Been a change on my daily trip on the Loser Cruiser.
BTW, I can rant all I want about the Vikings stadium and it’s subsidies and still get on the publicly subsidized bus every day because I’m crazy inconsistent that way. Yea me.
Anyway, been a change on the bus recently, we have a new driver. A *gasp* woman driver. And, “she ain’t half bad on the eyes” as my old man use to say. He also used to say, in a fake Chinese accent “Man who fart in Church sit in own pew”. So take whatever I say he says with a grain of salt. He ain’t right.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, hottie bus driver.
As my regular reader knows I’ve been learning a lot about women lately thanks to all the press coverage about 50 Shades of Gray. I’ve learned that women have deep dark fantasies.
Some women.
And while sitting on the bus meditating about this singular circumstance while leering at observing the new driver it occurred to me I was just getting hotter and hotter as I watched her.
Scorching hot.
Literally people literally not figuratively. It was getting really g-d damned hot on that freaking coach. Like sweating through the back of my shirt hot. Serious. I know! Right?
(the next generation of women seem to say “I know, right” a lot and I’ve not yet figured out what it means exactly. Still researching)
Anyway, I was starting to lose consciousness. It was like 65 degrees that morning and, I realized, she had heater running, bus driver was running the heater. HEAT. In MAY. I know, right? Think I have the hang of it now.
Since I was the only person on the bus at that time I had to say something. “Pardon me, I think you accidently turned on the heater when you went to turn on the A/C. “ She looked back. “Oh no, I’m cold this morning.”
Not possible. Not F’n possible. There is NO way in creation that anyone could be cold on a 65 degree morning unless…
Gawd the gender wars have hit mass transit.
I’ve been arguing about the temperature in the house, the car, the cabin, the bedroom, the bed, the other car, her mother’s house, this state, and practically the entire freaking planet, with Mrs S for the last 27 years, 9 months and 15 days. She has been “cold” since 1975 and I’ve been “hot” since before that and we cannot come to any agreement, we can’t even get to détente on this. This one argument, which causes me to remember another pithy phrase from my dear father used to say:
“Boy, broads ain’t right”
Add sexist to his list of faults.
And mine frankly because despite my best efforts, every time Mrs S turns of the A/C and closes the windows on a day when the mercury is way up in the high 60’s, that very phrase come to mind.
I’m so ashamed.
Kinda
And since, according to my research, the entire human race is split on the I’m hot/I’m cold argument right along gender lines.. there is indeed something there.
When Mrs S is out of town, I’ve been known to set the AC in the house to 62. Close the curtains cool it down and sit with my dog, drink ice tea and say “ahhhh”. Condensation streaming down the windows. Outside of the windws. Electric meter spinning so fast that the dial glows. Global warming be damned, let the polar bears come live in my basement I’ll get it down to a temperature they like. BTW, since we’re on the utility power rationing thing. In the summer I have to get the house down to about 60 so early in the day so when they start throttling the AC I don’t have to worry about sweating.
The hot/cold thing is why we haven’t slept in the same bed for 20 years. We argue about the window open. I like it open, even in winter. She.. does not. I want a fan running all the time, she.. does not. I get up at night and turn the AC up, she gets angry. I don’t like blankets, she sleeps under several blankets in a nightgown made out of more blankets.
She is a living hot water bottle.
If I get into the shower after her, without checking the temp, my skin blisters. Seriously, I make tea in water that is not as hot as what she likes coming out of the shower head.
That and I snore like a pig. And have some flatulence issues she doesn’t like. And, since the CPAP came into my life, I look a lot like Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet which has just about has her creep factor as high as it’s ever been, especially when I’m chasing her around the house in nothing but black sox, the CPAP mask and my Old and in the Way official Thong, which you can purchase here for only $10.49. 100% made in the US of A. 5 day shipping, thank you in advance.
Wipe the coffee and food off your screen and settle down. It’s under my boxers.
Where was I?
So back on the bus, I had my request to turn on the AC rejected. Pissed me off. Just about threw out my good thumb tweeting about my discontent. Lame lame lame… And then she turns around and asks me, “what are you doing for mothers day?”
I didn’t know who she could possibly be talking too. I didn’t engage in chit chat. Looked around the bus, I was the only one on it.. who could she.. me? She’s talking to me? I looked up. “Huh?” Standard male response. I heard her fine I just was shocked at being chatted at by a stranger. Bad enough when a family member does it.
“Mothers day, what are you doing for mothers day?”
“um.. n o t h i n g ..” I answered. I was looking for an answer which would leave her with no opening for conversation.
“nothing? Aw come on… We’re going to blah blah blah”
I’ve had panic attacks before and I have some tools from the therapist to handle them, breathing in and out into a bag is a good one, but I couldn’t find a bag. Used my travel coffee mug instead.
I don’t chit chat, especially at 6:30am. Holy cow, you wanna chat with me, use Twitter like a civilized person would, face to face is downright rude.
And scary.
Next stop another woman got on, sat next to me. RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The entire bus is wide open and she has to sit next to me. WTF…
Then, she started chatting with the bus driver. They chatted together. Yap Yap Yap. Little “community” right there on damned the bus. Not right people, not right. It was the single most confusing situation I’d seen in weeks. How can two people meet on a bus and just start talking about nothing. And bigger question, why would they? Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in..
In went the earphones, up went Judas Priest, high as I could get it. Stared off into space thinking about absolutely nothing. Blissful eh? humming along.
“Hell bent, hell bent for leather, dum da da dum da da dum da da..” huh?
Had that feeling. You know the one. That one feels like something’s crawling up your neck. Looked over. Woman next me was looking at me with a look I recognized.
Every man has had that experience where a wife, daughter, sister or mother has asked him a question and he has no idea what they said. Happens to me 3 or 4 times a day. Didn’t even know you were in a conversation much less give a rip about it until about a nanosecond ago when it became apparent that someone, some person, wanted a response. And 999 times out of a 1000 that person is my wife.
I pulled the earphone out. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What are you listening too?”
I pulled the cord, rang the bell, got off the bus, popped a Xani, and rocked myself for 35 minutes on the curb while I waited for the next one. Whew, I need some better tools, this gender war is getting the best of me.
