There I am, walking down New Montgomery, amidst two other walkers (I was sorta in the middle of them, definitely not by choice), just passing the local Starbucks. Alone. Did I mention that? Yes, I was alone.
So there I was, heading for the corner to cross the street, then to BART, when WHAM! this short, young, red t-shirted girl siddles up to me and practically yells in my ear, "I know you hate Dick Cheney!"
The first of many thoughts floating through my tired head was, "Who is she talking to?" Then, "Who is Dick Cheney?" (I fully admit I didn't know who Dick Cheney was until 9-11 happened -- I was just blanking today cause I was TIRED). And then, "Dammit! It's happened again! And I was stuck in the midst of others this time, so she definitely was eyeballing me from afar!!!"
By the time the last thought crossed my mind, I was already half-way across the street. I really wanted to turn around, walk back and say, "Oh! You know I hate Dick Cheney! You're psychic! You rock!" But I just didn't have it in me today.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
And who says kitties don't get jealous?
My little kitty, Zoe, made herself comfortable in our "clean" clothes laundry basket the other day. Sophia, the big girl, decided she was a bit jealous of this, got in the basket, and laid on top of Zoe. I got to take this picture of them before Zoe couldn't breath anymore and made a quick get away from underneath Sophia.
Zoe realizing she better get out of the basket or her death was imminent.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Wonders never cease
It's not like cross-dressing is extremely disturbing to me. Or unusual. I do work in San Francisco, and I've pretty much seen it all.
But when 6+ foot tall man, with a mustache and really broad shoulders is at the Fremont BART station in a t-shirt, short skirt, nylons and heels, you can't help but stare.
Of course this was the morning my husband was totally lagging and missed the whole thing. I hopped on the escalator ahead of my husband, so when he got on, I turned around and mouthed, "look up." And, as usual, my husband said, "Huh?" Which lost time. By the time he got that I was telling him to look up, the man was walking towards the Richmond train (which makes it even stranger since I thought for sure he was going to SF), and my husband missed him again.
When we were walking by the Richmond train, I told my husband to look inside at the man sitting at the front of the car. He did.
"What? The man wearing shorts?" he asked me.
"No....."
"What? What then?"
"A skirt....high heels....," I said.
"NO WAY! You're lying!" my husband informed me.
"NOOOOO....I'm not. He's wearing high heels, a skirt and nylons."
"Did he have a nice top on?"
"No, he wore a t-shirt," I said. I don't think that man could have found a nice top to match his skirt unless he went to the big gals clothing store.
"You're lying!" my husband kept saying.
It's not my fault he can't read lips. And he says I'm bad when he's trying to get me to look at things on the sly.
In a way I just feel bad for the guy because he's never going to look like a woman, if that's what he was really trying to do (part of me wants to believe he was doing it because of a bet). And the mustache is just a dead give-away. But I do have to give him kudos for going out in the world like that. And he did have nicer legs than I ever will.
But when 6+ foot tall man, with a mustache and really broad shoulders is at the Fremont BART station in a t-shirt, short skirt, nylons and heels, you can't help but stare.
Of course this was the morning my husband was totally lagging and missed the whole thing. I hopped on the escalator ahead of my husband, so when he got on, I turned around and mouthed, "look up." And, as usual, my husband said, "Huh?" Which lost time. By the time he got that I was telling him to look up, the man was walking towards the Richmond train (which makes it even stranger since I thought for sure he was going to SF), and my husband missed him again.
When we were walking by the Richmond train, I told my husband to look inside at the man sitting at the front of the car. He did.
"What? The man wearing shorts?" he asked me.
"No....."
"What? What then?"
"A skirt....high heels....," I said.
"NO WAY! You're lying!" my husband informed me.
"NOOOOO....I'm not. He's wearing high heels, a skirt and nylons."
"Did he have a nice top on?"
"No, he wore a t-shirt," I said. I don't think that man could have found a nice top to match his skirt unless he went to the big gals clothing store.
"You're lying!" my husband kept saying.
It's not my fault he can't read lips. And he says I'm bad when he's trying to get me to look at things on the sly.
In a way I just feel bad for the guy because he's never going to look like a woman, if that's what he was really trying to do (part of me wants to believe he was doing it because of a bet). And the mustache is just a dead give-away. But I do have to give him kudos for going out in the world like that. And he did have nicer legs than I ever will.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
What is it about me???
So you've all noticed that I haven't really written much about BART or my walking to and from BART experiences. That mainly stems from the fact that I've been taking BART with my husband since February. He's protecting me from all the weirdness that seems to occur when I'm alone, and he also makes the perfect sitting next to buddy and alarm clock.
Last week my husband decided that he's had enough of working my work schedule, which means he was going to the gym at night, which also means he wasn't getting any sleep at night because of the adrenaline pumping through his body.
So now we've reverted back to our old schedule, which means he still gets up at the same time as I do, but instead of going to work, he goes to the gym, then goes to work. By the time I'm into two hours of my day at work, he's just arriving. By the time I'm about 2 hours into my home time, he's coming home. But at least I'm not eating dinner at 8:30pm anymore (waiting for him to come home from the gym after work).
Today I ended up at work by 6:30am, so I left at 3:30pm (not too shabby in my opinion considering I didn't have to get up any earlier to do this). As I walked up the street to the BART station, I noticed two people planted outside of the local Starbucks (one of about 10 in a 4 block radius). In hand they had some California thing that looked like a license plate. One guy was pointed towards my direction, the other gal was pointed towards Market street. Bad scene all around.
I was already cutting my time extremely close because I left work a bit later than I had planned to, and any distractions whatsoever was going to hinder my one minute chances of getting on the Fremont train I so desired to be on.
So I got my "don't you even think about asking me to stop because I might look young and innocent, I'm not and I'll gladly knock you down if you get in my way" look. The guy eyeballed me but for some reason decided to leave me alone. Phew, I still had it.
I made it past hotel, and was just turning the corner from New Montgomery onto Market, when I had one of those awkward merging moments, and I had to slow down a bit so that a some guy and myself wouldn't bash into each other. I ended up directly on his heels.
I had noticed this man lingering by the wall that protects people from falling down the stairway into the BART station right beforemerging. He didn't have a clipboard or a loud t-shirt on advertising something or some goofy hat...but there was something about him that was just...not...right.
As soon as I passed this man, which means the guy I was trailing already passed him by milliseconds, he came alive and tried to walk with me. It was then I noticed he had a folder in his hand, but it was cleverly disguised as being plain, so who would think he was a lurker waiting in the shadows to pounce on innocent gals trying to go home?
"Excuse me! Can I ask you a question?" he said while he slowly stopped walking and then came to a stop because he realized I was going to completely ignore that fact that he did that. "Gee!!! THANKS!!" he yelled at me.
If I had a dollar for every time someone's yelled something at me because I ignore their pandering....yeah. Let's just leave it at that. The fact that I can say that let alone think it is enough.
There was a huge part of me that wanted to turn around and call him an arsehole (still practicing my lingo for our trip) for thinking I would miss my train just because he had a question that he decided he wanted to ask me and not the guy that walked right in front of him a millisecond before I did. Then I thought of turning around and saying, "Gee! You're welcome! Gu-haw!" like a country bumpkin. I even had a split second thought that maybe he did have a legit question, and what if that happens to my husband and I all the time when we're in the UK and no one will help us? Ah, but see, we're smart, we ask people who are working, not people who are obviously walking a million miles a minute, trying to get home. That made me decide he deserved a tongue lashing, but that would just make me late.
So it comes down to this: I just don't get it. I can go months and months of no one coming out of the woodworks trying to get me to stop to answer stupid questions or to see if I'll go to church with them, but the day I'm walking alone, BAM! I get targeted. And I'm sooooo not the person you want to target. What do I need to do to show this? Granted, he did catch me off guard, so I didn't have my "you better not mess with me, I'm like a rabid dog and I DO NOT GIVE UP" look.
And speaking of not being with my husband, I could have used his alarm clockedness today going home because I almost didn't wake up.
Last week my husband decided that he's had enough of working my work schedule, which means he was going to the gym at night, which also means he wasn't getting any sleep at night because of the adrenaline pumping through his body.
So now we've reverted back to our old schedule, which means he still gets up at the same time as I do, but instead of going to work, he goes to the gym, then goes to work. By the time I'm into two hours of my day at work, he's just arriving. By the time I'm about 2 hours into my home time, he's coming home. But at least I'm not eating dinner at 8:30pm anymore (waiting for him to come home from the gym after work).
Today I ended up at work by 6:30am, so I left at 3:30pm (not too shabby in my opinion considering I didn't have to get up any earlier to do this). As I walked up the street to the BART station, I noticed two people planted outside of the local Starbucks (one of about 10 in a 4 block radius). In hand they had some California thing that looked like a license plate. One guy was pointed towards my direction, the other gal was pointed towards Market street. Bad scene all around.
I was already cutting my time extremely close because I left work a bit later than I had planned to, and any distractions whatsoever was going to hinder my one minute chances of getting on the Fremont train I so desired to be on.
So I got my "don't you even think about asking me to stop because I might look young and innocent, I'm not and I'll gladly knock you down if you get in my way" look. The guy eyeballed me but for some reason decided to leave me alone. Phew, I still had it.
I made it past hotel, and was just turning the corner from New Montgomery onto Market, when I had one of those awkward merging moments, and I had to slow down a bit so that a some guy and myself wouldn't bash into each other. I ended up directly on his heels.
I had noticed this man lingering by the wall that protects people from falling down the stairway into the BART station right beforemerging. He didn't have a clipboard or a loud t-shirt on advertising something or some goofy hat...but there was something about him that was just...not...right.
As soon as I passed this man, which means the guy I was trailing already passed him by milliseconds, he came alive and tried to walk with me. It was then I noticed he had a folder in his hand, but it was cleverly disguised as being plain, so who would think he was a lurker waiting in the shadows to pounce on innocent gals trying to go home?
"Excuse me! Can I ask you a question?" he said while he slowly stopped walking and then came to a stop because he realized I was going to completely ignore that fact that he did that. "Gee!!! THANKS!!" he yelled at me.
If I had a dollar for every time someone's yelled something at me because I ignore their pandering....yeah. Let's just leave it at that. The fact that I can say that let alone think it is enough.
There was a huge part of me that wanted to turn around and call him an arsehole (still practicing my lingo for our trip) for thinking I would miss my train just because he had a question that he decided he wanted to ask me and not the guy that walked right in front of him a millisecond before I did. Then I thought of turning around and saying, "Gee! You're welcome! Gu-haw!" like a country bumpkin. I even had a split second thought that maybe he did have a legit question, and what if that happens to my husband and I all the time when we're in the UK and no one will help us? Ah, but see, we're smart, we ask people who are working, not people who are obviously walking a million miles a minute, trying to get home. That made me decide he deserved a tongue lashing, but that would just make me late.
So it comes down to this: I just don't get it. I can go months and months of no one coming out of the woodworks trying to get me to stop to answer stupid questions or to see if I'll go to church with them, but the day I'm walking alone, BAM! I get targeted. And I'm sooooo not the person you want to target. What do I need to do to show this? Granted, he did catch me off guard, so I didn't have my "you better not mess with me, I'm like a rabid dog and I DO NOT GIVE UP" look.
And speaking of not being with my husband, I could have used his alarm clockedness today going home because I almost didn't wake up.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Happy Father's Day
To all those dads out there (especially mine) and those dads who've only know kitty love (such as my husband).
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A pet peeve that is larger than you and I.
For some reason older women who are around the age where they could be going through menopause (which can vary, as does the way women can show their age), seem to like to imply to younger women, such as myself, that they are going through menopause. Like it's some big, bright, gold star they gladly flaunt on their chest.
The other day (I'm actually writing this several days after June 8th, I just haven't really felt in the, um, feisty writing mood this past week), I was visited by someone in my office who was implying that she was going through the "change" without actually saying that she was.
Where I sit, I'm either freezing to death or sweating like I ran a mile (and yes, I have ran a mile in my younger days as the "Hardest to get moving" track star at my high school, thank you very much). This particular morning, the temperature of the air blowing upon my head paired with the my clothing choice for the day actually made me feel nice and toasty -- not too hot, not too cold, as the bears in Goldielocks said, "just right."
So here comes my visitor, whom by the way, I dread being visited by, and as she was walking towards me, she was saying, "It's hot! Aren't you hot!? It's soooo hot! I'm HOT! It's really hot over here!"
Mentally I was already cringing at the reality that this person was visiting me for some unknown reason, and also because she was spouting off how hot she was when in fact, it was not hot.
"I dunno. I'm usually freezing, so it feels fine to me," I muttered in a 'I'm recognizing that you're coming to visit me, however, I'm not going to be too friendly to you' way.
"I'm just soooooo hot!" she exclaimed.
That's when I realized what she was doing because this is not the first time I've encountered the older woman telling the younger woman how hot she is and oh boy, she's just sweating!
So my friendly meter dropped immensely at this point.
The one thing that I hate more than anything else is when older people have to point out how much older they are than younger people, even if it's by a few years. Women do the particularly annoying thing of using their menopause experience as the one that tops all experiences for other women. I guess that's because I could have had sex already by now, had a few kids, seen life a little bit, have some years of work and education under my belt, could possibly be a divorcee or a even a widower, so what else can an older woman have to top me? The lack of their monthly visitor. Wow. Go figure.
The thing that not too many people know about me is that I've experience menopause for about three months. I've had those famous hot flashes that older women like to brag about. Why I went through this is another story altogether, but now, when I have to listen to an older woman exclaim how hot she is, I just want to punch her really hard. BAM!
I'm just the wrong person to do this too. Be forewarned. I don't take kindly to this "I'm older than you" braggartness. I know what a vinyl record is and in fact have crates and crates and crates full of them. I know who Glenn Miller is and that his name is spelled with two N's and not one. I know that the first movies to feature talking were in fact called 'talkies.' I'm also quite aware that TV hasn't always been around.
So I may be young, but don't underestimate my brain power and what I've been through.
______________________________
Okay -- So this is what I wanted to say last week, and while I still do feel this way and always will, I had my first experience of being 10 years older than another person and wanting to play the "I'm older than you" card as much as I could, but I didn't really go there. Especially when the person I was talking to thought during the whole time we were talking that I was his age because I do look like I'm 10 years younger than I am. Then I started doing the, "when I was moving in with my husband and starting San Jose State, you were only 12" silent mental games. I could also finally see how young a young person was and how much fun it would be to torture them with the, "when I was 10, you were even born yet!" crap. Or even better, if he's 22, then that means he was born in....1984 (yes, I had to use the calculator) and I was in 4th grade and in love with Duran Duran.
The other day (I'm actually writing this several days after June 8th, I just haven't really felt in the, um, feisty writing mood this past week), I was visited by someone in my office who was implying that she was going through the "change" without actually saying that she was.
Where I sit, I'm either freezing to death or sweating like I ran a mile (and yes, I have ran a mile in my younger days as the "Hardest to get moving" track star at my high school, thank you very much). This particular morning, the temperature of the air blowing upon my head paired with the my clothing choice for the day actually made me feel nice and toasty -- not too hot, not too cold, as the bears in Goldielocks said, "just right."
So here comes my visitor, whom by the way, I dread being visited by, and as she was walking towards me, she was saying, "It's hot! Aren't you hot!? It's soooo hot! I'm HOT! It's really hot over here!"
Mentally I was already cringing at the reality that this person was visiting me for some unknown reason, and also because she was spouting off how hot she was when in fact, it was not hot.
"I dunno. I'm usually freezing, so it feels fine to me," I muttered in a 'I'm recognizing that you're coming to visit me, however, I'm not going to be too friendly to you' way.
"I'm just soooooo hot!" she exclaimed.
That's when I realized what she was doing because this is not the first time I've encountered the older woman telling the younger woman how hot she is and oh boy, she's just sweating!
So my friendly meter dropped immensely at this point.
The one thing that I hate more than anything else is when older people have to point out how much older they are than younger people, even if it's by a few years. Women do the particularly annoying thing of using their menopause experience as the one that tops all experiences for other women. I guess that's because I could have had sex already by now, had a few kids, seen life a little bit, have some years of work and education under my belt, could possibly be a divorcee or a even a widower, so what else can an older woman have to top me? The lack of their monthly visitor. Wow. Go figure.
The thing that not too many people know about me is that I've experience menopause for about three months. I've had those famous hot flashes that older women like to brag about. Why I went through this is another story altogether, but now, when I have to listen to an older woman exclaim how hot she is, I just want to punch her really hard. BAM!
I'm just the wrong person to do this too. Be forewarned. I don't take kindly to this "I'm older than you" braggartness. I know what a vinyl record is and in fact have crates and crates and crates full of them. I know who Glenn Miller is and that his name is spelled with two N's and not one. I know that the first movies to feature talking were in fact called 'talkies.' I'm also quite aware that TV hasn't always been around.
So I may be young, but don't underestimate my brain power and what I've been through.
______________________________
Okay -- So this is what I wanted to say last week, and while I still do feel this way and always will, I had my first experience of being 10 years older than another person and wanting to play the "I'm older than you" card as much as I could, but I didn't really go there. Especially when the person I was talking to thought during the whole time we were talking that I was his age because I do look like I'm 10 years younger than I am. Then I started doing the, "when I was moving in with my husband and starting San Jose State, you were only 12" silent mental games. I could also finally see how young a young person was and how much fun it would be to torture them with the, "when I was 10, you were even born yet!" crap. Or even better, if he's 22, then that means he was born in....1984 (yes, I had to use the calculator) and I was in 4th grade and in love with Duran Duran.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Walking forever
I was inspired early this morning to get up, complain a bit to my hubby about him always going to the gym, then declare I was going to the condo gym and there was no stopping me. Like he really cared -- this way he had the green light that I wasn't going to guilt him into staying at home with me and our kitties and he could go to the gym.
I waited for him and walked with him towards the condo gym and the parking lot. We kissed goodbye. There was no one in the condo gym, which is how I like it.
After about 30 minutes of walking (I planned for an hour, thank you very much), I noticed someone walking by the windows. I looked up to see a chubby old man staring at me. Hmmm....I thought. Kinda creepy, but I doubted he was going to come into the gym.
Then I heard the click-click of the electric key opening the condo gym door.
Keep reading, keep listening to your music, keep walking, don't act like you know he's in there, I kept telling myself.
Admittedly, I tend to over react to things, but after watching Dateline's feature on men praying on young girls in chat rooms looking for sexual encounters, and me looking like I'm in my teens with my hair pulled back, my over reacting mind started thinking of several really bad scenes, all of which ends with my screaming "Hi-ya!" and kicking him where the sun don't shine.
Our condo gym is rather pathetic and consists of two ellipticals (my least favorite), one treadmill, one stationary bike (hurts my delicate bottom), and some weight machine thing that I wouldn't know how to use if my life counted on it. Next to the treadmill is an elliptical, and behind both are the other elliptical and the stationary bike.
I heard the old man behind me, doing whatever he was doing to the elliptical. Then, suddenly, he was next to me, trying to use the elliptical next to me. He was sitting on the hump at the back of the elliptical, trying to reach his little old man legs to the foot platforms. This is not how you use an elliptical. You stand on it.
I kept telling myself, do not look, do not look, do not look.
He then mumbled something, but since I had my earbuds in, I "couldn't" hear him. He somehow realized that he was supposed to stand up on the foot platforms, so he did that for a bit, swinging his little legs back and forth, but never going in a circle. He quickly bored of that and moved back to his sitting position.
After the elliptical, the old man moved onto the weight machine, but he was so far out of my side view range, that I'm not sure what he was doing. He moved behind me after that, using the stationary bike and whatever else (I really didn't want to know).
I figured I was safe because since I wasn't moving my butt off the treadmill until he left, and he pretty much exhausted all his condo gym choices, he would have to leave.
That's when I heard, "Excuse me?"
Sigh........why now? Why not just leave and we'll pretend like this never happened and I won't tell the HOA people that you were the one who sat on the elliptical and killed it because it wasn't made to withstand a rolly polly old man on its hump? Just go. Leave. Go eat some donuts and talk to other old men!
I turned and looked at him, but I didn't take out my earbuds or stop walking, which was meant to be an indication that I didn't really appreciate him interrupting me and he better have a good reason for doing so -- like a heart attack or something.
"How many miles have you walked?" he asked, all old man smiles.
"I dunno," I said and looked away.
"You just keep walking and walking and walking, have you gone 5 miles?" he asked.
Friendly ol' me said, "I really don't know," while flipping up my magazine to show him all my fabulous walking stats.
"It seems like you've walked forever!" he said.
"I'm walking for an hour," I said and turned away with as much finality as I could muster without looking too much the freak.
He decided to leave then. I'll never understand why old men have a fascination with me except that Dateline says they like young, innocent girls. Oh wait, but I don't really know if he was a creepy. Essentially it doesn't really matter. I could have taken him. Or I could have kept walking until my husband came home and saved me.
I waited for him and walked with him towards the condo gym and the parking lot. We kissed goodbye. There was no one in the condo gym, which is how I like it.
After about 30 minutes of walking (I planned for an hour, thank you very much), I noticed someone walking by the windows. I looked up to see a chubby old man staring at me. Hmmm....I thought. Kinda creepy, but I doubted he was going to come into the gym.
Then I heard the click-click of the electric key opening the condo gym door.
Keep reading, keep listening to your music, keep walking, don't act like you know he's in there, I kept telling myself.
Admittedly, I tend to over react to things, but after watching Dateline's feature on men praying on young girls in chat rooms looking for sexual encounters, and me looking like I'm in my teens with my hair pulled back, my over reacting mind started thinking of several really bad scenes, all of which ends with my screaming "Hi-ya!" and kicking him where the sun don't shine.
Our condo gym is rather pathetic and consists of two ellipticals (my least favorite), one treadmill, one stationary bike (hurts my delicate bottom), and some weight machine thing that I wouldn't know how to use if my life counted on it. Next to the treadmill is an elliptical, and behind both are the other elliptical and the stationary bike.
I heard the old man behind me, doing whatever he was doing to the elliptical. Then, suddenly, he was next to me, trying to use the elliptical next to me. He was sitting on the hump at the back of the elliptical, trying to reach his little old man legs to the foot platforms. This is not how you use an elliptical. You stand on it.
I kept telling myself, do not look, do not look, do not look.
He then mumbled something, but since I had my earbuds in, I "couldn't" hear him. He somehow realized that he was supposed to stand up on the foot platforms, so he did that for a bit, swinging his little legs back and forth, but never going in a circle. He quickly bored of that and moved back to his sitting position.
After the elliptical, the old man moved onto the weight machine, but he was so far out of my side view range, that I'm not sure what he was doing. He moved behind me after that, using the stationary bike and whatever else (I really didn't want to know).
I figured I was safe because since I wasn't moving my butt off the treadmill until he left, and he pretty much exhausted all his condo gym choices, he would have to leave.
That's when I heard, "Excuse me?"
Sigh........why now? Why not just leave and we'll pretend like this never happened and I won't tell the HOA people that you were the one who sat on the elliptical and killed it because it wasn't made to withstand a rolly polly old man on its hump? Just go. Leave. Go eat some donuts and talk to other old men!
I turned and looked at him, but I didn't take out my earbuds or stop walking, which was meant to be an indication that I didn't really appreciate him interrupting me and he better have a good reason for doing so -- like a heart attack or something.
"How many miles have you walked?" he asked, all old man smiles.
"I dunno," I said and looked away.
"You just keep walking and walking and walking, have you gone 5 miles?" he asked.
Friendly ol' me said, "I really don't know," while flipping up my magazine to show him all my fabulous walking stats.
"It seems like you've walked forever!" he said.
"I'm walking for an hour," I said and turned away with as much finality as I could muster without looking too much the freak.
He decided to leave then. I'll never understand why old men have a fascination with me except that Dateline says they like young, innocent girls. Oh wait, but I don't really know if he was a creepy. Essentially it doesn't really matter. I could have taken him. Or I could have kept walking until my husband came home and saved me.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Stupid things we humans do
Everyone loves their cell phones, and they love them even more on BART. Except me. I don't really like to talk on my cell phone in public, but that's another story altogether (I make people play the "guessing game" with me to figure out what I want or why I called).
My husband made a keen observation today. An older man got on the BART train halfway through our commute. He was already talking on his cell phone as he got on the train, and he continued to talk until he got off the train (UC). During his very loud, long and extremely repeatative conversation (I believe the person on the phone was going deaf), he informed everyone in earshot that he was going to out of town this weekend. And how his dog was going to be taken care of.
My husband told me that he was glad to know that the man wouldn't be home for a weekend because then he could rob his house.
"Ah, yes....all you need to do is follow him home," I commented.
The man then said that he may go on another little trip later on, but he wasn't sure.
"There you go -- now you've got two chances," I said.
Then I spoke for the man, as I like to do when we're making fun of people: "And when I get off this train, I'm going to the ATM to pull out some money!"
The man then got up and stood near the doorway. "Hey, look, he does like money," I said. He was carrying Money magazine. "Maybe he does have a lot of dough."
A lady was standing in front of the door, and he was standing behind her. As soon as the doors opened up, he darted in front of her and walked off. That has nothing to do with people talking on their cell phones, but I found it particularly annoying.
Oh, and his dog is staying at a doggy hotel. Just an FYI that fido won't be home to bite.
My husband made a keen observation today. An older man got on the BART train halfway through our commute. He was already talking on his cell phone as he got on the train, and he continued to talk until he got off the train (UC). During his very loud, long and extremely repeatative conversation (I believe the person on the phone was going deaf), he informed everyone in earshot that he was going to out of town this weekend. And how his dog was going to be taken care of.
My husband told me that he was glad to know that the man wouldn't be home for a weekend because then he could rob his house.
"Ah, yes....all you need to do is follow him home," I commented.
The man then said that he may go on another little trip later on, but he wasn't sure.
"There you go -- now you've got two chances," I said.
Then I spoke for the man, as I like to do when we're making fun of people: "And when I get off this train, I'm going to the ATM to pull out some money!"
The man then got up and stood near the doorway. "Hey, look, he does like money," I said. He was carrying Money magazine. "Maybe he does have a lot of dough."
A lady was standing in front of the door, and he was standing behind her. As soon as the doors opened up, he darted in front of her and walked off. That has nothing to do with people talking on their cell phones, but I found it particularly annoying.
Oh, and his dog is staying at a doggy hotel. Just an FYI that fido won't be home to bite.
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