Busrider J here. Neither D nor myself have posted here for a while - short answer: We have had a car, of some repute or another, since Winter 2008, which waylays the need for crinkled bus schedules in our bags.
But! Fear not! Our current vehicle is being Looked At (as ominous as it sounds, considering we've been planning a cross-country drive to visit my folks for months, and somehow the idea that, "It's just this one small part causing all the trouble" seems too easy to be true). Anyway, this relegates us to taking cabs and - DUH DUH DUHHHH - the city bus.
D rode into work on it this morning and lived to tell the tale, roughly 10 minutes ago over the phone. "Orange Shirt Girl was there," she said excitedly. "No orange shirt, but she WAS wearing brown pants."
I admit it, I squealed - absence makes hearts fonder, and all. "So what was she wearing for a shirt?" I queried eventually.
D snickered. "It was black."
"Oooh. Black and brown? Major fashion faux-pas, Orange Shirt Girl."
"Seriously."
"She should have just worn the orange shirt with the brown pants," I supplied. "At least then she'd look like a jack-o-lantern." Stay classy, Orange Shirt Girl.
In conclusion, it's amazing how lazy we've gotten in the advent of being able to drive everywhere. I used to walk 2-3 miles around and about "just for fun". Now, I would just as soon Rochambeau my way out of having to climb the stairs of our apartment complex to take the garbage out.
Until the next time our car breaks down!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Love of the Loveless.
D and I would be poor bus rider blog keepers if we did not continue to share the ongoing sagas of our many, many fellow patrons. Ergo, here are some of the latest and greatest.
PROPS to the Peter Jackson-esque character and Fat Girl Who Always Has Bare Legs for finding love. Watching nerds make a connection from across the crowded, stinky aisles warms my heart.
A ROUNDHOUSE KICK TO THE HEAD to the wheelchair-bound dude who made the already harried lady driver rush across the bus station to take the wheelchair ramp remote away from you like a little kid. Also, FYI, somebody wearing a poncho-jacket does not automatically mean they went to Mexico or are a pothead. (Though I warned D when she put it on that that was the price she paid for a coat that looked as if it had been made with hemp and hacky sacks.)
A big ROUND OF APPLAUSE to Britney Spears Shaved Head Homage Guy. I never thought someone would willingly walk around with the entire front half of their head shaved and the back mullet-length. Obviously, you are performing a public ode to the bipolar pop princess, and we could not be more thrilled by it. (I tried to snap an incognito photo of this guy on my RAZR as proof, natch, but I was too far away. Alas, alas, alas.)
Finally, a ginormous ??? to Orange Shirt Girl, whose shirt this morning was - SHOCK - not-orange. Even the skirt she is usually seen in - wrinkled paisley - was replaced by something black, sleek, and clean. She is an anomaly, this one. What will she wear next! Don't worry, that's not a hypothetical question. D and I are, sadly, just as excited as we are sure our .0005 readers are. Until next time!
NUMBER OF FLOWERS THE NUMBER 6 DRIVER WILL GET FOR LETTING US ON THE BUS THIS MORNING WITHOUT HAVING TO JOG HALFWAY UP THE STREET TO GET TO OUR ACTUAL STOP: 0 (but it's the thought that counts).
BART DOESN'T RIDE.
D and I present a tale of strangeness and woe from the annals of the 6 bus.
Earlier in the week, we rode past our usual stop to head up to Wal-Mart, because that is what people in the midwest do for fun. This is not the strange part. On our way home a few hours later, the bus stops at a routine place on the route, assumably to pick up the two men standing there.
The more wiry of the pair begins chatting with the bus driver. He doesn't get on the bus, just stands there with one foot on the bottom step, holding a bus schedule and, we assume, plotting out a trip somewhere in town. The conversation lasts for several minutes, and at the end, he does not get on the bus at all. The second man, scruffy, with eyes that are just a little too close together, makes to get on.
"No, Bart," the bus driver says. (There is some debate between D and myself about whether his name is Bart or Mark.) The driver refuses to let the second man board, and he asks why. "Because I said so," the driver says firmly, closing the doors in his face. "Bart doesn't ride!" he shouts triumphantly, and then repeats it to himself like it's his new mantra. "Bart doesn't ride."
This perplexed us well after the fact. Whatever had Bart or Mark done to warrant being shunned from public transportation? People masturbate on the backseat, eat pasta straight out of the can with their fingers, and pass around Jehovah's Witness pamphlets on the bus and don't get banned. Did he shank somebody? Defecate on the seat? Masturbate on a Jehovah's Witness while eating pasta straight out of the can? Inquiring minds want to know - probably against their better judgment.
NUMBER OF LESBIANS WHO RIDE THE BUS BESIDES US: 2.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Great Throw-Down.
My lesbian cohort-in-crime and fellow bus-rider, D and I would be remiss to complain simply about the fellow passengers on our bus. After all, there is a slim possibility that said passengers are finding US steadfastly annoying enough to post Internet blogs about. (I say "slim" because, honestly, aside from the community college winners!!!1 who take up air-space on their way to Kirkwood every morning to become astronaut farmers and Psychology majors working in call centers - you know what, I can say that because I've lived it - I question the literacy abilities of the lot of them.)
In any case, the holiday weekend has given us time for reflection, which has allowed the following delicious nugget of bus-riding badness to spring to mind anew. Rewind to roughly a week ago. It was a fairly typical last leg of our mutual trip home on the "6" - the air was dank and smelly, the bus itself hotter and stinkier than outside, the passengers even moreso. D and I watched Orange Shirt Girl and Drooling Cyndi Lauper Lady through the window of a neighboring bus, OSG seemingly enamored with what appeared to be a walkie-talkie. Okaaay.
The bus driver boards. He is, essentially, a human representation of Cedar Rapids, post-flooding: worn out; making it, but only just; like he'd maybe done just a bit too much acid in the '70s. Tiredly, he turns the key; we all wait with bated breath for the reassuring whir of the air conditioner, but it does not come. We proceed, D fiddling with the Ahsoka toy she's just rescued from its former prison, wedged between two seats. The movement isn't comforting, or comfortable, but it signifies that we're on our way Home, and so we do our best to relax into it.
The bus turns to pull out of the parking lot, and then stops. Nobody thinks anything of it because it's rush hour, and then the screaming starts. We don't catch all of it, but suddenly Mr. Panic at the Disco is half-lunging out the tiny side window availed to him, arguing heatedly with a large black woman in a city-issued van with the transit station logo imprinted on the side. Stunned, the bus' other 5-6 patrons listen as the verbal gang-rape continues, punctuated with racial slurs and finalized with a loud, "FUCK YOU" from the bus driver.
Then the bus firmly rounds a corner, and we wait for the driver to decide that, yes, yes, today is going to be the day he ends it all, having it out with a co-worker before pitching himself - and all of us - off a bridge. D clutches at the lump of Ahsoka figure in her backpack, and we pray to the higher power that is Star Wars that we will make it home in two, non-charbroiled pieces. By the Holiness vested in George Lucas, our pleas are answered.
Though most of the CR bus drivers do not tend quite so closely to the homicidal, they aren't that great, either. However, Busrider D and I must extend a hand of gratitude to one particular driver, whose tireless dedication to the "7" route - and to bringing ponytails on men back - is worth an accolade or two. We don't know his name, but we know his face, and he ours, always referring to me as D's "lady friend". When the weather is bad, and through Hell and high traffic, he is always there with his pleasant, hippie demeanor and strangely attractive polyester blue shorts. For future reference in this blog, he shall be known as Qui-Gon the Bus Driver, or "Quiggy". And he shall be praised.
NUMBER OF TIMES DISCUSSIONS ABOUT PRESIDENT CARTER HAVE BEEN OVERHEARD ON THE "7" BUS IN THE MORNING: 2.
In any case, the holiday weekend has given us time for reflection, which has allowed the following delicious nugget of bus-riding badness to spring to mind anew. Rewind to roughly a week ago. It was a fairly typical last leg of our mutual trip home on the "6" - the air was dank and smelly, the bus itself hotter and stinkier than outside, the passengers even moreso. D and I watched Orange Shirt Girl and Drooling Cyndi Lauper Lady through the window of a neighboring bus, OSG seemingly enamored with what appeared to be a walkie-talkie. Okaaay.
The bus driver boards. He is, essentially, a human representation of Cedar Rapids, post-flooding: worn out; making it, but only just; like he'd maybe done just a bit too much acid in the '70s. Tiredly, he turns the key; we all wait with bated breath for the reassuring whir of the air conditioner, but it does not come. We proceed, D fiddling with the Ahsoka toy she's just rescued from its former prison, wedged between two seats. The movement isn't comforting, or comfortable, but it signifies that we're on our way Home, and so we do our best to relax into it.
The bus turns to pull out of the parking lot, and then stops. Nobody thinks anything of it because it's rush hour, and then the screaming starts. We don't catch all of it, but suddenly Mr. Panic at the Disco is half-lunging out the tiny side window availed to him, arguing heatedly with a large black woman in a city-issued van with the transit station logo imprinted on the side. Stunned, the bus' other 5-6 patrons listen as the verbal gang-rape continues, punctuated with racial slurs and finalized with a loud, "FUCK YOU" from the bus driver.
Then the bus firmly rounds a corner, and we wait for the driver to decide that, yes, yes, today is going to be the day he ends it all, having it out with a co-worker before pitching himself - and all of us - off a bridge. D clutches at the lump of Ahsoka figure in her backpack, and we pray to the higher power that is Star Wars that we will make it home in two, non-charbroiled pieces. By the Holiness vested in George Lucas, our pleas are answered.
Though most of the CR bus drivers do not tend quite so closely to the homicidal, they aren't that great, either. However, Busrider D and I must extend a hand of gratitude to one particular driver, whose tireless dedication to the "7" route - and to bringing ponytails on men back - is worth an accolade or two. We don't know his name, but we know his face, and he ours, always referring to me as D's "lady friend". When the weather is bad, and through Hell and high traffic, he is always there with his pleasant, hippie demeanor and strangely attractive polyester blue shorts. For future reference in this blog, he shall be known as Qui-Gon the Bus Driver, or "Quiggy". And he shall be praised.
NUMBER OF TIMES DISCUSSIONS ABOUT PRESIDENT CARTER HAVE BEEN OVERHEARD ON THE "7" BUS IN THE MORNING: 2.
The Regulars
Well, it's the weekend - and a holiday weekend at that - so there has been no bus-riding for Busrider J and I for the past three days. A shame, to be sure, but the city of Cedar Rapids doesn't believe anyone needs to get anywhere on Sundays or holidays, so we have been without viewings of our favorite fellow riders.
OUR FIVE FAVORITE REGULARS
5. Staring Guy Senior. He is on the No. 6 every morning, and like his younger counterpart, enjoys a good stare. He also enjoys spit cups and overalls.
4. Staring Guy. He is on the No. 6 every so often, and likes to stare at us. Now, we understand that as two of the five or six lesbians in all of Iowa, we're going to get attention. But then again, it's not as though we're going down on each other on the way to Wal-Mart. We sit next to each other, occasionally hold hands, and giggle like idiots over whatever new in-joke we have for the day. I like to think he is staring not because he knows we're lesbians (we had to tell his mother/lover that we were sisters because she asked very pointedly at the ass-crack of dawn one day), but because we are smokin' hot lesbians.
3. Morbidly Obese Couple. Again, a No. 6 staple, they ride the bus together every morning, their combined mass creating a separate gravity well in the back of the bus. I still haven't figured out how a person can think tucking a too-tight (yet obviously XXXXL t-shirt) into a pair of sweatpants is a positive fashion statement, yet there seems to be two people who are of that school of thought. The male part of the MOC also enjoys sticking his meaty hand down the front of his pants.
2. Orange Shirt Girl. Orange Shirt Girl is an enigma. We never know what she's going to wear each day. Will it be her orange shirt and brown flowered skirt, or... her... oh, right. Orange Shirt Girl has the one outfit, which she drapes over her massive frame day after day without any regard for laundry detergent or stain remover. She rides the No. 7 each day, her greasy head bobbing in time with whatever is coming through her discman's pre-packaged headphones.
1. Drooling Cindy Lauper. She is our undisputed favorite. She accompanies Orange Shirt Girl each day on the afternoon No. 7, though we can't quite figure out the relationship. She is an older woman, though dresses much like Cindy Lauper in her hey-day, with bangles and short skirts over spandex pants and makeup so heavy it makes me want to buy stock in Cover Girl. But all of that pales in comparison with how she spends her time on the bus: she drools. Profusely. Now, I realize that there are any number of reasons for this, none of which are nice to make fun of. However, you try not attempting to find humor in being drooled on as Drooling Cindy Lauper thrusts her crotchal area into your knee when the bus is too crowded for anyone to sit down. Go on, try it. I dare you. Every day we approach her stop, and I mentally calculate whether or not I will need to move in order to not be drooled on. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, but I always get a little thrill when Drooling Cindy Lauper and Orange Shirt girl make their appearance. Where do they go? What do they do? Are they mother and daughter, or something else?
As the days pass, the mystery only deepens. I know, though, that someday I will discover the secret. Until then, I will have to keep riding the bus.
CEDAR RAPIDS SMELL-O-GRAM FOR AUGUST 29TH
Dog turds wrapped in bacon.
OUR FIVE FAVORITE REGULARS
5. Staring Guy Senior. He is on the No. 6 every morning, and like his younger counterpart, enjoys a good stare. He also enjoys spit cups and overalls.
4. Staring Guy. He is on the No. 6 every so often, and likes to stare at us. Now, we understand that as two of the five or six lesbians in all of Iowa, we're going to get attention. But then again, it's not as though we're going down on each other on the way to Wal-Mart. We sit next to each other, occasionally hold hands, and giggle like idiots over whatever new in-joke we have for the day. I like to think he is staring not because he knows we're lesbians (we had to tell his mother/lover that we were sisters because she asked very pointedly at the ass-crack of dawn one day), but because we are smokin' hot lesbians.
3. Morbidly Obese Couple. Again, a No. 6 staple, they ride the bus together every morning, their combined mass creating a separate gravity well in the back of the bus. I still haven't figured out how a person can think tucking a too-tight (yet obviously XXXXL t-shirt) into a pair of sweatpants is a positive fashion statement, yet there seems to be two people who are of that school of thought. The male part of the MOC also enjoys sticking his meaty hand down the front of his pants.
2. Orange Shirt Girl. Orange Shirt Girl is an enigma. We never know what she's going to wear each day. Will it be her orange shirt and brown flowered skirt, or... her... oh, right. Orange Shirt Girl has the one outfit, which she drapes over her massive frame day after day without any regard for laundry detergent or stain remover. She rides the No. 7 each day, her greasy head bobbing in time with whatever is coming through her discman's pre-packaged headphones.
1. Drooling Cindy Lauper. She is our undisputed favorite. She accompanies Orange Shirt Girl each day on the afternoon No. 7, though we can't quite figure out the relationship. She is an older woman, though dresses much like Cindy Lauper in her hey-day, with bangles and short skirts over spandex pants and makeup so heavy it makes me want to buy stock in Cover Girl. But all of that pales in comparison with how she spends her time on the bus: she drools. Profusely. Now, I realize that there are any number of reasons for this, none of which are nice to make fun of. However, you try not attempting to find humor in being drooled on as Drooling Cindy Lauper thrusts her crotchal area into your knee when the bus is too crowded for anyone to sit down. Go on, try it. I dare you. Every day we approach her stop, and I mentally calculate whether or not I will need to move in order to not be drooled on. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, but I always get a little thrill when Drooling Cindy Lauper and Orange Shirt girl make their appearance. Where do they go? What do they do? Are they mother and daughter, or something else?
As the days pass, the mystery only deepens. I know, though, that someday I will discover the secret. Until then, I will have to keep riding the bus.
CEDAR RAPIDS SMELL-O-GRAM FOR AUGUST 29TH
Dog turds wrapped in bacon.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The People On Our Bus
Greetings! My name is D, and I ride the bus. Specifically, I ride the bus in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. This is a daily test of stamina, endurance, and ability to block out strong odors. The Cedar Rapids Transit system is not for the weak of heart.
Busrider J and I were discussing creating such a blog today while boarding the No. 6 on our way home, when we saw an Ahsoka Tano bobblehead from McDonald's. We took it as a sign. You see, Busrider J and I also like to discuss Star Wars. Just not with people on the bus.
So here it is, The People On Our Bus, a collection of the weird, the wonderful, and the just plain stinky.
Enjoy.
CEDAR RAPIDS SMELL-O-GRAM FOR AUGUST 26th:
Popcorn wrapped in farts.
Busrider J and I were discussing creating such a blog today while boarding the No. 6 on our way home, when we saw an Ahsoka Tano bobblehead from McDonald's. We took it as a sign. You see, Busrider J and I also like to discuss Star Wars. Just not with people on the bus.
So here it is, The People On Our Bus, a collection of the weird, the wonderful, and the just plain stinky.
Enjoy.
CEDAR RAPIDS SMELL-O-GRAM FOR AUGUST 26th:
Popcorn wrapped in farts.
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