Watch. Out

A good friend of mine wants me to start a blog series of observations a la ttc here on my online sharing thingy. Now while it was a bit of a novelty at the beginning of my long days of commuting that commenced last fall into the downtown core to abstractly listen unobtrusively to the conversations around me, or silently judge and question actions of my fellow public transit passengers, this has taken a back seat to my favoured pass time of reading any old novel or such that's handed down to me from fellow reader friends and/or family. Ironically, if one looks up to glance around after every few lines of reading he will find that said fellow passengers are actually quite interested in what you are reading. Who knew? We shall call them 'over the shoulder readers'. As coined by missy that wants me to start sharing my transit stories. One oddity I would like to now share and possibly collectively ponder with you however is the unfortunate titling of some of the routes our great city has come up with. My bus, the loooooong windy, stop sign ridden single lane road that gets to the subway halfway across the city via uptown is called Cummer. Am I the only one that finds this a bit disturbing. I take the cummer bus. Hello? Anyone? Hell I'm surprised it's not route #69 (it's 42 FYI...69 is the next block over) If however I decide to take the alternate way and get downtown a different direction, I pass a popular hub stop called Coxwell. Alright, so possibly not offensive on the onset. But let's dissect shall we. I actually have an out of town friend to thank for this disturbing observation when she was visiting years ago and was quite infatuated with it's origin. Coxwell. My uncle in fact used to live right close to this station, and as an innocent young boy I would often make my way to then depart at this station without a care or chuckle in the world. Say it again; Coxwell. Okay...now pretend the X is 2 letters, or at least a break in syllables in the middle of it. You see where I'm going with this. Leave it up to a couple of young 20-somethings to find it amusing. Alright, I'll change gears a bit. Now back to scanning the folks while out in public. Since when did pantyhose become optional? I don't like seeing your knobby or dimply knees, your pasty legs full of shaving scars and blotches. Please, purchase some sheers. And why do folks wear their jackets without doing up the front zipper or buttons. Because you're feeling a bit warm? Seriously? It's brisk enough that you need to be covered...front panel included. Ain't nobody fooled; we clearly see you bought a jacket 'not quite your size'. You're cold; buy a coat that fits. I'm not quite certain if this is categorized in my pet-peeve bucket, my strict lessons brought up by a father who suffers from severe asthma who insists the lungs must always be protected, or just the fact that like the pantyhose, when wearing them you just look more 'put together'. I request, fasten your jacket front. Sometimes in life, on public transit or not, things can get a little...umm...personal. I don't exclusively take our city's transit system. A few weeks ago my car was actually broken into when parked in a friends' driveway overnight. I was in her bed, and likely awake while this transaction was taking place, the poor car being ransacked. While nothing was actually stolen, damaged, etc...I still felt violated. My personal space invaded a wee bit. And especially considering this is a fairly classy neighbourhood. Now had I known at the time that the wandering twerps in the neighbourhood are actually druggies who hang out in a house a few doors down, I may have uncharacteristically locked my doors. So I have nobody to blame but myself really. It may be in some cases that observations between friends can get real personal. Hanging out with a buddy recently, him and I got to talking about how at times our tastes and interests in porn can change. Change is good. One of my closest friends came to the realization years ago that while she may have loved her husband as a man, friend, and father to her children; she could no longer live her life as someone else. He would not let her be her. She changed for him; but that could only last for so long until she came to her own observation. They have, since separating, maintained an ideal and healthy co-parenting relationship but recently he has been suggestive about getting 'closer' to her again. He started by asking for just a simple hug. We died laughing by coining it 'ya hug with an F'. Think about it, comical. Hilarious in fact. With an F! Ha! As darn right clever as a friend of a friends' couple they know who own a pair of kitties named Tess & Tickles. Ya, I know right! Imagine yourself in that vet waiting room when the roster is called for who's next to be taken into the examining room. Ah, the things we humans come up with, and observe. Oh dear.

Toodles