I Hope The Radiation From My Head Exploding Makes You Sterile, World

11:38 PM July 11, 2010


When I started this blog 19 posts ago, I started it out of sadness. Lo and behold, my sadness is hilarious. And for those of you who have been dedicated readers and have followed me through my blogging journey, you know what makes my posts even more entertaining... Anger.

And so our story begins...

I took a little journey on the subway tonight. I'm a New Yorker, I don't have any other choice but to take the unreliable, rat infested, stupid, STUPID subway. I wait a good ten minutes on the platform for the F train to make an appearance. My destination is the Essex and Delancey Street stop.

I step into a fairly empty car and sit at the far end of it. I break out my trusty iPod to listen to music and to, of course, kick ass at solitaire, or as those jerks at Apple like to call it, "Klondike." That is a delectable ice cream treat guys, get over yourselves! Anyways...

Cue Mr. Creep/ potential terrorist. A greasy man from another seat comes over and sets his black bag down next to me. I look up to see him mouth and gesture something. The idiot is clearly blind and cannot see the headphones in my ear, so I take them out. He then decides to skip the verbal part and just gesture like I know ghetto sign language. This is when I firmly and not at all politely say "What?!" He says "I'll be right back," points to his bag and leaves the car. So like any other rational person, I think: Awesome. Bomb. Why didn't I write a will? Bitch is going to steal all my clothes.

Turns out he smoked a cigarette in between the cars. But this is still A. terrifying and B. not at all safe for the rest of us passengers. He comes back in, and instead of returning to his seat, he decides to sit down next to me and fill my nostrils with his tobacco stankness (if that's not a word, I just made it one).

While all of this is going on, the conductor is mumbling "Due to subway construction, this train will not be stopping at *mumble*mumble*mumble*" over the intercom. None of us can understand what the hell he's saying because who can understand "Shnarffgust barlgalham stuffancey humfgh?" So I double check with the conductor himself and ask if this train is going to stop at Essex Street. I'm quoting his exact words so there's no confusion of whether he is a complete and total LIAR. "Yes, this train. I'll get you there." Okay awesome, I continue my ride only to pass by, stop after stop, streets I don't know.

Of course it takes me very far away from Essex Street and in complete frustration, I stomped like a little girl off the train and struggled to find my way home from the downest of downtown. During this my phone AND iPod die. Cue crying baby.

The moral of the story is: My life sucks.

Love, Me