Quote:

"It's better to have loved and lost...than to live with the psycho for the rest your life."
Thank you, Facebook.

Public Transportation: Part 4 (What do I see?)

An old woman too enthralled in her book to notice the gigantic, loud bus stopping three feet away from her face.
A heavily tattooed girl wearing booty shorts standing between a bar and a tattoo parlour, debating.
A sign that says, "What Would Street Jesus Do?" (I still don't know what it means.)
Ghandi. Or his younger, long-lost twin.
An old middle-eastern man reading a fictional novel about terrorists and the USA.
A girl sitting on a bench trying so hard to put off the annoying guy who keeps trying to get her attention.
A guy sitting on a bench trying so hard to explain something undoubtedly extremely interesting to the stuck up, pretty girl next to him.
A girl carrying a pack of cigarettes in her mouth, stuffing change and a receipt into her back pocket.
Workers setting up for the Twilight Concert Series.
An abandoned warehouse with a big painted "O" on the garage door.
Road construction.
A brand new yellow charger going slowly, in reverse, towards the on-ramp.
"FLESH IS THE LAW" written in tape on the rear window of a car.
Traffic.

Public Transportation: Part 3

In the afternoons the bus smells like a new squirt gun. Or an air mattress. For some reason I love that smell as much as I love the fumes of gasoline and laundry detergent.

I've never understood why people think they have to stand right at the edge of the sidewalk when waiting to cross the street. One lady stood so close that when I peered down at her from the bus, I could see straight down her shirt. Not only is that incredibly awkward and disturbing, it's dangerous. (For he health of both the lady and me.)
Whenever I'm waiting at a crosswalk I try to stand a ways back from the road. Who knows when some rogue car (or bus, in this case) will lose control and smush the careless, unsuspecting city folk?
Yeesh.

The love of my life

My piano.

I luff it. I've been plinking around on that thing ever since I can remember. My step-dad bought it for my mom the year they were married. He bought it from an old lady in Cache Valley. It was old and ugly and lovely, with the original 100-year-old ivory keys chipping. I fell in love.

©

Public Transportation: Part Two

I always choose to sit on the right side of the bus. Right as in opposed to left, that is. The right side of the bus always faces the sun on my route, and the 90 minute ride is practically the only time I can see it. I always try to get a window seat, but that's not really possible in the mornings; the bus is way too full by the time it pulls up to my stop.
On the way home, however, I usually am able to catch a window seat before all the seats are taken. The other day I found my lovely window seat and plopped down, rudely spreading my bag and books on the seat next to me so no one would take it.
The bus took off and I observed my surroundings: trees, people, animals, cars, etc. As I was scrutinizing the homeless man wave his arms in the air like a lunatic, I noticed something different about this particular window.
A smudge.
A print, to be more specific.
A forehead print.
Can I insert a quick note here? I'm the type of person who hates finding finger prints on the windows. It's probably one of my biggest pet-peeves. Every few days I'll attack the glass doors at my work with some heavy-duty Windex and extra-strength paper towels. I think finger prints are icky, nasty, gross, irritating, and just plain disgusting. (Yes, I do know those are all synonyms.)
So you can understand why seeing this forehead print just three inches from my face would make my stomach flip. What was I supposed to do with a window that bares the mark of some random person's sweaty face?
I felt ill. My stomach wouldn't stop churning. It couldn't be car sickness; I'd popped a Dramamine before I left work.
It's not like I could have moved, either. The bus was already cruising at 70 mph on the freeway.
All I could do was lean back, breathe in and out through my mouth, and ignore the window.
What kind of person smushes their face across the window of a public bus?!
I'm still geekin' out about it.

The Monkey

I love it. That is all.
This is the lovely little monkey that "sleeps" on the pillow next to me. And has been for the past three years at least.
A wonderful little gift from a wonderful friend.
And I will cherish it. Forever.

©

Public Transportation: Part One

It slows. Stops. Rocks.
And then it rolls forward again. Slowly. Then faster. Faster...stop. Released pressure hisses and doors are cranked open. People file in and flop into the first empty seat.
Forward again. Faster. Faster. Stop. Right turn. Heads peeking from above seats all sway in unison to the left.
Fast. Stop. Hiss. Fast. Stop. Hiss.
Finally it hits the freeway. No more hissing stops for ninety minutes. More or less.
No stopping except for the bumper to bumper traffic of late-afternoon rush hour. Everyone wants to go home at 5:30. Why do they call it rush hour?
The endless speeding up and slowing down and constant sway is a recipe for nearly unbearable motion sickness. (Don't forget the Dramamine.)
But.
The cool A/C blows kindly on faces and legs. The sun slowly sets behind the tall peaks, and delicate slivers of light shimmer through the spaces in the clouds. Hot light is filtered through tinted windows. Music through headphones is energizing and relaxing at the same time, strengthening tired people after eight hours of being bent in a chair staring at a screen. A good book passes the time rather quickly. Unexpected over-passes create welcome, fleeting moments of shadow. Eyes tire and adjust to the sunlight again within seconds.
I can feel the rumble of the engine through the thick floor. The man sitting across the aisle is immersed in his novel. So is the lady in front of me. Although I think she's dozed off for the moment.
I don't have to focus on my own driving. Or keep track of which exit I'm nearing. Or dodge construction on the shoulder. I just get to lean back in my cushioned seat and simply...observe. And think. And catch my breath.
I don't need to bother with anything except pressing the "next" button on my iPod when I want to skip a song.
Maybe I'll drift out of consciousness for a few minutes. I notice the traffic has thinned. The rhythmic swaying isn't sickening anymore. It's like rocking in a swing. Or a hammock. I've always wanted a hammock.
The sun falls deeper in the sky, creating deep red and purple blossoms against a blue backdrop.. I lean closer to the window and let the light warm my face.
This is quickly becoming the best part of my day. And when my genius of an iPod decides to sing me The Beatles? Well. Better and better.

Caffeine Kills

Find out how much here. I'll be playing with this all day, thank you very much.

Appreciate

Driving to work today.
Heading north. Sitting in the passenger seat.
The sun climbs higher, finally rising above the peaks to shine for the world - and into my eyeballs.
I cringe and turn away at first; it burns my eyes. Within seconds my pupils adjust to the light and I stare in awe.
This is the scenery for my life.
This.

Tall mountain ridges. Sweet rays of sunlight being cast through the valleys and canyons. Puffy storybook clouds floating in a clean blue sky, each with its own silver lining. A slow breeze swaying the leaves and branches of each tree ever so lightly. The scent of fresh, crisp morning air. Journey playing in the background, the wailing vocals only enhancing the perfection.
This is life.
Wonderful, beautiful, perfect life.
Forget about the bad stuff. Forget about the stress. Focus on the on the curve of the hills, the lights in the sky, and the sound of the music. Appreciate it.
Live.

Stress, stress, stress

I guess we've all experienced it.
The stress of college. Or, more specifically, the stress of getting into college.
They can't just make it easy.You have to fill out an application. You have to send money with that application. You have to fill out a FAFSA to see if you qualify for any grants, and you have to be patient and understanding when no, you don't qualify. You have to take a stupid ACT test. In my case, you have to take a GED test as well. Both of which cost money. You have to send proof of these tests to your school of choice, and be understanding when your copies are not considered proof and you will have to call the test people and have them send their own copies (which, yet again, will cost money). You have to send in an application for housing, and send money with that as well. After all of this is done, you have to apply for loans (which cost a lot of money) and more loans if the original loans aren't enough.
The process can take weeks, even months to complete.
Even when all the applying and sending and proving is finished, you need to buy books (money) and food (money) and dorm stuff (money).
Is there anything cheap about school? I'm ready to give up. Seriously.
Help.

Food, Lovely Food...

I truly love love LOVE when I find a good recipe website. I was looking through my Google Reader suggestions, and found Our Best Bites (check it out here). Currently I'm not eating (lemonade diet..long story) but when I start again....the world had better watch out. I've got a month with my little sister coming up, and we are going to cook and cook and cook! (And run and do push-ups and sit-ups and all that other fun stuff so we can stay fit while eating so much.)
Stay tuned.