Transit Zen

Welfare isn't what it used to be and the people at my job should be thankful. For if that dearest of un-fairly stigmatized social programs was actually a viable option for sustenance, I would have cussed out some people and quit my job a long time ago.

I like working. I would venture to say that I love working.

I think I like it so much because every day is like a do over. Mother Nature turns her reversable midnight blue duvet of night over to reveal the orange and red stripes of an early spring morning. The brisk walk to the train is accented by the swirls of dogwood pollen dancing in the morning breeze. Purpose driven millions betake themselves to their vocations with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication. The collective energy of the masses produces a psalm of offering for another glorious industrial morn'. A second chance to get it right. There is nothing like it.

At least it feels that way until I get on the damn train. The usual gathering of pushy, miserable and rude degenerates and their foul mouthed offspring are gathered on the Express to Walnut-Locust. They welcome the dawn with f-bombs while spewing unwanted sun flower seed shells on the floor made sticky by dried up Ole' E. (less than an inch from my deceptively stylish Payless shoe!!) My favorite thing about riding the poor excuse for mass transit known as SEPTA is not the delightful company or the foul aroma of the urine scented Glade Oil fan that is certainly plugged in at City Hall. (How else could you explain the consistent perfume of vomit and floral scented bleach low notes with just a hint of lingering crack smoke that greet me on a daily basis?) No, the Express ride is not my favorite part. The leg of my dialy commute that makes my day is competing with the workers of Independence Blue Cross and Blue Shield for a place on the trolley because they are too lazy to walk four blocks.

Newly saturated in the palpable stench that is the City Hall transit stop I move toward the Green Line - Subway Surface Trolley area. An older woman is walking very slowly in front of me, which I don't mind. Mother has earned her right to take her time. I am even immune to the periodic jabs of faux brass studs on various oversized pleather bags that all seem to be spray painted metallic gold. The endorphines released by walking begin to renew my sense of early am joy as I finally emerge at the Trolley loading platform.

The trolley arrives. It is the 36 and like lead particles drawn to a magnet from 5th grade science class we all journey toward the pre-destined place where the doors will open and we can board the trolley. Picture it. Scores of people trying to board a trolley through two sets of doors that are maybe 2ft. wide. A boarding delay is to be expected. A reasonable and courteous commuter would get on the trolley and move away from the door so that those behind them could board the trolley quickly and safely. After all, we all want to move a way from the City Hall stink bomb. These thoughts have never occurred to the trolley riding employees of Independence Blue Cross and Blue Shield or as I like to call them the Four Block Fools (FBF).

Thanks to our trolley riding friends at IBX, a small delay is exponentially compounded because they walk up the three small trolley steps, find the nearest pole to hold on to, turn around and stop. BLOCKING THE WAY FOR EVERYONE ELSE. They stand in front of empty seats, obstructing the aisles with their messenger bags, entitled attitudes and very unattractive id badges on neck lanyards that stab you as you squeeze by them on the way to your seat.

Their stiff stances and suspiciously prolonged stares at the floor screams what they will never audibly articulate.

"I am only going four blocks so why should I sit down?"

"It's the next stop so it is no big deal."

As I finally reach my seat having survived the gauntlet of trolley traffic impedeers; my cowardice shrouds me like a cloak. I have, once again, sold out. I did not raise my fist in protest of the bullying tactics of the ruling class FBF. No, I just took a seat in the back of the trolley and tried to busy myself with a magazine from my bag. Moments later, we arrive at the 19th Street stop and the oppressors exit the trolley in droves. As the trolley pulls off, I fantasize about rebelling against the FBF. One day... FBF...One day.

The Bus of Love

A watched pot never boils and sometimes I think that I will never get married. Here is an effort to put my situation in perspective.

I decided to count the time in months or years between relationships. I discovered, on average, there is usually a 4 month gap between relationships/flings/boring dinners. Kind of like when you wait for the bus; it helps to know when the next one is coming (at least I hope I will be).

And I think the same is true for not taking every ride that comes your way. When I was looking for the "C" Bus why did I get on the "L"? I can't begin to tell you how many "L"s I have taken. Traveling back to the Emotional Readiness Stop every 4 months is just not cute. How many good trips did I miss out on because I was walking back from some place that I shouldn't have been? Makes me wonder.

Dating: The 6 Month Rule

Kitty Korner -- Dating Support

The 6 month Rule

For every story, there are three sides; my side, your side and the truth. In every relationship, there are three people; you, the dude and Kitty. Kitty is your sex drive and as my friend Armenta says “SHE WILL LEAD YOU DOWN THE DARK AND SHADY PATH EVERY TIME!” In order to date successfully, or a little better than how I was dating which could only be described as abysmal, you have to get honest with your self and set some ground rules.

We are going to start with the easy external stuff.


Rule #1

The Probe (This is not what you think it is. Y’all are so nasty!!)

The Probe stands for the probationary period that you should institute when you meet someone that you are interested in dating. No one should meet your child for until you have known them for six months. Hear me on this. It is not cute to have to explain to your child/children where their newly leased, Updated Daddy went.

You are not slick. No play dates with this guy and his kids. Come on! Our kids are not stupid. They know when something is going on and they will be the first to see the romantic connection between you and dude.

So after months, literally of baby sitters and dates, you are ready for some spontaneous time together. He has free time and you are at home with your child that is going to sleep in 30 minutes. Enter the Night Shift, the single mom smash and grab.

Since Kitty is bound to take over and the next thing you know your legs will be over your head and ummm… well anyway how do we navigate these treacherous waters. I think it is okay to let him punch the clock after you feel like you can trust him in your home. Numbers help me keep Kitty in check and stop her from running my brain over. If you can make it, don’t give him the time card until 3 months into it. As with any other job, make sure has completed the necessary paper work. The IRS should have nothing on your investigative skills. Do you know his complete name? Where was he born? Is he a US Citizen? For direct deposit purposes does he have a saving and checking account? Bottom line you need to know as much about this man as possible before you allow him to spend the night in your house with your child. Which leads us to a discussion on how the night shift works, the formula is simple: he has to be in after your child is asleep and out before he wakes up. Now let’s be clear, you child is probably not sleep 10 minutes after you put him to bed. Come on y’all! Wait at least an hour and then let the brother in. The converse of is true as well. He has got to be out an hour before your child wakes up. Do not budge on these parameters. Remember the Night Shift is a part of The Probe. Not the end of it. The point of this whole exercise is to keep you and your child safe and drama free. If he breaks the rules then, he loses his job. Lastly, make sure your bedroom door has a lock.

This may all seem a little unrealistic to you. I think achieving want you want most out of life requires work and no really achievement is gotten easily. Six months in the grand scheme of things is very little time. However, six months in the dating world is a very long time. The flakes will hopefully shake out by then. Remember women control relationships. Preserve your rights and reserve your right to extend the Probe.