Light Rail: A New Age Train

You ever see an elderly person or someone with unfortunate circumstances and feel an urge of good will, but realize that every thing is hopeless, so you write a sardonic blog about the needy, in front of the needy?

Yeah, me too.

I am on the Max train, in Portland, OR, which is public transit for “train” or “light rail” (new age terminology). I am sitting across from a “blind guy”. I type that in a condescending fashion because I really feel like he’s embellishing his situation and trying to make ME feel bad. He has a dog, he’s old and his eyes are rolling in the back of his head. It’s like sitting across from a HAM SANDWICH.

Give me a break, “blind guy”, I am a woman so things have been hard for me for like three and a half years. Two years is like twelve years in dog time, so you can only imagine the pain three has brought me!

Speaking of dogs... I thought that someone might have brought a box of Popeye’s fried chicken on this train, but realized that “blind guy’s” dog just farted. Not only am I having to look at this guy every once and awhile, his dog is possessed by Asian shit ghosts right under me. Why me? WHY ME!?

I feel like I can’t go anywhere anymore without being harassed by the handi-capped or homeless. Where do these guys get off?

He’s been pretending to be sleeping... he just opened his eyes. Like that is adorable, or something. This guy’s been coasting by on his Anthony Hopkin-esk good looks for too long and it’s about time I said something. Blind people; cripples just coast through life and my boyfriend* has to get a job?! It’s just not fair... he has plantar fasciitis, where’s his dog?

This is what it’s come down to. This man got on the train and my first instinct was “how can I assist him?”. I saw him feel around for his seat and realized he didn’t need me. Well, nobody is going to take my power/ worth... not even *, because I am an independent woman who buys my own fucking latte (unless someone else offers to treat me- I am a princess).

In other news, I am liquidating my self-esteem all week in hopes that relieving that weight will make me skinny.

Knowing How To Live Over Here!

Cynical and Cyclical... so Cymiliar.

I have found that my misplaced optimism has once again left me crying in a pillow... just like childhood. That's not funny... or is it? What if I told you that when my Mom would break me down, she wore floppy shoes and my Dad slipped away on a banana peel? I know, what hacky parents, but not as much as my ex, who clearly is hacking my parents.

I had the worst week, for a decent heart, in as long as I can remember... truly nightmare-ish and I couldn't be happier to be home again. I was in Portland, where everything awful in my life has ever happened. I am back in San Francisco, wavering on view points, grasping for reason. When things get to be too overwhelming, all I can do is exercise, starve myself and/ or watch Sex and the City (I know, typical). I am knuckle deep in season 5 of the meal replacement series, when I catch myself crying at Charlotte's bounding optimism when faced with looking for love. I don't know if I am crying because I know she ends up with a fat, bald man or if it's because I realize that I had so much hope for the person who completely devastated me. "Love knows no bounds," but it should... it really should, because before too long you'll be watching Sex and the City just to see Richard cheat on Samantha again. So you can feel like someone other than you is an idiot for not seeing the signs. At least Richard took care of himself and owned a bunch of hotels. I was practically engaged to a bag of Cheetos before I realized it was getting orange stuff all over my tummy.

That's about all... anything I can create is good. Now I am going to watch one more episode (I hope it's the one Richard fucks up again) before going to sleep.

au revoir