Open letter to The Man That Took a Very Deliberate Piss on the Bus Today:

Attention: Man that took a very deliberate piss on the bus today,

I am calling you out on your public urination in the not-so-public of ways, because, at the time of your indiscretion, I was too shocked by your complete disregard for your fellow passengers.  As you got up and approached the doorway, I noticed your aged face and felt bad for the obese, old man struggling not to fall as the bus lurched down the avenue.  You stood by the door, leaning into the corner, looking hardened and sad.  But then, I heard the sound of running water, and looked down to see a solid stream coming from your direction.  Still, I felt bad for a moment, thinking that perhaps you had spilled your tasty beverage.

But alas, no.  You were taking a very deliberate piss just 3 mere feet away from me. You used the corner of the bus entrance like a urinal stall, zipped up and then sat back down.

I have considered the fact that, because you are old, perhaps you cannot hold it.  I would accept this as an unpleasant, but understandable reality.  However, I believe that you could have held it for an extra 15 seconds until you could have gotten off the bus and pissed in the street.  The gutter is there, to lead such grime, filth and urine into the sewer.  I am not oblivious to the fact that there are likely urine and feces particles on the curb of the biggest downtown street.  However, I am within my rights to naievely pretend that such bodily fluids do not end up on the seats and grip bars of such public transportation.

I also wish to remind you that it was before 12pm on a muggy Monday morning.  It was not late on a Saturday night, nor was it a national holiday commonly marked by excessive drinking. If you were drunk, it was not the socially acceptable time to be drunk.

I retain the right to not have to view, step in, or acknowledge your genitals/bodily fluids. Your use of public transportation is your acceptance of these terms, and you have broken the contract as stated herein.

Signed, sincerely,

The girl that was trying to keep to herself and
enjoy the bus ride home with the comfort of her mp3 player.

P.S. Perhaps, this letter should instead be an apology addressed to the girl standing just a mere foot from you and your member.  The one I tried to make eye contact with as you were sprinkling urine on her adidas.  I would like to apologize for not grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to safety.  But at the moment, it seemed better that she remain blisfully unaware.  As a passive party to the sullying of your sneakers, I apologize.

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5 by 30 update for Feb

Ok, about 2 months into my 5 by 30 challenge, so I’m due for an update:

1. run 50 miles. (not in a row!  are you nuts!  no, just 50 total…)

STATUS: I’ve run about 17 so far…and getting better and stronger.  I ran 4.4 miles on Monday, which is about 1.2 miles farther than ever before.

2. take more pictures with new fancy camera, all in new places.  print 5 of them, and frame and hang at least 1.

STATUS: I have not done this.  But I’m looking forward to doing it!

3. knock down the best jammer on my derby team.  (not naming names-she can’t know I’m gunning for her.)

STATUS: I did this, and it didn’t  feel as good as I thought it would.  Though, I think she was kind of proud of me.  However, she recently bruised my ribs, so I think we’re even.

4. drop 2 inches off the tummy, to be ready to wear a bikini for the first time ever (at 30!).  ECE is coming in June, and I need to be ready for the pool.  I’m big all over, but my mid-section is the area that is dangerously fatty.  This goal seems like it should be easy enough, considering goal #1.    Stick to the workouts, keep eating around 1500 calories/day…should be ok, right?  (Famous fat last words…) Starting measurements 39 inches at the belly button.  (This is why I’m blogging anonymously.  How do you like them apples, interwebs?)

STATUS: I’m kicking this goal’s ass!  I’ve lost 3.5 inches so far.  While 2 inches doesn’t go as far as one might think, I’m on my way.  I’m looking fit, dropping unhealthy weight, feeling good.  Not quite bikini ready just yet, but closer than I’ve ever been.

Advice: Myfitnesspal.com is a great tool!

5. Write 4 short stories, fiction or non-fiction.  That’s no small task, considering I’m the one making myself write them-they’re not assignments or deadline.  It’s a self-inflicted deadline.

STATUS: I have not done, nor even started this.  I have great anxiety over this project, and it’s not looking good.  I want to write, I enjoy writing, but I do not enjoy creating story ideas.  It seems that I do not do well without outside implemented deadlines. Suggestions?  Story ideas?  Help me out here, peoples.

 

Subliminal Messages

I’ve always been big on finding messages or meaning in the songs that come on the radio.  Not quite a sign.  Not that they tell me something I needed to know, but more like they affirm something I’d already suspected.

Today, it happened 3 times, in very conspicuous ways…

1. Brick House

This morning, my derby team met with a sports psychologist to outline our goals and overcome some “baggage” that we’d been carrying in terms of anxiety.  (Note, if you ever thought derby wasn’t legit: would a “staged” sport integrate sports psychology?)   The Dr. helped one girl who was feeling ineffective by asking her to visualize herself with a wall, a big brick wall made up of her team mates.  We all instantly started thinking about “brick house”, wiggling in our seats.  Partially from the bass line in our heads and partially from anticipation for our home opener in 2 weeks.

Brick House came on the radio on my way home from that meeting.

Mr. Big Stuff

2. This afternoon, I stopped by the funeral of my ex’s aunt.  I won’t go into the very bad history that I have with my ex (we’ll save that for a more cathartic post) but let’s just say that I was there for an hour and all we did was nod to each other.  I was just glad that I didn’t get a case of the nerves or the sense of (unwarranted) shame that often comes when I see him.  Actually, seeing him just made me feel bad for his mouse of a new girlfriend, because he’s going to chew her up and spit her out, like a soggy pile of dripping chaw.  Like he did me several years ago.

Walking out of the funeral home, back straight, feeling myself strong in my stride, I felt like I was leaving a funeral for the sad me, the self-doubting, me.    We’ve been done for years, but the insecurity and anxiety has stayed.  No more.  Burned. Buried. Dust in the ever-loving wind.

Who does he think he is?

3. Proud Mary

Proud Mary is somewhat an anthem to my derby league–Rolling on the River…Big wheels keep on turning…proud mary keeps on Burning!

Tina. Proud Mary.  Derby Girls. Me.  All examples of women that have it rough-but come out on top.  Hard work, aches, pains.  But we keep on burning.

If Tina were standing here, I’d have to thank her for the pep talk.  Let her know that she did me almost as much good as the morning’s therapy session.

 

 

My Recurring Room Dreams

I have this recurring dream, in which I’m in the home of a loved one, or maybe my own home, and soon realize that the home has a secret quarters-rooms or a space that can only be accessed through a secret door.  Sometimes it’s an attic, atop a tiny ladder. Or, in one case, the wall folded open to a tiny spiral staircase.

The dreams are always a euphoric feeling, giving me the sensation of having found something very meaningful and sentimental there.  In one dream I was in my paternal grandmother’s house, and found a room full of very old dresses and women’s clothes.  They were carefully hung on dress forms, gloves folded in pairs, hats placed neatly on dressers.  In another, my maternal grandmother’s home, a beautiful sitting room, aglow in the sunshine.  The walls were light colored, and blue sky melted in through geometrically shaped sky-lights, placed in angled vaulted ceilings.  (A remarkable task, if you knew the size of my grandma’s tiny bungalow.)

In the most pleasant of all these dreams, my own home had a secret chamber.  I found a secret door in the middle of a wall, papered in victorian reds and golds.   I pushed through it to find full of lush, leafy plants, and more sunshine.  It was as if there was a greenhouse, hidden away in my own home, steamy and damp.  Plants were stacked rows high, again in a room with domed ceilings, one or two plush arm chairs arranged for reading.

The rooms feel warm, serene, and comfortable.  As I said, it’s always a pleasant feeling-one that I don’t want to shake off when I do wake up.

It was my husband that first pointed out that I have this recurring dream.  I haven’t had it for a  few months, and I’ve been missing it, wondering now and then what the dream even means.  But, now that I’m writing this, I realize that the dream has always taken place in the home of a woman, even if that woman is me.  I’m thinking the secret rooms are like wombs, nurturing, and a warm place for growth and serenity.  Maybe the reason I haven’t had this dream lately is because I’m openly looking forward to having a child, as opposed to the secret longing that existed before.  When my desire to be a mother was secret, the rooms were secrets.  Now that I feel free to think about it, the rooms are no longer secret, no longer warranting a dream.

An open request to my favorite Dream: I hope you’ll come back.  Maybe tonight?  Maybe some other time?  But, I’d hate to think you’re gone forever.