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.

Girls Don't Poop!

My housemate reminded me tonight that girls don't poop. I almost forgot until he told me! How silly of me to be hoping to excrete all this food I'm eating through my anus, I guess it's back to the old purging board! Some women have been known to poop up to every nine months! I ate such a big meal tonight, with my housemate... I had to wait until he went into his room and then... I pooped. I pooped so hard. I felt guilty, knowing it makes me less of a woman. I had an impulse to yell down the hall "I'M POOPING! I'M POOPING!" part of me felt like Scarlett O' Hara... when she found all those carrots and was excited to eat. I was excited too! However, no one can know. Should I give it up for adoption or just throw it in the dumpster? Tell me quick because poop's getting all over my keyboard and is only minutes from becoming self-aware.

I often feel like Ms. O'Hara, but sometimes I feel like Malcolm X- all free at last, free at last... but the kind of "free" that makes me want to change my given name to a new Muslim name. Malcolm X was Martin Luther before he became King of the Panthers. True story, I teach history... or I dated a history teacher, he cheated on me, so I will cheat history. Who wins that battle? Me.

Some people think I am insensitive or racist. I don't know about that. Why, just today I was standing next to a black man on the bus and I didn't vomit or gush blood... I couldn't really have done anything because I was so worried about my purse! You know who is racist? This 2.5 year old boy I help take care of... He calls every black man he sees "Obama". What a little turd! However, we get along pretty well, I call every fat black woman I see "Precious".

There was a lot of poop talk in this one, plus more typical race stuff, then I threw a spin on it with a kid story, but brought it back with fat black ladies. I want you to see what else happened today: