In Transit

I usually take the train around the same time every morning. I would have to say I am never, ever on the same train twice. At least not on purpose. I am spoiled in the regard that the trains are almost always in the station when I get there and I seldom have to plan to be there in order not to miss one. So, as long as I get on a train that departs before 7:11am I can make it in ontime for work.
Seeing as I have a great  memory, an almost photographic memory, I am able to remember people quite easily. I know who gets on what train every morning. I gauge whether or not I am on time by the people I see, not by the clock. It's quite interesting.
One of my very favorite relationships to watch is that of an older couple. They are probably fifty-ish. She is tall and slender, stylish and sophisticated. He is shorter than she is - at least when she's in heels - graying and a little soft around the middle. Every morning, she walks with her hand in the crook of his elbow. He guides her from the car to the platform, on to the train. A stoic chaperone.
On the mornings when I arrived at the same time they did, I would smile, fall in to step behind them and start imagining what they did, where they were headed. I didn't have to imagine too long because one day as I was headed home, I bumped in to them - quite literally - the train platform. I laughed to myself a little, thinking of all the train platforms in all the cities at all the times of day ...
Mostly, though, I love that they are together. Maybe they're having an affair with one another, they meet at the train for a sordid 30 minute love-ride. Maybe they've been married for 35 years and have taken the train together everyday for the last 15 ... maybe this is the only time of day they get to spend together without worrying about work or the kids or what's for supper. Maybe.

Elsie P

PS - I haven't seen this couple in several months. The last time was around November ... Hopefully when the weather is nicer, I will chance to run in to them again.

In Transit

Every morning and every night I board our city's Light Rail Tranist system and make the journey home. From start to finish, it takes me 48 minutes - as long as nothing breaks and no one stands in the way of the door - 2 trains and one 5K car ride to get to the train station.
Sometimes, if I am feeling particularly sadistic, I will walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop, take that festering germ pool 12 minutes to the train station and make my total commute to work a whopping 1hr8mins.
As you can imagine, being crammed side by each with hundreds of other commuters can make for some interesting experiences.
Join me on these commutes by reading the "In Transit" installments of my blog.

Elsie P

PS - some of these stories can be graphic...

Girls Don't Like Boys

Girls like cars and money. Or so the song goes.
I will never, ever forget being out with my boyfriend at the time.
I should have listened to what my joke was telling me.
We were out bowling. It was myself, my B/F at the time (Dave) and another couple.
It was a Sunday nite, all you can bowl extravaganza! It was $5 for the night plus $2.50 for the shoes. Talk about a cheap date!
There was a song that came on and we all laughed at the video that played in the screen above us. It was something about someone's mom. Volvo driving or otherwise. The next song that hit the waves was Girls Don't Like Boys, Girls Like Cars and Money to which my boyfriend said, "It's so true".
Well, maybe it is true. I am sure there are a lot of you out there who are dating someone because of the nice stuff he buys you, or the dinners he takes you to or the way you feel in his flashy car with the top down and everyone staring at you as though you were a movie star. (Let's be honest, if I could find that, I'd milk it for at least a month. Okay 2...years...)
However, Dave was not one of those guys. So I appropriately replied: "Yes Dave, I am with you for your EI cheque and your [10 year old] Purple Accent."
Looking back, that should have been a warning sign and maybe even a deal breaker.

Elsie P

PS - the guy I am currenlty dating? No vehicle. No cheque...not even EI!!

Girls Don't Like Boys, Girls Like Cars and Money - Good Charlotte

Tan Lines

So recently, I've been tanning. I know, I know, I know. You think it isn't healthy. The truth of the matter is, if you do your research and look at the type of bed and know the type of bulbs they are using, you wind up getting the positive UVA rays that help replenish your Vitamin D and though they may lead to pre-mature wrinkling they are "better" for you than the more negative UVB rays. Why? Well, UVA penetrates the skin more deeply. It's not the ray that gives you a sunburn. That's its evil brother, UVB. UVB rays are shorter wave lengths and only reach the top layers of your skin. These rays are the ones that give you sunburns and are among the leading contributors to skin cancer, which occurs mostly in the epidermis. (Want know more about UVA and UVB rays? Try looking here) But enough of the science lesson, let's move on to what you really want to know about...my tan lines.
So I was in the shower this morning and I decided to do a quick touch-up shave (normally, I get my legs waxed...that's another story) as I gently grazed the razor over my legs, I started to notice what I would call a "healthy glow" that covered me from head to toe. Hmm. Nice, I thought. That lotion Kendall gave me really does work. (Side note: Kendall works at a tanning salon. She gave me a great lecture about how I was wasting my minutes if I wasn't using a lotion. Apparently, tanning for ten minutes without lotion was only netting me 3 minutes worth of sun-time) As I turned my upper body to get a look at the back of my leg, I saw it. My tan line.
Now, I am not a skinny girl by any means. There are meat on these bones. And, apparently, when I lay down in the tanning bed, my bum creates these two creases, directly below and above each cheek. That area is completely white.
Thank GAWD no one will be seeing me naked anytime soon...!!

Elsie P

PS - There is an easy fix to this, which I will do in the event that I am planning on anyone seeing me naked: Stand up tan.

Couples Counselling

Let’s say that you and your signif are sleeping in separate rooms. He thinks it’s because you are beginning to hate him, is preparing himself for the worst and is expecting you to come home to tell him that you’re leaving him for George Clooney’s butt double. Drama queen. In reality, it’s because you get up for work so much earlier than he does. And, in the throws of winter you find that it is easier to get out of bed at 5am (when it is still very, very dark I might add) when there is no warm, cuddly creature aching to dig his snuggly claws in to your half-asleep body and hold you in his cuddling death grip.


So, he starts thinking, What’s a man to do, right?

Here’s one thing you can try: Find something she’s realllllly afraid of and convince her there is one in “her” room.

Have you seen that movie, Paranormal Activity ? Not one I would recommend, it’s a little … slow and the ending leaves muchmuchmuch to be desired. However, have you thought about the idea that there is or may be something supernatural lurking in your home that is able to do you harm? I will admit, I am 25 years old and I am still afraid of the dark. Or rather, what might be in the dark. So, when Mr. P tells me that I will never believe what happened today and then stops and wonders out loud if he should really tell me, and then answers his question that no, he really shouldn’t, I let myself get a little freaked out.
“I was sitting at the computer and I looked out in to the hallway and this…figure…came up the stairs, it turned at the top, looked at me, pulled the hood back over its face and went in to YOUR ROOM.” I stare at him in disbelief, so he continues. “I’m afraid of that room. I’ve always been afraid of that room.” Okay, seriously, who wouldn’t be freaked out by that description?? As the evening grew darker, I couldn’t even go in to the room without turning on the overhead light; the lamp was just not enough.
So guess where I slept last night? In the snuggly claws of the cuddle monster. Hey, I’ll take that over some paranormal hooded being.
Elsie P.

PS – George, you don’t need a butt double.