I’m back.
For various reasons, I’ve not had a computer since May ‘08. Put in historical perspective: the last time I had a computer Hillary Clinton was locked in a scrappy, to-the wire battle against Barack Obama. Though it looked good for Obama, no one at that point knew for certain who the Democrat’s nominee – let alone the next President — would be.
Just sayin it has been awhile.
So. Things worked out pretty well. For America? Well. We could have a worse President; beyond that the Results aren’t in.
Sure doesn’t look good though. 50,000 Americans lost their jobs — today. Some half-million homes have been foreclosed on this month. Another fat cat no doubt lost his shirt on Wall Street just moments ago.
But I’m doing alright.
A week from today I will empty out my bank account — yep, got one — to pay to live in this sweet room I rent in the basement of what I accurately describe as a downright palatial home. I can not afford to buy beer this week because the damn rent is almost due. After I pay the rent…it’ll be about another week before I can afford to buy food. But you know what? Fuck it.
Welcome to Planet Earth; so it goes.
Now. I could sit here and bitch about how my job does not pay me enough to afford to buy food and beer and pay the rent all at the same time. I could. I can. And let me assure you: I Do. But not today.
I’m in no mood to bitch today. I just got me a new lap top computer, see? Well not a new one precisely. But a 100% functional get-the-job done used rig. Makes the guy who can’t even afford to buy a 6-pack feel like not bitching, you feel me? It is cause for celebration.
Do you realize: there are 211 posts on this blog. Many were written at the Bar. Some in the chair I often slept in in a friend’s studio apartment. Often I would put the finishing touches on a post as I sat on the curb outside the bar, hours after it closed, just before dawn, picking up a loose wifi signal and in a mad hurry to finish up before my laptop — and I — ran out of battery Juice.
I’ve written blog posts in all kinds of fucked up places & from all kinds of fucked up states of mental disrepair. But this is the very first blog post I’ve written from the comfort of my own home.
To make matters better I just found 3 cold beers I altogether inadvertantly neglected to quaff during my last bender.
Cheers.
OK. I’ll bitch a little — I wish there was some leftover bourbon!
Anyway. There’s lot’s to tell. About how I got from There to Here and what I’ve done since. Above all there are people to Thank; people who literally saved my life. But I don’t have time to explain everything right this second. Plus I figure the best way to say thank you is to do what I do best: rip out a funny story.
They have public transportation here in DC. Long-time readers recall a time when a simple bus ride – one I could not afford — may have done me a world of good. Well I can afford to ride the bus now. Hell on good days I can even afford to ride the subway! Not every day is good like that. There have been days since I’ve been in DC when the extra buck for the subway would break me. So I’d bounce from one bus to the next…buses that would always stop at the Metro stations. And I would stare at those bright shiny lights of the Metro longingly, sure wishing I could afford to ride the train.
One major advantage afforded the Metro vs. the bus rider is, well — chicks. On the Metro you are virtually guaranteed to have at least one good looking lady to look at. On the bus, well…not so much. But on the train you got a pretty good shot.
Really she doesn’t even have to be that good looking. Just enough to entertain your thoughts until the next stop.
Yes. I am a subway gawker. But hell I mean — who ain’t? C’mon.
I try to keep a newspaper handy. Just to have something else to look at. Also because I like to keep abreast of the Day’s Events. But mainly because you don’t want to specifically look like a subway gawker when you’re gawking on the subway. You want it to be more a thing where some chick on the subway feels complimented by the fact that you take time out of your busy newspaper reading schedule to gawk — I mean peer — at her.
It’s an Art.
There are Finer Points to the art of the subway gawk. First off: never, ever march right up to the one good looking chick on the train and plop your gawker butt down in the seat next to her’s. Way uncouth dude! Remember: with rarest exception no one is going to take some girl home to do Whatever after you gawk her down on the subway. It just ain’t like that.
She’s just there for the Lookin.
There is one exception to the rule where you don’t sit next to the girl: when there are no single seats available. On a crowded train it is perfectly reasonable to slip onto the seat next to the Hot Chick. I mean who wouldn’t? When it’s either that or plop down next to some dude…
Hell no. Sit with the girl. QUICK! Before some dude beats you to the superior seat.
Funny thing happened one time on a train to Baltimore. It was a Friday evening, rush hour. Crowded train. Not full; lots of empty seats. But — remember that the set-up is with 2 seats side-by-side — no empty 2-seat units. Lots of dudes occupying one of those seats — plenty of empty seats available next to Some Dudes.
And then there’s me, right? Looking for a place to sit. The train was filling up fast.
It was a long train. A double-decker in fact. And on that whole damn long ass double decker train there was a grand total of one empty seat that was not next to some dude.
I knew she was out of my league.
I mean she was hot. Dark skin. Uber Professional. I had no business peeking at her from behind my newspaper — let alone being so presumptuous as to sit next to her — especially when there were plainly empty seats next to some dudes aplenty.
I walked past her more than once looking for some just kinda alright looking chick to sit next to.
There were none. Besides her it was — as we call ‘em back home — a Sausage Party. And it was a whole hour to Baltimore. And the train was filling up quick — if I didn’t grab the superior seat someone else soon would.
I sat beside her — I hoped not too nervously. Nothing to see here. Just some jerk sitting next to you on the train, mam.
I peered deeply into my newspaper — the Wall Street Journal as I recall. Very sophisticated. My country bumpkin ass was freshly showered even.
The train hadn’t yet started to move.
She was seated at the window, I on the aisle.
“Excuse me.” She said.
Then she stood & slid past me & went & sat somewhere else.
Moments later some dude sat beside me in the window seat.
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