The Lazy Blogger

I have plenty of time to write posts but I either forget what I wanted to write about or I think I won't be able to make it funny or interesting. Or maybe it's not really substantial enough to be a blog post. But then I realize that every post is not funny or interesting or substantial enough but I write it anyway so why not just write a post and maybe someone will be interested. So I think from now on I'll write even when it's just little nuggets of thought. Which might have been the original idea for me starting this blog anyway. Well that and to document my trip to Colombia which of course was not the most positive, funny, or interesting. So there.

Some random nuggets while I ruminate on a larger post:

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I dream of living in a neighborhood where everyone, including 80-yr-old grandmothers, don't spit giant globs of mucus on an extremely constant basis. (Read: I want to live where there are lots of white people. But the kind that don't chew tobacco) I'm so sick of of seeing spit flying. Or hearing hunks of mucus come through someone's throat. Am I grossing you out? Well then just try living in my shoes. Well not really because then you'll just be walking on mucus. But that's my point. Dear slightly-fresh-off-the-boat latinos of Inwood: It's fucking disgusting. Have I offended you with my daring generalization? Well guess what- I'm offended by the disgusting habit.

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Okay- so you're a college educated girl. You've had mini-adventures. Most of them revolved around jobs so you were, in some way, developing a resume (little accent thingy on the e. New operating system again and can't add it.) Character building. All that stuff. You live in a major metropolis. You had what some would consider a solid job. But it was sucking your soul and you had to leave. And you feel lost and confused and angry (very angry).
So instead of having a nice apartment on a street where very few people spit with cute, young children, and a fairly satisfying career you babysit for other young-ish couples who have nice apartments, a fairly satisfying career, and cute (sometimes) young children. And on Wednesdays you babysit until about 10pm. Then after being handed a check for a small sum that will, at least, cover your groceries for a week you -literally- run three long blocks and down a giant staircase to the bus stop because if you have to watch a bus go by you'll freak out because now you're too far from the train station.

This is the scenario where you face your worst enemy. What is your worst enemy you say? Let's see: You've babysat. It's late. They got home later than usual. It's FREEZING. You're exhausted because you're not sleeping well because all you do is lay in bed and think about how you're life is going (see above) and you've run three blocks to catch a bus which may or may not show up soon. (It is the MTA after all. Schedules are more or less a suggestion) You get to the stop. Up ahead in the distance you can the tiny, yellow twinkle lights that dance above a bus. You shiver as the wind roars around you. You smile a bit to yourself. Yes! That run on icy sidewalks paid off! You'll get home fairly quick. But then. The bus gets closer. And you see it. Emblazoned across the top in bright yellow lights.
NOT IN SERVICE.