say “excuse me”. (I have been known to use force when exiting the car).Your commute to and from work will always suck, even if you leave the house earlier or later, even if you take a different train. Most Dates and Even relationships are based on a dare. Find a job where you can wear your Pajama’s to work. (or something that you find just as comfortable)It’s ok to be a cliché (example: as a receptionist it is a joy to chew gum, file my nails, and answer the phone in an overly nasal voice) if it spices up your day.
Current mood: bored
Current music: Lauren Hill
9:44AM - Things I have come to know.
When that tall skinny girl is starting at you in the subway, it’s not because she thinks you’re ugly or fat. It’s because she is imagining that you are a gigantic loaded baked potato. What is fashion to you is crap to somebody else so go ahead and wear what you want, in a city this big someone is bound to pick up some trash.The recession special at grays papaya is the yummiest and cheapest meal in Manhattan.Gay men (born anywhere but here) are bitchier then a rich Manhattan born women. When writing in your journal on the subway be sure to let the older man next to you read over you shoulder, that way he can get to know you without really “getting to know you”If you take the “I’m not budging stance” when you are on the subway, stick to it. The worst thing to do is move for somebody, if you do you’ll be trapped in a corner, and when you try to get out the person you moved for won’t let you by, no matter how many times you say “excuse me”. (I have been known to use force when exiting the car).Your commute to and from work will always suck, even if you leave the house earlier or later, even if you take a different train. Most Dates and Even relationships are based on a dare. Find a job where you can wear your Pajama’s to work. (or something that you find just as comfortable)It’s ok to be a cliché (example: as a receptionist it is a joy to chew gum, file my nails, and answer the phone in an overly nasal voice) if it spices up your day.
Current mood: bored
Current music: Lauren Hill
Old Post's, please enjoy
Today, I am trying to motivate and write about my life, which is something I enjoy...but haven't done in, forever. Please raise your glass, for motivation....ps, I am pulling these from my livejournal blog (remember live journal, jeez) circa 2004-2006
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
12:24PM - Office....lingo, assholes, characters and annoyances
As I walked into work this morning I was greeted by my lovely VP who informs me that I have done something wrong (well more like forgotten to do something for about 3 months, Oh happy Day!) Which, just for your information is not true, the application I supposedly have left out of our new hire info packets has been there all along. Unfortunately no matter how much I like them, the new hires take awhile to catch on...putting two and two together does not always make four.....if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, on the other side of the cubicle, I hear my VP giving a lecture, or as she likes to call it reinforcement training, which is just a lot of common sense crap, with fancy wording......if I have to hear how you bridge an appointment, how hungry you must be to succeed in this business, how you need a mission, how to stay on the right side of the trouble line and basically how you have to lie, cheat and steal if you want to make it in sales, I’m gonna fucking puke. Damn you Mr. Sandler!!!!! On top of the fact that it’s gorgeous outside and I’m stuck in here till 6 pm, probably with no break, I have to sit on my already spreading ass and thighs and watch these nut jobs, deal with, most times even nuttier clients. They drive me to the brink, and let me tell you I am already there, so I have nowhere to go. You know how sometimes just the sight of someone drives you crazy. Well half of this office is tied for the number one spot. If you stand in front of my desk, waiting for me to notice you, ask you if you need something, tell you to go away or are expecting me to offer you some of my heavenly and damn expensive café latte...you got another thing coming bucko....because I’m not interested in what your cat did last night, how long you were in the bathroom this morning, how many guys you gave blow jobs too on the dance floor at splash, how many gallons of water I should be drinking a day, or to just sit and smile when you are plainly staring at my tits.....we are traveling on the same highway and your going 15 mph in the fast lane. Get the fuck out of my way, because I have a job to do. The most frustrating thing is that, in the simplest terms I work for you (I am your support staff, your administrative goddess, your secretary, and most importantly your receptionist) Don’t cross me, don’t piss me off, and DO NOT BERATE ME (I’m talking management here) Just like you have no tolerance for numbers being discussed in public, no tolerance for client prospects being discussed in public, and the inability to use spell check (yes, I understand that has no connection but I had to throw it in) Does not mean you have the right to berate me in front of my co-workers. You do realize that I log all this negativity away to use on that special day when I either quit or have had enough of your bull crap to yank you into your loft like office digs and tell you exactly where to shove it so you either fire me for being “insubordinate”, or apologize profusely and give me a raise. I am tired, I have spring fever, I need a PAID vacation, and I want to be respected.Sadly, it’ll never happen.
Current mood: working
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
12:24PM - Office....lingo, assholes, characters and annoyances
As I walked into work this morning I was greeted by my lovely VP who informs me that I have done something wrong (well more like forgotten to do something for about 3 months, Oh happy Day!) Which, just for your information is not true, the application I supposedly have left out of our new hire info packets has been there all along. Unfortunately no matter how much I like them, the new hires take awhile to catch on...putting two and two together does not always make four.....if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, on the other side of the cubicle, I hear my VP giving a lecture, or as she likes to call it reinforcement training, which is just a lot of common sense crap, with fancy wording......if I have to hear how you bridge an appointment, how hungry you must be to succeed in this business, how you need a mission, how to stay on the right side of the trouble line and basically how you have to lie, cheat and steal if you want to make it in sales, I’m gonna fucking puke. Damn you Mr. Sandler!!!!! On top of the fact that it’s gorgeous outside and I’m stuck in here till 6 pm, probably with no break, I have to sit on my already spreading ass and thighs and watch these nut jobs, deal with, most times even nuttier clients. They drive me to the brink, and let me tell you I am already there, so I have nowhere to go. You know how sometimes just the sight of someone drives you crazy. Well half of this office is tied for the number one spot. If you stand in front of my desk, waiting for me to notice you, ask you if you need something, tell you to go away or are expecting me to offer you some of my heavenly and damn expensive café latte...you got another thing coming bucko....because I’m not interested in what your cat did last night, how long you were in the bathroom this morning, how many guys you gave blow jobs too on the dance floor at splash, how many gallons of water I should be drinking a day, or to just sit and smile when you are plainly staring at my tits.....we are traveling on the same highway and your going 15 mph in the fast lane. Get the fuck out of my way, because I have a job to do. The most frustrating thing is that, in the simplest terms I work for you (I am your support staff, your administrative goddess, your secretary, and most importantly your receptionist) Don’t cross me, don’t piss me off, and DO NOT BERATE ME (I’m talking management here) Just like you have no tolerance for numbers being discussed in public, no tolerance for client prospects being discussed in public, and the inability to use spell check (yes, I understand that has no connection but I had to throw it in) Does not mean you have the right to berate me in front of my co-workers. You do realize that I log all this negativity away to use on that special day when I either quit or have had enough of your bull crap to yank you into your loft like office digs and tell you exactly where to shove it so you either fire me for being “insubordinate”, or apologize profusely and give me a raise. I am tired, I have spring fever, I need a PAID vacation, and I want to be respected.Sadly, it’ll never happen.
Current mood: working
So, since I have not actually written anything in quite some time, I decided to inspire myself with REALLY OLD BLOG POSTS FROM 2005. Hoping to reignite that old flame for witty/wry/writings. Enjoy.
Thursday, April 7, 2005
10:48AM - stop staring at my crotch
I was on the subway last night heading to the upper west side and some middle aged Jewish guy who's yarmulke was slightly crook't off to the left side clinging to the few wisps of comb over with a gold bobby pin kept staring at my crotch. Why or why Jewish guy were you staring at my crotch...there is nothing prominent in the area..... as I am a GIRL and do not posses a penis, shlong, cock, or any other form of DICK...(except when I take the initiative to strap one on)..So once again why are you staring and my chotch? There is no stain present on my jeans, my very real tits are displayed prominently in my tight eeyore t-shirt which by the way I stole from my 13 year old sister, so there is no way I could possibly be a trannie, queen, or cross dresser. I would definitely appreciate if you took the hint to stop staring at my lower private area when I so noticeably, angrily, and outwardly, looked directly at you and gave you the dirtiest look I have available. Which can best be described as a Keep doing what your doing buddy and I will kick your ass, followed by a few you fucking perverts, finished off with a I have no problem making a scene in public. Thankfully I scared the shit out of you when I purposely followed you off the car and into the street at a very close proximity, looking as ominous as I could in chucks, jeans, an eeyor t-shit, and carrying a pink adidas bag. Luckily you got off at the same stop and walked in the direction I was going. I am still questioning the reason you were staring at my clothed vagina (yes I did just use the word vagina). And if I see you again, I must remember to stare perversely at your non existent breasts.
Current mood: amused
Thursday, April 7, 2005
10:48AM - stop staring at my crotch
I was on the subway last night heading to the upper west side and some middle aged Jewish guy who's yarmulke was slightly crook't off to the left side clinging to the few wisps of comb over with a gold bobby pin kept staring at my crotch. Why or why Jewish guy were you staring at my crotch...there is nothing prominent in the area..... as I am a GIRL and do not posses a penis, shlong, cock, or any other form of DICK...(except when I take the initiative to strap one on)..So once again why are you staring and my chotch? There is no stain present on my jeans, my very real tits are displayed prominently in my tight eeyore t-shirt which by the way I stole from my 13 year old sister, so there is no way I could possibly be a trannie, queen, or cross dresser. I would definitely appreciate if you took the hint to stop staring at my lower private area when I so noticeably, angrily, and outwardly, looked directly at you and gave you the dirtiest look I have available. Which can best be described as a Keep doing what your doing buddy and I will kick your ass, followed by a few you fucking perverts, finished off with a I have no problem making a scene in public. Thankfully I scared the shit out of you when I purposely followed you off the car and into the street at a very close proximity, looking as ominous as I could in chucks, jeans, an eeyor t-shit, and carrying a pink adidas bag. Luckily you got off at the same stop and walked in the direction I was going. I am still questioning the reason you were staring at my clothed vagina (yes I did just use the word vagina). And if I see you again, I must remember to stare perversely at your non existent breasts.
Current mood: amused
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