Oh. There you are!
I know. It’s been a long time. Cut a sister some slack. I’ve had A LOT going on over the past few months.
First of all, I have a new nephew. How awesome is that? I now have not one, but two nephews that I can babysit and let stay up all night and eat pizza and make fun of their parents. Being an auntie is the best. Especially since I realized I can just take them to Home Depot and tell them that any of the men inside is the real Handy Manny and they will actually believe me. I’m a really bueno babysitter.
And I have a new job! It’s fantastic. I love it. Same field, just different company.
I think it might be the best thing to ever happen to this blog. Why? Because if you ever run out of things to talk about on your blog (see: the past 5 months)….start taking the MBTA to work. Guess who has a fantastic rack and will never run out of stories again? This girl.
For the record, I love the T. I think it’s extremely convenient. I give myself enough time to get where I’m going and it gets me there. I read. I don’t have to drive. I don’t sit in traffic. It’s fantastic.
First and foremost, when I get on the subway in the morning (at the first stop), I basically have my choice of seats. I always choose to sit in the last seat, right up against the wall. Why? Because that means I only have to sit next to one stranger. I’ve cut my “stuck next to a weirdo” odds in half. I should fight crime or solve the healthcare crisis.
Somehow, SOMEHOW, on many mornings a woman will get on the train and elect to sit in the seat(s) next to me and frankly, it just doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because, as you may have noticed, I said seat(s). I think I’ve almost had my ribcage crushed a few times by some woman with reverse Shallow Hal disorder who thinks her 36 inch ass is fitting into an 18 inch seat.
I truly believe there should be a ‘do you fit in this seat’ example chair set up in each station, the same way that people can measure if their carry-in will fit in the overhead compartments on an airplane. No one is judging, let’s just be a little realistic here.
And I am not a small girl. I am…how do you say…posteriorly gifted? Bottom heavy? Have back?
Oh, I’m not making this up. I have many examples to back up those statements. The first, and most therapy-inducing, being a soccer memory gone wrong. I was 16 years old, playing varsity soccer and dating a guy from a neighboring town. I adored this young man and was so excited that he was coming to see me play versus his home town. It was a night game, under the lights. His parents were there, cheering on the nice young girl their son was dating. The game was exactly as you would expect it, the intensity of town rivalries played out passionately on the pitch, fighting for each ball as if it was…wait…what? What is that? Do you hear that? The chanting? Are they…are they chanting “Thirteen’s got a big butt?” Oh yeah, yeah they are. Guess who needs a sub and she isn’t talking about a steak and cheese?
As a matter of fact, just tonight (no joke, this blog is practically happening in REAL TIME) I knocked over several drinks with my backside….ONTO a client…while trying to get up to go to the ladies room. My calm and professional reaction? “I have a HUGE ass.”
Who WOULDN’T hire me? Really?
Now that that’s out of the way (and I’ve adequately horrified myself enough to warrant skipping lunch this week), you understand that my comments about realistic ass-to-seat assessments are coming from a good place. An honest place.
A place that does not play a beeping sound as you back up towards me.
A place that does not warrant use of a shoe horn for me to try to get out of my seat and get off of the train.
A place where a round peg does not fit in a square hole, and your giant butt does not fit into this little seat.
Anyway, I’m back. I’ll be writing. Topics to include, but are not limited to:
- The guy that calls me “mama” at Downtown Crossing
- People that don’t take off their giant camping backpacks on the T (and why do you have that? I know you work at State Street not Mt. Washington)
- Pregnant or fat? Pregnant or fat? Do I give you my seat? I can’t decide! Avoid eye contact go!
- Cheez-its. Underrated and delicious.
Keep checking. Keep reading. Namaste.
First of all, I have a new nephew. How awesome is that? I now have not one, but two nephews that I can babysit and let stay up all night and eat pizza and make fun of their parents. Being an auntie is the best. Especially since I realized I can just take them to Home Depot and tell them that any of the men inside is the real Handy Manny and they will actually believe me. I’m a really bueno babysitter.
And I have a new job! It’s fantastic. I love it. Same field, just different company.
I think it might be the best thing to ever happen to this blog. Why? Because if you ever run out of things to talk about on your blog (see: the past 5 months)….start taking the MBTA to work. Guess who has a fantastic rack and will never run out of stories again? This girl.
For the record, I love the T. I think it’s extremely convenient. I give myself enough time to get where I’m going and it gets me there. I read. I don’t have to drive. I don’t sit in traffic. It’s fantastic.
First and foremost, when I get on the subway in the morning (at the first stop), I basically have my choice of seats. I always choose to sit in the last seat, right up against the wall. Why? Because that means I only have to sit next to one stranger. I’ve cut my “stuck next to a weirdo” odds in half. I should fight crime or solve the healthcare crisis.
Somehow, SOMEHOW, on many mornings a woman will get on the train and elect to sit in the seat(s) next to me and frankly, it just doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because, as you may have noticed, I said seat(s). I think I’ve almost had my ribcage crushed a few times by some woman with reverse Shallow Hal disorder who thinks her 36 inch ass is fitting into an 18 inch seat.
I truly believe there should be a ‘do you fit in this seat’ example chair set up in each station, the same way that people can measure if their carry-in will fit in the overhead compartments on an airplane. No one is judging, let’s just be a little realistic here.
And I am not a small girl. I am…how do you say…posteriorly gifted? Bottom heavy? Have back?
Oh, I’m not making this up. I have many examples to back up those statements. The first, and most therapy-inducing, being a soccer memory gone wrong. I was 16 years old, playing varsity soccer and dating a guy from a neighboring town. I adored this young man and was so excited that he was coming to see me play versus his home town. It was a night game, under the lights. His parents were there, cheering on the nice young girl their son was dating. The game was exactly as you would expect it, the intensity of town rivalries played out passionately on the pitch, fighting for each ball as if it was…wait…what? What is that? Do you hear that? The chanting? Are they…are they chanting “Thirteen’s got a big butt?” Oh yeah, yeah they are. Guess who needs a sub and she isn’t talking about a steak and cheese?
As a matter of fact, just tonight (no joke, this blog is practically happening in REAL TIME) I knocked over several drinks with my backside….ONTO a client…while trying to get up to go to the ladies room. My calm and professional reaction? “I have a HUGE ass.”
Who WOULDN’T hire me? Really?
Now that that’s out of the way (and I’ve adequately horrified myself enough to warrant skipping lunch this week), you understand that my comments about realistic ass-to-seat assessments are coming from a good place. An honest place.
A place that does not play a beeping sound as you back up towards me.
A place that does not warrant use of a shoe horn for me to try to get out of my seat and get off of the train.
A place where a round peg does not fit in a square hole, and your giant butt does not fit into this little seat.
Anyway, I’m back. I’ll be writing. Topics to include, but are not limited to:
- The guy that calls me “mama” at Downtown Crossing
- People that don’t take off their giant camping backpacks on the T (and why do you have that? I know you work at State Street not Mt. Washington)
- Pregnant or fat? Pregnant or fat? Do I give you my seat? I can’t decide! Avoid eye contact go!
- Cheez-its. Underrated and delicious.
Keep checking. Keep reading. Namaste.
6 comments:
'bout freaking time there is a new post. also, making a come back with a post about butts, brilliant. just brilliant. color. me. blah. blogger's got a big butt (in chanting voice)
I need provisions for climbing the Hancock tower so GET OFF MY BACK.
Cheez-its suck.
now I desperately want a steak and cheese sub and some Cheez-its. which are AMAZING.
Love that song...
I am the first time on this site and am really enthusiastic about and so many good articles. I think it's just very good.
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