How the CTA and PACE Conspired to Ruin My Life Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I've been doing a lot of exploring different streams of conscious thought. That may sound like total bullshit, only because it is; however, you didn't know that for sure until just now. But that wasn't my point at all.

So sometime in 2008, the CTA/Pace decided that Chicagoans were getting spoiled by a transit system that nearly made an ounce of sense; hence, in 2009 they decided enough was enough. You now need two completely different passes to get aboard buses that travel nearly the same route (and are both usually late). Did I mention that even the CTA and Pace buses that travel identical routes don't necessarily make the same stops. Totally not a good look when you're waiting at the bus stop in near blizzard like conditions. The icing on the cake is that this new system will also cost you more this year than it did last year (they put the squeeze on me while your granny, who never leaves the crib unless someone comes to get her in the first place, still has the option to ride for free).

For about fifteen minutes this morning, I inadvertently became the 'Loose Square Dude' up at the Red Line. See, I generally give away one or two cigarettes per day as my way of ensuring there's never a dull moment in hell for when I get there spreading the love. So this guy asked me if I had another cigarette (besides the one I was smoking, as I stood there pondering the pros and cons of me waking up with ambition and purpose every day), and as I handed it to him he filled my hand with two quarters (the market value of a loose square) before I had the chance to inform him that I'm not the Loose Square Dude.

Next thing I know, a dozen or so people bum rushed me (three of which I suspected of being actual bums) waving dollar bills and quarters (I felt like a stripper who couldn't command the salary she did in her prime). I wanted to tell them I wasn't in fact selling cigarettes, but I had a feeling that they would have taken them from me.

Rewind that.

I ain't no punk, no hoe, no bitch; and I stalk these South Side streets with a subtle yet sophisticated dose of righteous anger. And with that being said, I still had the wisdom to understand that these nicotine baseheads were going to take my cigarettes from me. After all was said and done, I had enough dough to get the 6 Wing Dinner from J and J's Fish (yup, I went into a fish place and still ordered the chicken; why must I be such a nigglet).

With public transportation imploding, and the price of gas declining I now see fit to never turn down a friend when they offer me a ride. This past weekend my friend came and picked me up bright and early on a Sunday morning. I can't quite remember exactly where we were, but we got into a completely minor and inconsequential accident. We were sitting at a red light when the car behind us apparently decided that wasn't good enough reason for him to sit at the red light; he barely nudged us.

My friend was not raised on the South Side, nor in the city for that matter. However, through life experiences and ultimately settling down on the South Side, she officially earned her South Side armor. As such, she responded in the way all South Siders respond to traffic accidents; she exited the vehicle cussing as if God had let her down for the very last time. I've never been more scared proud of her.

Back to how much I hate these buses.

A little known Chicago fact is that these bus drivers are in cahoots with the stick-up kids. No, it's true. When the bus drivers say 'Good Morning', it's not because it's the proper and polite thing to do. They're screening to see if you're soft enough to say it back. You must ice-grill that simple sum'ama bitch with all you got. When he says 'Watch Your Step', it's not because he has a vested interest in seeing you get off the bus safely. He's testing you fam! Now you have to exit the bus as recklessly as possible; like you don't give a damn if you slip and fall or not, cause you a 'G' like that and you gone be ok.

I wonder how I'm getting home today.

I'm Back Thursday, January 8, 2009

I have a habit of disappearing which, as a New Year's resolution, I've promised family and friends that I would do a lot less of. A lot has changed. Toward the end of last year I finally gathered the required testicular fortitude to leave my old job. It wasn't that hard to do, seeing as how I got paid in pocket lint and the belongings of coworkers left unattended (if it's your watch, why come it's in my pocket?). Word to the pawn shop. With my new found free time, I've gotten into spewing out random thoughts. You've been warned.

What does one do with no job during the holidays? The same thing everyone else does during the holidays, chill the hell out. Since I had nowhere in particular to be for those couple of weeks, bathing had become a completely optional exercise in padding my self worth (yes ladies, I'm quite the catch). Without my job I must admit that I fell way behind on email... I probably won't be getting up on that anytime soon. But let me address a few concerns en masse.

First I would like to thank everyone who sent email/wrote on my Facebook wall/threw small rocks at my bedroom window/etc. to say happy birthday. Things like that start to mean more when you're my age (I turned 25 yet again). Also, to my homies that emailed me about Xbox/PlayStation games of theirs I've had for way too long, have a freakin' heart... what else do you expect me to do while I battle unemployment? To those that have emailed about money I owe them, you may want to talk to my attorney G. Breadman; his office hours are a little shady, so catch him if you can.

I been eating a lot of jelly lately.

A couple of Saturdays ago, I got into a heated cursing match with this homeless blind dude from around the way (the handicap are not exempt from my aggressiveness, because that would be discrimination) who swears up and down that I bumped into him while he was walking down the street. If you are blind and in motion, can you ever really be certain that someone bumped into you and not the other way around? At the end of our exchange this dude took like six or so swings at me; but by that time I had already quietly walked past him.

If more dudes openly admitted to banging fat chicks, Maury would have a lot less of those DNA paternity test shows, thereby and hitherto making the world a better place for you and for me. I would now like to take this opportunity to swear on a stack of bibles that I have never banged a fat chick that I will ever admit to. [INSERT DIVERSION HERE]

Castro in '04 '08 '12 (I know for a fact that I got at least two write-in votes in '04 because I voted twice).