just to get this out of the way, last night I did karaoke for the second time. I guess that's what 4 beers will do to a person. song choice? Marvin Gaye: "What's Goin' On." song choice is crucial. anyone who watches American Idol knows that. I was pleased with my results.

this morning I stepped onto the bus and was confronted with a driver who I'd only had once before. the driver is an olive-skinned gentleman, with a loud, booming voice that reveals some sort of accent (Greek?). he is of a medium to heavy build, with big, dark-lensed, metal-rimmed glasses, wavy brownish-black hair, and coarse facial hair stubble spread across his mustache area. on every finger of his hands are rings of various shapes and sizes and metals. the nails of all of his fingers are longish and manicured to look like ladies' nails, coming to a round point and everything, only they're twice as wide as a lady's nails. they're always painted buff/putty, one of the grossest colors ever. except for the pinky finger of his right hand: it's a shiny hot pink.

now if you're going to see one nail on a bus driver, it's always going to be the right pinky. so we are meant to see the rings and the pinky. it's like a signal. but I'll tell you one thing, you do not fuck with a man who is completely mannish in appearances but for his ladies' manicure, rococo rings, and hot pink pinky nail. oh-ho-ho, he knows what he's doing!

I sat on the bus in a single seat and spent half the time gazing out the window daydreaming and the other half looking forward at the driver's face in the mirror, wondering what his life consists of apart from chauffeuring the good people of Chicago around town. these thoughts were interrupted a half mile from my work when the driver reached such a high rate of speed for such a long stretch of State Street (another bus was not too far ahead of us clearing the rider path) that I actually felt fear. it's not often that a bus doesn't make frequent stops, so when a driver manages to ratchet his vehicle above 35mph and to zoom past cars, bicyclists, pedestrians at such a speed, I start really thinking that someone will soon be dead as a result. you know, the whole loss of control, OH MY GOD WHY IS HE DRIVING SO FAST HOLY SHIT I'M RIDING A ROCKETING MURDER MACHINE thing.

fortunately death was averted for the time being. it was a relief when finally the bus lurched to a halt at Chicago.

not much longer after that I rose from my seat to exit the bus and immediately felt that my ass, from the mid-left cheek all across to my right cheek and thigh, was damp. I cannot express the feeling of knowing you've just spent the past 30 minutes absorbing some mystery liquid through your clothing on the public bus. public bus mystery liquid could be so, so many revolting things.

I tried to downplay the look of disgust and exasperation (rising from a seat with a damp ass is a total "wah wah" trumpet moment) that was clearly painted across my face until I got into my cubicle. I promptly turned my skirt around and lifted it to my nose (I had to know: to vomit or not to vomit?), and detected no foreign odor. relieved, I walked to the bathroom, patted my ass with some paper towels, brought a handful of them back to my desk, laid them on my chair, and began the morning, damp as a daisy.

and then I went down to the cafeteria to purchase myself a "cheer up, damp ass" Snapple Grapeade.

I drank Snapple Grapeade nearly every day at lunch in 9th and 10th grade. these were the days when all I wore for makeup was some faintly-applied brown eyeliner, a little concealer for the zits, and Bonnie Bell Lipsmackers. oh, the collection of Lipsmackers I amassed in my younger days. drinking down the whole Grapeade this morning really took me back to those days, days when my favorite lunchtime gag was to trick Jen into turning around to see someone's bent-over ass in her face (it never failed!). ahhhh...to be 14 again...I certainly would never ask for that.

I guess that's it for now. kind of abrupt, huh?