~Wednesday~ There were only two people on the bus when I boarded this morning, and one of them had a scowl on her face, as if she were unhappy to be riding the bus. It made me think about my attitude about riding the bus. I really enjoy it. However, I don’t have to ride the bus; I choose to. And it’s free for me. Perhaps I’d feel differently about it if I had to pay for it and it was my only means of transportation.
Today was at least the second—if not the third—time the “odd couple” boarded at a stop on Gorman Street. They are two women, one white and the other African-American, and their relationship seems to be one of the black lady as mentor and the white lady as mentee. I say that, because in previous instances, I’ve heard the black lady sort of “orienting” the white lady on how the buses work in terms of various places they had to be around the city that day.
Today I heard this snippet of conversation, as they had walked up to the bus stop just as the bus pulled up:
Black lady: We made it right on time!
White lady: We sure did, girl!
Black lady [to the driver]: You know what time the connecting bus pulls up to Cameron Village?
Driver: Usually ’bout on the 45 of the hour.
Two-Stop Man got on the bus, rode for two stops, and got off the bus. That’s what he does.
At the McKimmon Center stop, the Doublemint Duplicates were waiting for the Wolfline bus. They both had on jeans and matching blue jackets. The only thing assuring me that one of them wasn’t just standing by a mirror was that one of them had a blue t-shirt visible where their coats were a little unzipped at their necks, and the other one had on a red one. They also evidently had on different backpacks, but that wasn’t as obvious as I could only see the straps over their shoulders leading to their backs. One was solid blue and the other one was white and blue.
Whew, that plus-sized lady got on again today with another one of those all-stretch-type outfits. She had on the same calf-length white boots as yesterday, but today’s tights (she puts the tight in tights) were blue instead of lime green, and her top, again was one of those pieces of clothing that looks like a long, long shirt also being used as a skirt. Just one big long, tight (did I say tight?) shirt that comes over the ass and hips and has an elastic hem clinging the hem to the thighs. It had a swirled pattern of pink, purple, gray, black, and white throughout it. She had her adorable little girl again with her, too, who got on the bus with a track down her cheek from what obviously must have been a crocodile-sized tear.
I had one work meeting scheduled today for late in the day, and by the grace of somebody, it got rescheduled to next week.
I got hungry for lunch really early today, and ended up eating my sandwich at 10:30—right after I tweeted this:
We had possible light snow predicted for this evening and maybe tomorrow morning, and to that end my 6:00-7:15 class was canceled as was a scheduled “Tweet-up” of people who tweet for the university. Although, I thought it was a little lame, I was happy to have the time back, as I had dancing to go to after that, and it would’ve just been running from one thing to another all night long.
On the way to dancing, I stopped by the Cameron Village Library, where I had the large print version of Jill Bolte Taylor‘s My Stroke of Insight waiting for me as a result of a hold request I put in a couple of days ago. This is Mostly Social Book Club‘s current book. I’m looking forward to reading it, as her 19-minute TED presentation about it was pretty riveting.
Dancing was pathetic tonight. There was no one in the bar, and we only essentially had four dancers. And the night started out with Brigner standing at the bar when I got my first drink upon arriving and saying, “I’ve cut out the line-dancing on Saturday nights.”
We stopped dancing at about 10:50, and I went with Micheal and Carl to The Diner. Fortunately, I had only one drink all night long, so only 69 calories (bourbon and Diet Coke). I had allowed for four-to-six drinks, so I still had enough calorie room to have a turkey burger and some cottage cheese.
When our waiter came to take our order he said, “Did you guys have fun at Flex tonight?” One of us finally managed to answer, “Uh, yes we did,” not surprised that we were so easily “pegged as homosexuals” per se, but that he specifically said “Flex.” I mean, why not Legends or CCs?
Later in the meal when the waiter returned, Carl asked, “How’d you know we were at Flex?”
“You’re the line dancers,” he said, with a “D’oh” type tone. “I’ve been there a lot on Wednesday nights over the past couple of years.”
“You have?” Carl asked incredulously, since none of us recognized him.
We convinced him to come back next Wednesday, when we’ll make him take a lesson. He comped us a huge bowl of apple cobbler, complete with whipped cream, three cherries on top, and three spoons. I left him a 33% tip.