Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

I pride myself on being a social liberal. However, these "feel good" feelings all go away the minute I step aboard public transit. I become the most intollerant Republican in the world. When I step off all is right with the world again and I gain my senses back.

Recently Seattle was hit hard with snow, ice, cold, and wind. You name it we got it. I believe it was the Monday before Christmas. There was so much snow that no one in our carpool dared to drive. So I bundled up and walked the mile to the bus tunnel. There are two busses that go from downtown all the way to Federal Way with a stop at the airport.

The 174 is a milk run. It stops every other block for the entire 40 mile ride. It takes forever. The 194 is an express. It goes through downtown then hops on I5, stops at the airport and then continues on to Federal Way. A much better option. However, the airport is still 2 miles from my office. So if I take a 194, I either have to walk or transfer to a 174 anyway.

This particular snowy morning, it was reported that half the busses aren't running at all. After a 30 minute wait, a 174 shows up. Oh, well it will be warm. I'll just get on this and listen to my ipod and sleep. The bus gets to Boeing Field still about 5 miles from the airport when the driver stops and yells, "Last Stop!! this bus only goes to Boeing Field."

Mathematicians tell us that there is an infinite number of numbers. They forgot to tell Metro about this "law of the universe". I now know that there is a 174 bus that only goes to Boeing Field, another 174 that only goes to the airport and finally a 174 that goes the entire route. They must have got a deal on the 174 signage! People on the bus start yelling at the driver because everyone left on the bus wants to go to the airport.

"Someone Call 911" someone screams.
I look back and a guy behind me is having convulsions. A small woman (4'11" 90lbs) is trying to pull him out into the aisle. This whole time people are yelling at the driver.
"His feet are caught" the woman screams. Without thinking, I get on my hands and knees and crawl to his seat and move his feet sideways so she can pull him out. He has bitten his tongue and there's blood all over his face. He's laying on his side in the aisle and the convulsions stop and he is breathing.
"Stand Back" I yell. I learned this from my Flight Attendant training.
"He's breathing, so leave him alone".
I'm not sure if I would have given him mouth to mouth. I had already been exposed to every known disease in the world by crawling on the floor of a bus. Have you ever seen what goes on in a bus?

It seems that the people that generally need help are the stinky dirty and ugly ones. Why couldn't Ryan Phillipe been sitting behind me? Then of course I started feeling guilty for these thoughts.

The Aid Car showed up pretty fast, and there were still people arguing with the driver about the routing. When help arrived, I got off the bus and trudged down the street to the next bus stop, waiting for hopefully what would be the correct 174 bus.

The next day, the roads were still bad, so my carpool bowed out again. So Jen, my carpool pal caught the bus with me. The ride to work was surprisingly uneventful. But the ride home was bad. Since half the busses weren't running, when the 174 bus picked us up, it was already full. Jen and I were standing in the aisle. Then Jen asked me if I could move back. We were pretty crowded so I was wondering why she would ask that question. She nodded at a drunk sitting directly beside us. He was bent over and it looked like he was about to throw up on us.

Normally I would bet that he was just sleeping and leaning forward. But, I'm with Jen. If you think I have bizarre stories and incidents in my life, then you haven't met Jen. I did the math and I figured with both of us together the odds were pretty good, we were going to be hurled on. I started wondering which one of us would tell the better story. But then she nudged me back to reality. I looked at the drunk one more time and decided it was time to move. I started pushing people aside and we both made a few feet towards the back. No story from either of us, but we made it home with no puke on our shoes or pants. Sometimes it isn't worth a story. This in itself was a victory. What am I thankful for in this new year? My carpool runs at least 51 weeks a year with no incidents.

Until Next Time - Wise OUT

So This Is Christmas

Well another year is over. I'm humming John Lennon's song while I write this:
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

On to the blog. I look back this past year and a lot has happened to me. And to all of us.
1. We elected a New President, which gives us all hope that:
War is over
If you want it
War is Over Now.
2. Rediscovered myself
3. I have a new appreciation for family and friends.
4. Reestablished old friendships and gained new ones.
5. Moved into a new condo.
6. Grew a goatee.
6. Lost 2 very important people in my life.

This year I've hooked up some and dated even less. I'm learning the true meaning of a good relationship.
The past week has been downright miserable in Seattle. It started with about 6 inches of snow. Then a few days of cold below 20 degrees. Then more snow. Of course living in "liberal" Seattle we have a belief that salt to melt the snow is environmentally bad. So we simply plow the roads leaving a couple inches of ice and then pour tons of sand on top. There are some experts now arguing that sand is actually worse for the environment than the salt. I'm not sure, but I do know that the city looks like a war zone.

I've had little or no trouble getting around. I walk everywhere and take a bus to work. I've made it to work everyday. It generally takes 2 hours to get there and 2 hours to get home. My next blog will deal with public transit. I feel so guilty when I take it because the minute I step aboard, I start thinking like a Republican. I will explain that more in depth next time too.

It's Christmas eve and I'm googling places (bars) that might be open tonight on Capitol Hill. There are a few of us with no plans, so we are going to hang out together. Someone told me that Christmas eve is an almost guaranteed night to get lucky. You run into other singles as lonely and desperate as yourself. That's what makes Christmas so special. Being with loved ones, even if you just met them.

So we start anew. New adventures, new romances, new stories. I truly love all of you and I thank you for sharing my life with me through my blog.

Have a Happy Hannakuh,
Joyful Solstice
Merry Christmas
Profitable Boxing Day
Happy Yule Mas
Happy New Year
Exciting Kwanza

Until Next Year - Wise OUT

Water Sports

One night after work, the carpool folks, Jen, Carley and I decided that we needed to have a happy hour. So we went to poco for wine and a cheese plate. After a couple hours we decided it was time to go. I volunteered to drive Carley home. So we started walking towards my place to get my truck.

Carley mentioned that maybe we should have one more drink before we went home. So we go into the Cuff. On Monday nights there aren't too many people there. Carley orders a beer and I order a coffee and water. I am going to drive in a few minutes.

Before we left, I had to pee. So I go into the bathroom. I'm standing at the urinal and I hear someone come in. There is bathroom etiquette, even in a gay bar. The unwritten rule is you stare straight ahead and don't say anything. So I'm following the rules.

Then I felt splatter, I look down and there is a hand in the urinal and I'm peeing on it, and the hand starts feeling me. OMG. I shout, "Whoa Dude!" Now I'm not the kind of guy that ever uses the word dude. It just doesn't fit my personality.

I look over and the guy I'm peeing on is my stalker!

"Dude, you have to just stop this. I'm not into any of this."

OK, he says. And that was that. The stalker has never text or called me since.

I've never experienced anything like this before, and I guess I should be happy that my stalker is gone. But part of me thinks, I can't even get a good stalker. I use the word "dude" on him and he gives up. My inferiority complex comes out and tells me, "you aren't even worthy of a decent stalker".

I guess the moral of this story is that there are weird people doing weird stuff. Some think that I should have hit the guy. But I've learned that maybe all you need to do is say Whoa Dude, Stop It.

Until Next Time - Wise OUT