Typhoid Mary

You know when you're sick- or rather are about to get sick and you make the mistake of mentioning it to a group of people- (either you say something like "God, my throat is so sore." or "I have the worst sinus headache") and they do that thing that is equal parts funny and obnoxious- they back up? They do that sudden step backwards like you just spilled something? Ever notice how literally ten minutes later everyone has forgotten that you just admitted you were about to get a cold/the flu/a sinus infection and once again shares space with you? Sure, they might remember you're sick if they're sharing a drink or a taste of their food, but nobody is really that freaked out about it. Know what the ONE ailment is that no one ever forgets about?



That's right. Pink Eye.

I have this horrible luck with pink eye. Every single time I've ever had a cold, it is without fail followed up by a nasty case of the gooey grossness. It's horrible and annoying because A: Everyone can immediately tell you have it. B: No one will come within ten feet of you, ever. and C: It's the sickness that you don't feel. You're not achey, you don't have the sniffles or a sore throat- just nastiness that's literally written all over your face- and what's worse, there is nothing you can do about it without a doctor! You got a headache? Take an asprin. A cold? Day quil it's ass. Bleeding gums? Listerine. Can't sleep? Unisom. Pink Eye? Hope you have health insurance! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!?!?

People also have an irrational gross out reaction to it. I got sent home from work today (even though I've been on antibiotics for 24 hours). I was sitting on the bus (a one-two punch if you ask me) thinking What luck! I don't have to work today and I'm not sick!!! So I called up a friend.

"What's up?" asked my friend as he answered the phone, "I thought you had to work today."

"Yeah, I have pink eye so-" I didn't even get through the sentence when I noticed a dramatic change in the seating positions of the other passengers. Suddenly, people were leaning away from me, covering their faces- some even changed seats so they wouldn't be near me. It was like I had suddenly pulled out a bag of dog shit and began snacking on it. And this is the CITY BUS. The place where the homeless spend the day because of the air conditioning. The place where drunks vomit on a nightly basis. The place where meth addicts hock bloody loogies. These people wouldn't bat an eye if I had said "Yeah, it turns out I have chlamydia" or "they sent me home on account of the chronic diarrhea and bloody stools" Not an eye. But pink eye put the fear of God in them.

What really irks me is that just last night, I watched as my friend, Catherine made out with a stranger in a bar. A hot stranger- no- a REALLY hot stranger. And Catherine- has what is possibly the WORST cold in the history of time. (BTW don't ask me what possessed her to decide to go out that night)And it was no secret. She was sneezing and hacking and coughing. Every two minutes or so, she would sniff, dramatically and her clogged sinuses would make an audible slurping sound. It was gross- but not so gross that Hot Guy didn't want to make out with her. Oh- but pink eye? "Don't touch me, don't hand me anything you've touched- don't even look at me. I'll get the horrible, sticky, death plague."

So, here I sit- on Valentines day, no less- continuing my use of antibiotic drops every three hours and feeling- not sick- but annoyed, and sometimes a little itchy, but that's to be expected.

Don't worry- you can't get pink eye from reading this blog.

Wheels On the Bus

I think the bus drivers in this city have way too much power. I realized this today when I dutifully paid my $2.50 for the ride to work this morning without first removing my Ipod and responding to his "Good Morning!"- and as punishment he took off while I was still waiting for my bus pass to spit out from the machine. I said to him "Hey, I'm not done here." thinking this would at least make him slow down. Instead this jack ass responded with "Yeah. I'm late."

He's late. So I was tossed about a moving bus, falling into poles and strangers laps because he was late. Too much power. Here's why. Nobody on the bus is ever happy to be there. I knew this was true when I had a conversation with my best friend about the bus.I remarked that while you may encounter someone weeping openly in the privacy of their own car, you never see anyone crying on the bus. "that's interesting" she said "Because if I was on the bus, I'd be crying." Ouch. But so true. There is not one person on the city bus that is sitting there thinking "You know, life is good. I'm here on this commute with thirty strangers, there's a kid screaming in the back, it smells like BO and salsa and the guy behind me is shouting into his cell phone so loudly that I doubt there is anyone on this bus that is unaware of his entire personal life. Yeah, good times." No. NO! Every single person is thinking What miserable fuck up have I made that landed me here and how can I right this horrible wrong?

There is nothing good about the bus. First of all, its never on time. It's always ten minutes late or arrived and took off seconds before you got there. You never get to the bus stop just as the bus is pulling up. I mean that, it's just an impossibility. If, by some bizarre chance you happen to arrive just before the bus does, you are so shocked by this event that you can't enjoy it. There must be something wrong. Either there is a bomb on the bus or there is about to be a fatal crash. It's like I always say, God doesn't give with both hands.

And another thing. There are no good looking people on the bus. It's always really smelly or really fat, or overly tattooed terrifying people. There sometimes some beautiful girls. Always young- and they always have that depressing air about them, that "I'm sad and desperate and will probably marry someone who does meth and beats me because I am currently pregnant with his child" sort of energy.The guys are forward and obnoxious. I told myself long ago I will never date anyone who I met on the bus. this was a huge moment for me because (and Chris, you probably shouldn't read this next part) I consider myself to be pretty open minded and well, easy. But something inside me says "No, absolutely not, I will not ever date anyone on the city bus." Like- if they can't afford a car they can't afford me- which I'm aware makes me elitist and shallow, but whatever. I have a standard. A standard.

Once- and I mean this- ONCE I saw a beautiful man on the bus. I mean Dolce and Gabanna model hot. He was tall and lean and muscular, and I think- I can't be sure, but everything he did seemed to be in slow motion. Like somewhere, out of sight, there was some photographer documenting his every move "Give me angry. Ooooh. you're amazing, now love me. Make love to the lens, you're a God." I realized that I had been staring at him for an inordinate amount of time- like six or seven stops when he glanced up at me as if to say "What? Stop staring." I wanted to say "Hey, screw you, man- you knew when you got on this bus that you were crazy hot. It is your JOB to be stared at. It's why you were born."

Anyway, this bus driver this morning awakened a secret dream I've had, that had laid dormant for years now. As I was tossed about the aisle, I thought That's fine, asshole. When I shatter my pelvis from being hurled into a metal pole at thirty miles an hour, I will fucking OWN this bus. Hell, I will own MESA and you will become my white slave. So then I started thinking- what am I willing to lose for my dream lawsuit settlement from the city bus? Certainly not a limb. Possibly a broken knee cap or arm. Maybe a few fingers- or hey- why not a broken nose? I'd deal with all of the above at once if it meant a hefty settlement. I'd fill out an accident report- from my hospital bed, of course, detailing the horrors I endured on this bus ride to Hell. I started imagining all the cars and real estate I would purchase- and the look on this dipshit's face when I called him into my estate to fire him, hopefully in front of his children. And when he wept, because this job was all he had- I'd offer him a job as my butler or pool boy- or my driver. And then I was at my stop. Fuck. No lawsuit after all.

The thing is- they have the power because they CAN. Regardless of how miserable we commuters are, it's not like we have a choice. It's the same reason things like brake pads and electricity are so expensive. We need it, so we endure. If oxygen wasn't freely available, I am certain it would cost hundreds of dollars by volume. So I figure, the only way to take the power away is to act like it's no big deal at all. Swing on the poles. Skip down the aisle. Go ahead, bus driver, go faster. See if I care. It's small, but effective.

And when I win my lawsuit, I'll buy a Mercedes and forget all about it.

Except for the nightmares.

The Name Game

My friend Sabrina has a problem with people named John. Well- Jon.

"Everyone I've ever met named Jon is a jerk" she told me one day. I think we were in high school at the time, and Sabrina was the most popular girl I knew. So obviously what she was saying was gospel. Silently, I did a quick inventory of anyone I knew named Jon, noting that one of my best friends was named Jon. So either my friend was a jerk in disguise or Sabrina was wrong. Well, up was down at this point. I had no idea what to think. As it turned out- my Jon was actually a really nice guy.

Years later,though, she still insists on this. "No- I've never met a Jon I liked" she still says. (Infact, I bet she's reading this- this exact sentence, right now and exclaiming to her husband "It's true!" regardless off what else I say here. [for good measure, Sabrina, you should just give up and say it now.])But I, however have had no trouble with anyone named Jon- or John for that matter.

Eric, on the other hand- I've never, EVER met an Eric that I didn't have a passionate hatred for in the long run. So this got me thinking. Is it possible that certain names hold greater significance for some people than others? Does everyone have a specific name that always gives them trouble?

And then that got me thinking. There are specific truths for specific names. For example- The name Candace. I've always been intimidated by girls named Candace. Usually because they are intimidating girls. Every Dylan I've ever met has been impossibly good looking. I've never met a Matt that wasn't awesome. And every Amber I've ever met has been, well- experienced? Okay- they're sluts. (Many apologies if your mother/sister/cousin/niece/best friend is named Amber. Buy her some condoms.)

And if you're wondering about my name- yes, I've had some issues with my name as well. But there are different truths for different uses of the name. Most girls who go by Jenn (two n's) are down to earth, cool girls. Most. One n- bitches. Jenny- either very old women or very hyper cheerleader types. Jennifer= either celebrity or banker. Either way, snobs.

The same goes for the different versions of the name Andrew. If they go by Andrew they're usually nice, unassuming guys. Andy- total sweetheart. If they go by Drew, however, they could be nice, they could be assholes, but the truth remains, they are HOT. All Drews are hot. I don't know why, it's just fact.

I've never met a thin girl named Kayla, a pretty girl named Kimber, or a girl named Tori that didn't have something about them I couldn't trust. As far as men go- I've never met a mean guy named Ben, a hot guy named Bryan- or a girl that hasn't had some experience with a guy named Justin. Explain that! Ask any girl you know and she will without a doubt tell you that she has, in fact dated, kissed, slept with or been in love with (or all of the above) someone named Justin. It's weird. I mean even Britney Spears.

Names that hold a paradox: Chris, Lisa, Shannon, Mark, Katie, Robert, Joe, Morgan and Julie.

So think about it. Are there certain truths of different names for you- and if so, What is your name? Because it's possible that your name has something to do with the experience you've had with other names. Maybe it's a numerology thing, who knows? The point is- I had a point, what was it?

Oh, right. Maybe it's less to do with the person, and more to do with the name. So, if you're naming a baby, or helping someone name a baby- remember- someday, someone is going to hold that name as a standard and you may hear "All people named *insert baby's name here* are jerks." So there ya go.