The Neighborhood - Riding the Bus

Part 2 in a series of posts about my neighborhood.

Every morning I have 2 choices. Take the bus through the ghetto (30-45 minutes) to get to work or take the bus through the other ghetto and catch the train (25-35 minutes)to get to work. Actually I suppose I have 3 choices - the 3rd being sleep in.
Anyway, it's never a dull moment on either bus. Sometimes I take the longer bus ride just for kicks - it's just that fun.

Allow me to share some bus stories. Sit back! Relax! Grab a cuppa joe...

Bus Story #1: The books
This isn't so much one episode- rather a reoccurring theme of the bus rides.
People read some interesting books on my bus. I don't mean interesting like 100 years of solitude or a biography on Genghis khan. I mean interesting like this: and this:
I seriously need to start a book club for Ghetto Lit. I'm sure these books must be a fascinating look inside the minds of my peers and neighbors. Or at least the fantasies they have. I'm sure when they see me reading High Fidelity, they just shake their heads and laugh at the middle aged white man on the cover. I'm severely uncool.

Bus Story #2: The Glaring Woman
Some people are very slow entering and exiting the bus. It creates a line where impatient people, like myself, get perturbed and the foot tapping begins. The other day an elderly woman made her trek on the bus. It took her about 5 seconds to go up each step and 10 seconds to put her money in the machine. She stopped in the aisle after she put her money in and I thought she was going to stay in that spot for the duration of the bus ride. I had already deposited my bus fare and so I tried to scoot around her. Well apparently she had been getting her purse in order because at the precise moment I tried to scoot around her she started walking down the aisle. She stopped dead in her tracks and gave me The Stare-down to Top All Stare-downs. Oh, I'm sorry ,I said politely. She shook her head and muttered something under her breath that SHE IS LUCKY I didn't hear. I don't take muttering very well, although it is something I've nearly perfected. But something about that stare and that muttering - I felt so ashamed for the entire bus ride and couldn't even look up from my Nick Hornby book. Now that is shame.

Bus Story #3: The Crazy Man
Now occasionally I will sit next to a crazy person on the bus. The other day it was an African Crier. She cried and cried and whispered things to herself in a foreign language for an entire 20 minute bus ride. Should I have said something to her? I didn't. I just turned up my iPod - I'm empathetic like that. Anyway I sat next to a man last night who was staring at my iPod the entire bus ride until finally he started talking to me about it. We discussed the different iPod varieties and all the pro's and con's of each. He told me about his boyfriend who bought him a shuffle and how he thinks maybe his boyfriend doesn't really love him or else he would've bought him a 160g video iPod. I had to agree with him there - I mean bigger is ALWAYS better, am I right ladies? Actually he wasn't even that crazy - I wasn't scared for my life like I have been with other Bus Friends. He was cute and funny. He even helped me with a game of iPod solitaire.

You see why the bus is so great? You find new and interesting books and genres or fiction. You become humbled. You make new friends. And you never stop wondering Why Does it Smell Like That? or Will I Puke On This Bus Ride? Ahhh, the bus. Truly God's proof that he loves us.

The neighborhood - new friend

I'd like to begin a series of posts about my neighborhood. This is post numero uno.

Last saturday I was surveying our front yard, trying to figure out what I needed to do to make it less ghetto. Even though we live in the ghetto (in the ghettooo)it doesn't have to feel like it all the time. Now when I say "front yard" what I'm referring to is the 8' x 8' patch of "grass" that is home to a pathetic little tree, 2 trash cans, one recycling bin, and some precariously placed large rocks. It's very sad. This patch was covered with trash, tons of leaves, and sticks and things. I decided that something must be done, so I searched the house for a rake. Not finding one, I was relegated to the plastic bag method - use plastic bags as gloves to scoop up the mucky. Me being the silly froofy girl that I am, I didn't want to get any worms or buggies on my hands, so I armed myself with 2 old grocery bags, one large hefty yard bag, and set out in my front yard to clean up.

I got as far as my front step when my next-door neighbor decided to initiate a little conversation. He snickered at my attempt at yard debris cleaning and offered to help. Oh, no - it's ok. I've got these bags. I'm fine. Without another question he announced he was going to get his rake and help me. Oh god help us all.

Thus began the new friendship of Gnomie and her neighbor, D. He is an urban gentleman, a rare find in this day and age. He has the ghetto fabulousness, but he is sweet and funny, too. We talked about nothing in particular while I held the large Hefty bag and he raked the square of leaves and trash. During this 10 minute escapade, I deciphered the following information out of him:
1. He is living next door with his aunt (he is in his mid-thirties).
2. He's only living there for a "quick minute" (whatever the hell that means).
3. He likes to go for "morning jogs".
4. He takes care of his women.

Look, maybe I ask a lot of pointed questions or something, but I couldn't get any real info out of him. He's the kind of person where you can talk to him for days and days and leave thinking what the hell did we just talk about anyway? We definitely talked about the weather. We discussed our mutual distaste for G Dubya. We discussed plants. BOE-RING.

So D was layin on the flirt pretty hard during this 10 minute tryst. Also I should point out that foodstuffs boy, now designated - R1 - was inside talking on the phone while I was outside cleaning. R1 heard me and D talking outside and came to check out the situation. He stood at the door like Big Brother, checking things out. D looked up and saw him standing at the door.
D -Oh is that your husband?
J - Noooooooo. No.
D - Oh, your boyfriend?
J -(Relunctantly) Um, yes. He is. (anyone who knows me knows that I HATE the boyfriend designation. But how do you explain this to an urban gentleman?)
D - So, not your husband then, huh.
J - No. And don't let him hear you say husband. Boys are scared of that sort of thing.
D - I ain't scared of that sort of thing. You need a real man to step up. A strong man. Someone to take care of you. I take care of my women.
J - Good. That's, uhhhh, good.

As a direct result of this intense 10 minute bonding period, D and I are great friends now. We chat in the morning when I'm leaving for work and he greets me when I come home. He's a front porch lounger, and my personal welcome wagon. He's like a little puppy - always excited to see me. I can always count on D. I just wish I could tell you what his real name is because it just makes his character that much better.