Plastic Bags, Instinct, and Being Fly.

People watching is so interesting.   On my way to work the other day, I was so fascinated by this guy I didn’t want to get off the bus.

This man, in all his plastic bag glory, sat on the bus taking up an entire row.  When I say plastic bags, I mean enough that he was sitting on them to compact the bag space.   With shredded bags around his calves and plastic utensils hanging from his mouth like hay, he sat there fumbling through each bag.  After each action, he proceeded to make, what appeared to be, the sign of the cross.  He was very methodical and thorough.  Over and over again I watched his routine.

Then, in an effort to find the answer to the age-old questions of dating, sex and relationships, I kept thinking “How much time would we save if we could see these signs of craziness earlier in the dating world?”   If it is only as easy as spotting the crazy guy on the bus, maybe dating and sex wouldn’t be as complicated.

Although a man that recycle and a possible Catholic wins major points in my book, this man on the bus was clearly not one to pursue. Well, no time was wasted here.  If I was attracted to him, I knew right away he was a bit off.   I think anyone would.

 Why can’t people reveal themselves little quicker?!?

Then again, this man on the bus, and many I have encountered, have no inhibitions and nothing to lose.   I had one guy, wearing a feathered fedora, and a gold lamé t-shirt tell me I was fly.  He then asked me out for coffee at the nearest McDonalds.  Another sore ridden guy, offered to “hook me up” with a free bus ride while covertly flashing me his pass.  As if that didn’t impress me enough, he offered to take me out to a steak dinner. 

I have to admit I was very excited about being called “fly” but didn’t partake in anything other than a gracious “thank you” in both interactions.

So maybe dating is a combination of sincerity and instinct with a dash of vulnerability? …..I don’t know. 

I do know that life has a way of presenting you with some fly situations where you trust your instincts and let things flow like a plastic bag in the wind.   All the while, recycling of course.

Chasing Pavement and a Bus or Two

 I had a little chuckle at myself when I was transferring buses and

took off running after the next arriving bus.  My energy was wasted

because it was the wrong bus at the wrong intersection.   For those of

you who know me, it's a typical mishap.  I thought it was also very

fitting.  My latest quirky sprint is a nice little parallel of my love

life.  Chasing the wrong bus is symbolic of constantly getting

involved with the wrong men.

Okay. Okay. I sort of sound like a bitter hag.  Given my year, I have

a right to be.  But I assure you I am not.    I am actually more open

than I have ever been.  We all have stories of passion, love and

heartbreak.   Details are irrelevant.  Although I have to say, I have

 heard some stories that still blow my mind, don't make sense and never

will.  Including mine.  Then again, what sense does chasing the wrong

bus make?

Really it's all about patterns.  I am programmed to run after any and

all green buses no matter where they go.  It takes getting on the wrong

bus a few times to figure out which bus you're suppose to ride, or to

figure out which stop to wait for the right one.   If you are lucky, you

will only have one all out sprint to figure it out.  I think its time I start 

chasing a blue or yellow or red bus.  See where that takes me.

 Some prefer frogs.  I prefer bus rides.  Hope I find the right bus and

 route soon. I hope, once I am on, the ride is smooth.