Travel Log Part II: You's a Thief

Ok, folks.  We are about thirty minutes outside of Picksburg.  Go ahead and call whoever is picking you up, and enjoy the rest of your ride and thank you for choosing Megabus.

Groggy, I open my eyes to see exactly where outside of Pittsburgh we are.  It is 6:30 in the morning and an unrecognizable strip mall sits to my right, and another unrecognizable string of fast food restaurants on my left.  I text my mom then allow my head slowly roll back into it's sleeping position.

"YOU'S A THIEF!" someone shouts, jolting me back out of my already restless slumber.  I peek out from under an eyelid to see what the commotion is.  "You are a thief!" she yells again at the sleeping woman behind me.  Rubbing her eyes, the accused grumbles something, "I don't know what you're talking about, can you maybe tell me instead of yelling?"  Rhonda, we will call her, is not happy being awoken to a screaming woman standing over her seat.

"You stole my damn phone charger! Don't try to act all innocent when I know you have it," the troublemaker--we'll call her Angie--shrieks.

Rhonda rolls her eyes, "Lady, you are crazy.  I don't have your phone charger. Why would I have your phone charger?"

Angie really wants to start shit before 7am: "I had my charger up there in the seat with my son and when we came back in from the rest stop it was gone.  I came back here and I saw that you had it, and I didn't say nothing because I thought you was decent enough to give it back.  But now I KNOW you stole it and I am going to call the authorities and have them search your stuff and then we'll see who is crazy!"

Now matching the volume of her opponent, "I ain't never had your phone charger you lying bitch.  I borrowed this guy's charger the minute I got on the bus and gave it back to him before I even got off at the rest stop.  So I KNOW you ain't talking about me because I didn't have any charger but his this whole ride!"

Sitting there quietly, I exchange glances with the guy across the aisle and watch his eyes widen as he realizes he is being thrown into the squabble.  Remembering the events of the overnight journey, I know that Rhonda is telling the truth.  I watched her take and return the charger to our neighbor, and I also know she only got up from her seat once.  I was sleeping, yes, but Rhonda was no small woman and when she did stand up it required her to grab my seat to pull herself up.  A light sleeper, I am certain that only happened once.  However, I am not about to toss myself into the middle of their argument voluntarily. 

"YOU ARE LYING THIEF AND I'M GONNA PROVE IT.  I'M GONNA CALL THE AUTHORITIES AND WHEN THEY GO THROUGH YOUR STUFF WE'RE GONNA KNOW. WE ALL GONNA KNOW.  THEN YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK BECAUSE I'M ABOUT TO POUNCE.  I'M ABOUT TO BRING BROOKLYN ALL THE WAY UP HERE."

Now Rhonda just can't help herself.  "BITCH YOU AREN'T THE ONLY ONE FROM BROOKLYN.  GO SIT YOUR ASS DOWN. I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU. I'LL EVEN GIVE YOU MY HOME ADDRESS. 5323 ______ ! YOU WON'T DO SHIT. CALL THE POLICE. I DIDN'T STEAL A DAMN THING FROM YOU AND YOU CAN CHECK YOURSELF!"

At this point, Rhonda convinces Angie to sit down and hands over her purse to be examined.  Upon finding nothing, Angie demands her to stand up so she can check her pockets and the space around her.  Despite searching every single piece of luggage and compartment that Rhonda has, Angie is still convinced she has stolen her phone charger and wants to check her purse a second time. While this woman is digging through her belongings, Rhonda makes an exciting recollection: "Wait a minute.  You were sitting behind me before the rest stop?  You were sitting behind me before the rest stop!  When you got on this bus you told your son you didn't have your phone charger!  You told him you forgot it at home.  YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH YOU NEVER EVEN HAD A PHONE CHARGER ON THIS BUS!  GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SEAT! IF YOU DON'T CALL THE POLICE I WILL.  I'M FILING HARASSMENT CHARGES AGAINST YOU! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. ALL THIS SHIT OVER SOMETHING YOU NEVER EVEN HAD.  I WOULD HAVE BOUGHT YOU A PHONE CHARGER.  A $4 PHONE CHARGER? I WOULD HAVE FUUUHHHCKING BOUGHT YOU ONE IF I WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT KIND OF SHIT YOU WOULD START ON THIS BUS!"

Angie has already made her way back to her seat, and is yelling over the heads of twenty other passengers, struggling to come up with a story to comply with this new evidence.  Meanwhile, the bus has been pulled over and the driver has finally come upstairs to see what the commotion is.  Angie gets to tell her side of the story first and professes how she politely asked Rhonda if she had her phone charger and only started getting out of hand once she had been threatened.  This, of course, infuriates Rhonda who stupidly won't stop yelling her protest.  The yelling continues and threats become wilder and the driver decides to call the cops.

Less than thirty minutes away from home and aching from an eight hour bus ride, all the passengers are now awake and disgruntled, stuck in this hell that is the most absurd fight over a nonexistent phone charger that the world has ever seen.  When the police arrive, both women (plus Angie's son) are asked to disembark.  The only belonging Angie takes off the bus is a half drunk two liter of Mountain Dew.  

Stuff like this happens to the rest of you, right?

Anonymous Emails: A rant.

As some of you may have seen on my facebook, I am trying to find a new home for my sister's dog.  Despite my complaints about him, he is an incredibly lovable mutt, and she truthfully does not with to part with him.  However, circumstances have arisen that makes another home potentially more desirable.  Some day soon my funemployment will (hopefully) come to an end and there will be no one around for most hours of the day once my sister starts her new job. It is unfair to Boone who is still a puppy, and it is in this vein I posted an ad to craigslist, seeking a home with young active owners who can devote to to him the time and attention he deserves.  

Since I posted the ad a week ago, we have been vetting potential new owners to ensure that he is going to the right family.  Then last night I received this message from "Jack Russell":

Hi,

I guess you didn't know ahead of time that graduate school would keep you busy. Hey don't let it bother you that you are shirking your responsibility because its become inconvenient. I hope you can put it out of your mind that the dog may miss you and wait for you to come home every day. Oh except you're not, you're too busy.

Have a great career!

Jack Russel, how dare you for one fucking minute think she is taking this decision lightly.  She and her boyfriend have done everything in their power to make the life of this animal as pleasant as possible.  Now, do I fully support their decision to get a dog?  I didn't.  I don't.  But they were young and stupid when they adopted him and have taken the best care of him possible within their means.  I have a feeling that since you spend your weekends trolling craigslist and sending harassing emails that you, too, have made some shitty decisions in your life.  

To be honest, I can't really tell what I am most angry about, but something about receiving this message from an anonymous cuntfuck has sent me on a rampage.  I am a person that is quick to judge, but it is a defensive instinct that dissolves quickly and generally I am able to forgive behaviors and circumstances.  I know I can say hurtful things--I have done it behind people's backs and to their faces alike--but I also have the capacity to be genuinely sorry and apologize. There is something so aggravating about this person's ability to hide behind his or her digital veil that makes it resonate as such an indecent and counterproductive act.  All this person has done has made me second guess the decision to Boone's best interest first.  Kindly go fuck yourself, Jack Russel.

..................................................................................................................................................

However, now that I have written this and reread it, I have cooled down and am beginning to feel sorry for this person who must feel some sort of emptiness to write such a cruel message.  If he needed to get that off his chest, then fine.  I am doing the exact same thing right here right now. Next time have the courage do to it under your own name. pls & thx.

You rock, Doc.

Yesterday I had my bi-annual check up, and although I left with three brand new prescriptions, an eight-page document summarizing my visit, and a puncture wound in my upper arm, it was overall a very pleasant experience.  Surprisingly, it always is.  I adore my physician and her staff who genuinely care about my health and making my problems manageable.  Like everyone, I've seen some of those women have bad days, but those ladies were on point yesterday!  Everyone was in great spirits (it also helps that I wasn't in a bitchy mood toward them) and every single interaction I had was as charming as the last.

Receptionist:  Good morning.  Stephanie?
Me: Yes that's me.  How are you today?
R: You know what?  I'm great.  But you're only the second appointment so this day could totally turn to shit still.
Me:  Well you know you do the booking?  You could truthfully schedule all the crappy patients on your off day...
R looks horrified for a moment and checks to see if anyone around her is listening.
R: As if I don't do that already.
R hands me paperwork and smiles

My wait is so short I don't even have time grow impatient and pull out my phone.

Nurse: Stephanie?
I follow her back onto the scales exchanging pleasantries.  She makes fun of my plain green coffee mug for some reason and leads me into the exam room.  The normal sequence of events follows: when was your last visit? which prescriptions need refilled? rolls the temperature-taking doodad across my forehead...then my phone starts vibrating form my jacket pocket
Nurse: Someone seems to be trying to get a hold of you.
Me:  Yeah do you mind if I answer?  My mom messaged me to see if I arrived on time and I told her I got into a fiery car crash on route 19.  She's not too happy so I should respond.
Nurse:  Wow. You are a huge jerk.
I laugh and respond to my mother while nurse is taking my blood pressure.
Nurse: 117 over 70.
Me: Is that ok?
Nurse:  For someone that's just been in a car crash I'd say it's pretty good.  I'm going to give you one of these lovely peach paper robes.  It will clash horribly with your hair color so maybe avoid snapchat.  The doctor is running a little behind, but should be in shortly.
I sit stunned and impressed as the door closes behind her.

This wait is a little longer, but I can hear Doc in the next room and sit patiently for about ten minutes or so.

Doc:  I'm so sorry for the delay.  You're in here with all the early birds...you know..the um...
Me: Old people?
Doc:  I didn't say anything.  So...how are you?  You're having a quarter-life crisis I see.
she points to my head
Me:  It's just this thing I'm doing while I'm unemployed.
Doc:  Well if this is it and you haven't gotten any tattoos or started taking heroine or sleeping with a hundred guys I guess I can't really be too upset.
Me:  Oh, you wanted to know about all that too?
Doc:  If you really want me to check under that robe then keep talking.

Then normal doctor patient chitchat.  She has been my physician now for about five or six years and is one of the most awesome people I've met, not only a fantastic doctor, but just an incredibly cool human who one time I asked to get beers.  It's not weird!  She's only, like, ten years older than me.  Ok maybe it's kind of weird?  Anyway, she declined by telling me I was one of her favorite patients and if she didn't have a then 5 year old daughter she needed to see on weekends she totally would hang out with me.  Thanks for letting me down gently.

So after I talked about my stomach pains and mouth bleeding, that are apparently, yes, still caused by stress, she began telling me about her family vacation to Disney World.  She asked me about boys.  I asked her if her daughter was still sassing her and told her to watch Will Ferrell's Dissing Your Dog.  While she is in the very dangerous position of checking my reflexes, she asks me to please not have children anytime soon.


Doc:  So you had a pap smear when you were here last year, so I don't really need to do one for another two years unless you want.  I mean, I know you'd love me to just pop up there, but maybe we'll wait?
Me:  Well, I was lying about the hundreds of men...so I don't know...I'm thinking about it.
Doc:  It's nice that you think you're the first person to make that request.
Me: Eww get the fuck out.
She laughs and shakes her head and now I don't know what to believe.
Doc:  Man...sorry that other appt. ran so late. I'm so behind I can't hang out. Normally she spends a whole lot longer shooting the shit with me (I think I really am one of her favorite patients).  I have a feeling we're going to have to change some things about your thyroid medication so you should come back in about 3 months though so we can follow up on the bloodwork and ultrasound.
Me: Cool. Thanks, dude.  I'll see you then.
She shakes her head at me while she leaves.

She runs out the door yelling apologies to a nurse down the hall and my same nurse saunters back in with my second dose of hep a vaccine.

Nurse: How are you with needles?
Me:  I don't invite them to my birthday parties, but we're generally ok.
She isn't amused this time.
Me: No seriously I'll be fine.
She seems uncertain and grabs me strongly by the arm.  This is a new technique.  She shoots me and fiddles with it, apparently going a little too deep she draws it back out some.  It hurts, but I sit still because I'm a grown ass woman.
Me: Can I ask why you're holding my arm like that?  Do you do that in case people jerk around?
Nurse:  No. It's so if you pass out I can grab you before you fall.  I don't do it for heavier people; I'm not trying to hurt myself. But you're little so I figured I could hold you up.
Me:  I see.
Nurse:  You can keep the robe if you like it.

kthanksbye

Liking the people who take care of you whom you are comfortable around can make a world of difference when it comes to healthcare.  I had many doctors for many years who I did not trust.  Not that I was such a sickly child that it mattered, but in my adult life there is a noticeable difference between the way I communicate with doctors and nurses now as opposed to then.  You may think it is just because I am "more mature", but I can say there is a large difference between maturity and trust.

I'll wrap this up by telling you about my last visit to the gynecologist.  Now, normally, my physician does a lot of the dirty work, but every once in a while it's still good to see a lady doctor specialist.  My mom, having worked as a medical professionals her entire life, knows about a million doctors in southwestern PA.  Only once or twice in my life have I been to a doctor that she doesn't know or wasn't referred to by a friend.  So, of course, I let her book me an appointment with a long-time obgyn friend of hers.  She schedules a slot for my sister and I and the three of us head out early one January morning.  Not until we are about ten minutes away does she tell us that we actually should remember this particular doctor because we lived in the same neighborhood as him growing up.  This, for some reason, makes me very uncomfortable, but I decide to suck it up and roll with the weirdness.  We arrive and my sister is called first.  She disappears before my mom can ask if she should go with her...because mothers. I then hold my cell phone to her head and tells her if she tries to come with me I'll slip her phone under her pillow while she's sleeping...because cell phones cause brain cancer...because mothers.  A few minutes later when I am called to go back, I become a little more relieved by the efficiency of the office.  Naturally, I feel like a jerk being called before all the pregnant women in the room, but they have appointments right?

When I get into the exam room the nurse hands me my robes and departs.  It's freezing in this room because it's an old building next to the river at 8am in January in the hills of Pennsylvania.  Now, I don't think I was moving particularly slowly considering the conditions, but as I am standing there, completely naked except for my socks, there is a knock on the door and in walks my doctor.
Me: Umm...Hey.
Doc: Oh gosh sorry!
and slams the door behind him.  While this was a strange start, he was honestly going to see those things anyway so I wasn't nearly as mortified as I could or should have been.  I quickly slip on my robe and call out to him that I'm dressed.  When he doesn't answer I open the door to see if anyone is in the hall and I realize I am now completely alone.  Freezing, I climb up on the exam table and wait.  And wait.  And wait some more.  I am so cold and my coat is just a few feet away, but stubbornly trying to prove my maturity I won't grab the coat which would make me look like a prude little sissy bitch in front of my mom's friend.

When he finally returns he apologized for walking in on me, but that it gave him the opportunity to go catch up with my mom.  So...when he accidentally saw me in the nude his first instinct was to go talk to my mom--that's cool.  The exam begins and he starts making awkward chitchat with me
Doc: So your mom tells me you're finishing up grad school at Columbia?  In New York?  For architecture?  That's great.
Me:  Yeah, I mean I enjoy it I...
Doc:  What kind of architecture do you want to do?
He's giving me a breast exam.
Me:  Uhh..well there aren't exactly specializations, but I'm definitely interested in mid to large scale institutional projec...
Doc: Uh oh.
Me: ...
Doc:  Oh ok nevermind.  Just a calcium deposit.  Nothing to worry about.
Me: You're sure?!
Doc: Yup. What were you saying?
Me: Umm...institutional projects.  I guess it will depend on where I start working after school.
He is directing me into the stirrups.
Doc: So you're going to stay in New York then?
Me: Yeah I...
He is now up in my vagina business with fingers, or tools, or who the hell knows.
Nurse (who until now has been completely silent): Oh, Doctor, I think those are really cold!
Me: It's fine.  Just a little warning next time?
Doc: My son is an industrial engineer in Long Island.  Do you remember him?
His head has now disappeared somewhere beneath my line of sight.
Doc: I think you only met him a time or two, but you two should get together.  I'll see if I can find his business card.  Are you close to Long Island?
He resurfaces.
Me: No not really, but if he travels into the city a lot we could meet up.
Doc: Oh I don't think he does that really...
Dives back under
Me: How are things looking your direction?  Everything...healthy? Normal?
Doc:  Looks great! Really nice!
Really nice?!
Doc: Nice and healthy.  Any questions or concerns?
Me:  Nope.

If I came in there with questions I had for sure forgotten them while he was trying to fix me up with his son while his hands were up my hoo-hah.

It was a very short visit and as soon as I was dressed he ended up meeting us all in the waiting room before we could leave to tell our mom what lovely girls she has and to gossip a little about the old neighborhood.  I am eyeballing my sister, desperately trying to find any indication that she, too, had a strange experience.  Eventually we say our thank-yous and goodbyes.  As soon as the door closes behind me I jump on my sister.
Me:  Tell me something stupid or weird happened to you.
Mom: What do you mean?!
Rachel: No...?
Me:  Like...nothing embarrassed you?  No one walked in on you while you were naked?
Mom: What the hell are you talking about?!
Me: Umm...
Mom:  Oh jeez what did you do?  Why did he come out and talk to me between your exams?  Stephanie, what did you do?!
Me:  NOTHING.
I relay everything to her.  Rachel, having had a completely normal exam, is laughing at me.
Mom: Please don't write about this on your blog.


As I said, there is a striking difference in relationships with doctors you trust and with doctors you only respect.  I am so grateful to have found a doctor with whom I don't feel strange or distant.  Is she the most incredible physician on earth?  I can't imagine she is, but a good fit is a good fit.

Travel Log Part 1: MegaBUSted

Thank you Matt for the title.  I know if I don't acknowledge you you'll be a whiny little shit about it.  So that's done.

If you know me then you know that I spend a lot of time traveling.  I have been extremely fortunate to have been sent all over the world, enabled by my schools and my parents, and have loved every moment of it.  Even the misfortunes have their place in shaping my experiences, but of the many countries and hundreds of cities I've been to, no horror on this planet can quite compare to traveling within these United States. Aside from being the whitest white girl in America who has been "randomly screened" during every domestic flight in the last seven years (I get it, you're not racist), I can't remember the last time I took a train, bus, or any form of public transportation that wasn't unpleasant. America, I love you, but your crumbling infrastructure can really use some TLC. 

I realize these are two different complaints and this blog is not and will probably never be a platform for some of the larger concerns.  So instead, I have decided to make an extended travel log to document some of the wild and ridiculous things that have happened to me over the years.  Today's installment is not a story, it is actually my "live tweets" of my most recent travel experience.  However, since this trip took place somewhere in the Appalachian Mountain chain I could not actually live tweet it since 3G has yet to be discovered in this region of the country.  As you can guess, this tech genius right here wrote out all her notes on her memo app and will now share them with you for your reading leisure.

My experience is everyone's experience.

Itinerary:

6:30 a.m. -  Megabus departure from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
1:00 p.m - arrival in Washington D.C. Union Station
2:30 p.m. - Amtrak departure from Washington D.C. Union Station
6:53 p.m. - arrival in Newport News, Virginia

And so it begins...

6:27 a.m.
Mom waited in line with me because I'm still a teenager apparently and the bus driver did a triple take at my hair before he loaded my luggage.  The good news is that if I go missing from the rest stop he'll know who I am.

6:32 a.m.
Oh good. Already two minutes behind schedule.

6:35 a.m
First bathroom visit of the morning.  Really? We are not even three minutes in you couldn't have gone before getting on the bus?

6:45 a.m.
There is magically no one in the seat next to me so I am putting my feet up and enjoying my space before the next pickup site.

6:52 a.m.
Same woman is using the bathroom again.  Do we think IBS or UTI?

7:15 a.m
Our first phone call!  The woman sounds like Juno from Beetlejuice.  Remember?  The woman that smokes a cigarette out of her neck?...  Oh good!  She can't hear him so now she is going to speak louder!

7:20 a.m
Oh she is going to the bathroom again.  Poor thing.  I'm sorry I made fun of you.

7:32 a.m.
Man somewhere behind me hocks a loogie and I think I'm going to vomit.

8:00a.m.
We are stopped in Morgantown, W.V. to pick up more passengers. Loud Talker "didn't know" she was sitting in a reserved seat and is now furious that she has to move.  She is trying to argue her way into staying and the family who bought the seats is having none of her shit.  
"Where the hell am I supposed to go?" she shouts, apparently hoping someone will back up her claim.  Lucky me, the young girl taking her seat is pointing at my open seat while I pretend not to know any of this is going on.  

8:02a.m.
Loud Talker is standing in the aisle trying to decide if she can con her way into a better seat than the two available (one next to me and the other directly across the aisle).  OH MY GOD SHE JUST GRIMACED AT ME AND TOOK THE OTHER SEAT!  Can it be?! Did she take the other seat because of her disgust for my hair color?!  Please say that's the reason!

8:06 a.m
Since no one was sitting there I put my bag on the seat next to me and Loud Talker has now asked if she, too, can put her purse there.  She is no small woman, so sympathetic to the poor girl in the seat next to her I permit it.

8:07 a.m.
Loud Talker has taken my inch and is now piling on top of her purse a neck pillow, a paperback novel, a sudoku book, a wad of trash, and a moist water bottle.  Can't wait until she leaves her trash and bottles all over the seat for me to clean up.

9:30 a.m.
We are at a rest stop somewhere in rural West Virginia or Maryland and there is literally no cell phone reception.  Who knew that in 2015 that was even possible?  I don't care I'm blogging into my memo app and my mother is losing her shit back in PA since she can't get a hold of me.  Seems like a victory...

9:44 a.m.
I wait too long to use the rest stop bathroom and now I have to wait for all the shit stragglers to finish their morning dumps.  Yes, dear readers, I am writing to you from the ladies room of Pilot gas station.  For the record, Pilot stations always have dispensable toilet seat covers which I very much appreciate.

9:52 a.m.
I realized a woman sitting not far from me is about my size and she has an empty seat next to her as well. The woman across from her ate two foot-long hot dogs in the time we've been here.  Reminder: it is not yet 10am.

9:55a.m.
Some passenger is arguing with the bus driver to get into the undercarriage for his luggage.  Can we please ignore this buffoon and get on the road?

10:01 a.m.
A minute late to leave.  Thanks, buffoon.

10:03 a.m.
Loud Talker had thirty minutes to make a phone call, but has waited until now.  She can't hear this person either so again her solution is to talk louder.  Also she bought a second water bottle at the rest stop and now that is on my empty seat as well.

10:19 a.m.
Our oversized load must pass through a weigh station and someone from the upper deck of the bus doesn't understand this and is demanding answers for this new delay.  I can't be certain, but it sounds like Buffoon.

10:22 a.m.
We pass the Ark of Safety Church  advertisement outside Frostburg, MD which has a giant built frame of an ark and a man across the aisle makes the sign of the cross.  You mean to tell me you got on a megabus four hours ago and this is the first time you're saying a prayer?

10:34 a.m.
Our bus driver keeps leaving his turn signal on.  Gosh, Dad! 

10:40 a.m.
I'm super carsick from typing on my phone so I am going to sleep.

12:06 p.m.
I just woke up and we are stopped in traffic outside of D.C. The bus is now alive with speculative chatter and phone calls to loved ones.  I would text my mom, but I just used that thirty second window before I get nauseous again to type out this post.

12:08p.m.
Loud Talker makes yet another phone call. Surprise! She can't hear whoever she's talking to so up goes the volume.

12:20p.m.
Some woman from the upper deck has come down and is asking every young person to help her access the bus's wifi so I am going to pretend to be asleep.

1:09p.m.
I actually fell asleep and now we're late for our arrival and both my parents are calling me.  You love me too much, you smothering shits.

1:34p.m.
We have made it to D.C. now everybody get out of my way so my luggage doesn't become stolen property.

2:15p.m.
Aside from the disgusted glares of everyone over the age of sixty, I had a peaceful lunch at the train station and am waiting to get onto my platform and the woman in front of me tried to sneak past the ticket-taker and is really confused why her ticket is from three days ago and from a different train stop.  I ask the ticket-taker some dumb question because human interaction and he winks at me.  Joy.

2:30p.m.
One thing Amtrak does right is leave on time.

2:40p.m. 
Conductor announces that because of the heat we have to reduce speeds that will put us 40 minutes behind schedule. Twelve hours of travel wasn't enough! Give me more!

2:54p.m
Dear lord someone in this train car just hocked a loogie. Kill me.

4:45p.m.
Every single time I have looked up from my book in the past thirty minutes the bathroom has been full.  Good thing I can reverse camel this shit and hold my pee for nearly fifteen hours...I've done it, don't ask.

5:54p.m.
We have been moving less than 10mph for the past thirty minutes and now the conductor is telling us that we have to navigate through a traincar graveyard to get to the right track because apparently nobody knew we were coming beforehand?

6:12p.m.
Made it through.  Now get me out of this backwoods bullshit.

6:43 p.m.
For fifteen minutes now we have been at a literal stop in the middle of the woods with no explanation.

6:45 p.m.
Conductor has just announced that we are stopped to let another train pass through the corridor...because again, no one knew we were coming?  Sorry to my very hungry brother waiting to pick me up!

6:46p.m.
The conductor delivers the same propaganda after every announcement thanking us for our patience, apologizing for the inconvenience, and asking us to enjoy the free wifi and water fountains.  He LOVES to talk about the water fountains.

6:47 p.m
Despite previous projections, we are now going to be over an hour late. This would never fly in Japan. At least we have the water fountains.

7:01p.m.
Hey look! A dead horse!

7:34 p.m.
At this point we are now forty-five minutes late to our destination and I have been traveling for thirteen hours.  I have decided to break the rules of the Quiet Car and call my mom.  After having seen no children the entire day, I drop three consecutive curse words while a mother and her two children come bopping past my seat.  Jeff Stones, ladies and gentlemen.

8:02p.m.
One of the Amtrak attendants comes by and asks if he can lower my bags from the overhead rack.  Sure buddy, be my guest.  I warn him that my laptop bag is rather heavy and he, of course, makes some joke about it being full of bricks then winks at me.  Are Amtrak employees trained to wink?

8:09p.m.
Well over an hour late we finally arrive and NOBODY WILL GET THEIR GD ASSES OFF THIS TRAIN.  MOVE! MOVE!  My brother thinks there should be a rule that dictates young people exit the craft first and I would agree with that if the late 20-something girl ahead of me could wheel her bag down the aisle without catching it at EVERY SINGLE SEAT.

8:12 p.m
My brother is so pissed at the train and all the idiots circling the parking lot that he drives about 50 yards in reverse to get us away from the taxi cue.  Several horns and middle fingers later we are out of there.  

HUZZAH.


There are tons of lists out there that depict the Ten Types of People You Encounter While Traveling and it is remarkable how often you see these impossibly unbearable behaviors.  I don't know what my annoying travel habits are; I definitely try to be a courteous as possible.  Unfortunately, I have the made-up disease known as restless-foot syndrome so my feet are constantly bouncing or shaking, but aside from that I'm hoping there are no other obnoxious things I do while I travel.  

Generally my experiences on both Megabus and Amtrak have been bad but manageable.  Sadly, as a poor person there aren't many other options for travel. So until I find myself a sugardaddy I will be collecting these charming experiences.

Boone the Dog and his Desperate Human

Keep all arms and legs inside
the couch at all times.

Dear dog,

I will not address you by your name because by now, a mere week and a half after meeting you, I have learned that any human sound that resembles your name arouses you from your nap and causes the gates of hell to spill open.  Aside from my sandals, three socks, my godson's toy, 3 plastic bags, 40 used tissues, 1 unused tampon, 2 pairs of underwear, and my hairbrush, this week you have also devoured any desire I once had to adopt a dog.  I used to be able to watch Wheel of Fortune without disruption, but now I have to not only fight for my own couch, but suffer through thirty minutes of licking and biting. I've now had to resort to partial blindness because every time I wear my glasses, for some reason, you can not resist licking the lenses.  I get it. You'd like me to never sit again; it's cool.  

Forget about me though.  I'm worried most about my 13-year old lab who is going to have a heart attack if you keep pouncing on her in her sleep.  Petting her is out of the question now, since she is covered from head to paw in your slobber, not to mention any other fluids you may be getting on her when I'm not looking.  So not only are you ruining my relationship with Pat Sajak, you are also putting a wedge between Misty and I.  Misty, if you're reading this, don't worry I'm going to let him loose in bear country as to not get blood on my own hands.  At this time, I should also thank you for not barking more than four times in the last ten years, because your step brother has a howl that makes me want to drive a fork into my temple.  

Dog, you have been alive for two years and haven't figured out the difference between daytime and nighttime.  I truly thought domesticated animals were more evolved than this.  Strangers in the dark: yes--bark.  Strangers in the day: calm the fuck down!  Trust me, I too am annoyed by all the wealthy neighbors having their lawns manicured and flowers planted, since my punishment for being the homeless, unemployed adult child is to prune and water the flowers every day.  This, however, does not mean I spend my day sitting perched on the back of the couch barking at strangers in nearby yards.  Don't you know where our yard is? Haven't you pissed on the entire perimeter by now?  I guess you left too much of it in the couch cushions to make it the whole way around.  

Which leads me to my last question.  HOW CAN YOU SHIT SO MANY TIMES A DAY? I know how much you're fed! I feed you!  On the doctor's orders you get two cups of food a day.  Now, I'm no scientist or mathematician, but I am pretty sure two cups of food and a peanut treat does not equal SIX GIANT SHITS.  Word problem:  If a dog goes on three walks a day and shits six times in six different yards, should Stephanie take him to the glue factory when his owner isn't home?  

Cut a poor human a break.
Woof,
Me

 


Please keep all arms and legs inside the sofa at all times

Roommate Debate

This evening while I was sitting around recovering from a cold and shooting the shit with my roommate, I reflected upon how lovely life can be when you get along with the people you live with. This is probably true for many people, but for me, living the architecture student lifestyle, my roommates have always been an incredible outlet for me, often becoming my closest and dearest friends over time.  On the other hand, the stress of school and work, when combined with a bad roommate(s) can be toxic.  The messy, the passive aggressive, even the smelly--all forms of miserable house mates that make your life a living hell.  Fortunately for me I have never had a truly horrible roommate, but I have had a number of odd individuals along the way. I have surely done some strange shit myself so I am not exempt, but, in no particular order, are the oddest habits I've encountered over the past seven years.

We all have our unique tastes in music.  In fact, this very evening in the privacy of my own room, inclined by some strange school-induced suicidal mood, I started listening to My Chemical Romance.  So yes, we all listen to music that may or may not match the taste of the ones with whom we live.  This particular roommate, however, very much enjoyed listening to her music without headphones in shared spaces, and tried to convince you that you, too, enjoyed her music--particularly the tracks of the Icelandic nature.  Bjork?  Sigur Ros?  What's wrong with those guys?  No no. I literally mean Icelandic nature. What this particular roommate listened to were Icelandic soundscapes filled with chimes, and whistles, and the sound of whooshing winds and crunching snow, and it very much concerned me. The first several times she played it, I'll admit, I was intrigued.  I thought, "how cool of this girl to not give a shit and listen to what she wants."  This is until she played it every single night. She would listen to those tracks on loop for hours and hours on end, regardless of what she or I was doing , and it eventually became really uncomfortable to be around.  Nevertheless, these songs--noises...whatever we want to call them--seemed to bring her so much peace and enjoyment that, because she was such a great roommate in every other sense, I never said a word. This one is on me.

That is the thing: I have always had the mentality that if something in my home irritates me, it's my problem not anyone else's.
Dirty floor bugging you, Stephanie?  Clean the floor.  

Wine glasses aren't clear enough for you?  Wash them yourself.  

Want to make dinner but the only frying pan is locked in your roommates room?  Go out and buy your own damn frying pan. 

This roommate had a love--nay-an obsession with bacon.  In the short time we lived together I don't think I ever saw her eating, or any evidence of her having eaten, anything besides bacon.  About every three days she would fry up a 10lb bag of bacon and take it into her room, and this pan would not re-emerge for days.  I don't know if she was sustaining herself over those several days with her enormous supply of bacon, or if she would eat it all in one sitting then let the pan fester.  I have NO IDEA.  All I know is that the pan went into her room with 10lbs of cooked bacon and would stay there for nearly seventy-two hours until it was hung back on the hook for however long it took until the next batch.

What happens behind closed doors is not my business.  If roommate #2 wanted to shovel bacon in her gullet, that's her right! However, when roommates leave their doors open their actions become public.  Those behaviors become a part of the collective living experience, so when another roommate that would invite over her boyfriend, leave her door open, then sit on the floor and make animal noises at him, it took everything I had not to record that shit and put it on youtube.  Barking, oinking, meowing, and mooing that possibly started as a cute game eventually turned into some strange sort of foreplay for them, and just the sounds of a typical Wednesday for the rest of us.

Then, of course, there was the roommate that actually had an animal.  This particular craigslist find was a self-employed, pot-smoking, ferret owner.  Since I kept my bedroom and bathroom doors closed, having her little friend roaming around the house rarely bothered me.  That is until the night she was leaving for Bonarroo. I was on a conference call, sitting in an arm chair next to the wifi router, piled below my laptop, my tablet, and a stack of sketches going over some designs with my professor when the roommate started carrying baskets down the stairs.  
"I'm going to leave the door open!" she yelled, ignoring the fact that I was on the phone.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her transporting things out of the house, a bushel of produce, a trunk of oversized costume props, a duffelbag of drug paraphernalia, etc.  On her third or fourth trip down she stopped in the doorway: "Can you watch him for a minute?" she commanded while tossing her animal's leash over the back of my computer.  Before I could even react she was out the door and I was on babysitting duty.  Understandably, in her mind I was just sitting there, so I put the leash around my wrist and carried on with my meeting.  For a few minutes everything was fine, then without warning the struggling at the other end of the leash stopped.  Realizing instantly that the ferret had escaped his harness I leapt toward the open front door, dropping my computer, phone, and papers in the process.  
"He's loose! Blank, he's off his leash!" I shrieked as I watched his little tail fade into the darkness outside.  Immediately, my roommate and a half dozen friends from the minivan were running down the street after a ferret.  I watched helplessly from the door for a moment, then assuming they had things under control I scrambled to pick up all my belongings and return to my meeting.  When my roommate came back in a few minutes later with her pet, I put my call on silent to apologize and explain that he had escaped.
"You know, Stephanie, it's fine" she snorted with the utmost disgust.  "I'm just not going to let you watch Rudolpho ever again."
I think that was totally fair.

There was also a roommate who had so many visitors that there were about two months when I was consistently living with 3-7 people in my two-bedroom apartment. After the second visitor left I confronted her about all her company explaining that it was overwhelming to always have so many strangers in the apartment. "I pay rent too."  Yes, she did, and I didn't own the couch so I left it at that.

Lastly, there was the worst roommate I've had.  And I don't list her as the worst because she was messy, or mean, or zero fun, or an absolute nightmare of a person.  I call her the worst of my roster because she had sex with her boyfriend in our shower ALL THE TIME. Now this may not seem like such a big deal for many of you, but when your bedroom shares a wall and a vent to the bathroom you can hear everything.  So not only did I have to use this shared shower, but I had to endure listening to every squeal, whisper, and giggle that accompanied the relentless thuds against my bedroom wall at all hours of the day.  Even after I asked her to be respectful and even after the other roommates agreed it was absurd and asked her to stop she and her boyfriend made no efforts to slow their...productivity.  I eventually moved out, and needless to say I don't feel bad about using her personal brita filter to purify vodka. 

Thank you to the absolutely phenomenal roommates I have had.  I hope that my time with each of you has been as pleasant for you as it has been for me.  I know I suck at doing dishes, but you know I could be a whole lot worse, you ungrateful little shits.

#RavenclawTowerForever

Dogs Aren't People Too

"You know it has fur," I mock every time my friend describes putting a blanket on her dog while on the beach in sunny San Diego.  "But her teeth are chattering!" she whines while probably online shopping for a pink knit sweater and booties for her small whatever-breed-it-is.

Growing up in a family that hunts animals for food--you can all calm down, it's Pennsylvania--I have less sensitivity toward pets than your average person may have.  This is not to say that I don't love my animals, that they don't have feelings or emotions or wants or needs, but the fact of the matter is they aren't people.  My cat was eighteen years old when she died.  I had that animal for most of my life and I loved her with all my heart, but even after all that time she was still a pet who had far outlived her life-span and a happy treasure I was willing to let go. By no means am I a cruel pet owner, nor am I a bad person for holding my rank on the food chain.  If a deer wants to wield a rifle and feed me kibble and make me sleep on the floor, I'll cuddle that linoleum willingly...I did it enough in college anyway.

We now interrupt this daily scheduled bitching to announce that someone who doesn't much care for talking about her own beloved pets, sure as FUCK does not want to hear about your little rat, random person in the supermarket.  

Alright, friends, stay cool.  If I've met your animal, or child (the two can be interchangeable in this case), and have formed a relationship with your animal...or child...I will look at your photos and listen to your stories and suck it up for the sake of our friendship.  However, complete strangers wanting to show me photos of their pets is where I draw the line.  

 The first recent incident of this was while I was waiting at Starbucks and two undergraduate girls in front of me where giggling and cooing over instagram photos of one another's cats while we stood in a line that never seemed to move.  They gasped and choked and sniffled at these photos with which they were enamored.  When after a few more minutes the line had barely progressed, one girl reached her phone in front of the nose of the handsome man in front of her. "Isn't this the funniest thing you've ever seen?!" she squealed at this poor bystander.  With a scrunched face, the man swiveled, nodded, and mumbled something before turning around to give his order.  Obviously feeling snubbed, the two girls then proceeded to evade 

Top: Ebony (RIP), Bottom: Misty

embarrassment by performing the same routine on everyone

around them.  Neither the lady behind the counter nor the young girl and her boyfriend studying nearby had any reaction.
"You have to see this!  I swear it's the most hilarious thing you'll see today," one of them finally announced to me.  
"Please do not put that thing near my face.  I have no interest in looking at your cat," I said coldly while her cheeks turned a deep red.  "Your loss," she growled, "and by the way it's a chinchilla." Having misunderstood that the hilarity was lost on the rest of us, they still decided to place their order under the alias of their pets.  I don't remember the names.  Muffy and Cooter, no doubt. 


The second time something like this happened I was in Petco, which is a slightly more understandable setting to encounter people that like to talk about animals.  My mother and I wanted to give Misty a bath before the holidays, and not having the facilities to handle a bucking, twitching 50lb dog took her to the nearest self-wash station.  When we arrived the bathy-ma-thing was occupied so I waited while Mom went to pay.  Unsurprisingly, the nearest employee, a teenage girl with thick-rimmed glasses and eyebrow piercing, came dawdling over wanting to pet our dog.  We exchanged brief conversation about the protocol for dog-washing and which shampoo was best, then got right down to the facts.  What's her name? How old is she? Is she a rescue? How long have you had her?  And so on and so on.  I answered each prompt, but looked, the whole time, at my dog instead of the girl hoping she would understand my pain and pee on the floor.  When the young lady finally ran out of questions she stared at me, willing me to ask her about her dog while I craned my neck to see if my mother was on her way to save me.  
"This is Duncan." She shoved her phone at me.
"Cute.  How old is he?" 
"Duncan.  Duncan is three, but he has as much grey hair is Misty here." (My dog is 11yo)
"Poor fella," I chortled, trying to fit in.
"Duncan," she repeated as if I hadn't caught it the first three times. "Yeah...Duncan is such a rascal."
Where was my mother?  Testing chew toys?  Hiding in the car?  I waited angrily as Petco employee continued to tell me unsolicited stories about Duncan, until I finally had ingenious and diabolical idea to 'accidentally' let Misty off her leash.  In an instant she was free, and off she went, my noble steed, running toward the hamster cages.  
"Oh shoot!  This one's a rascal too!" I shouted as I went chasing down the aisle after her.  By the time I returned so had my mother who was, of course, now being shown photos of Duncan; it took all of me to not leave her in that predicament.  Thirty minutes later when we had finished washing, drying, and fluffing our pooch we were ready to leave when the girl returned. Knowing she only had the sweetest intentions, I nudged my mom, "Crap. Say something nice to her.  I don't know how to be nice to her." 
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart.  And Merry Christmas to your puppy too."
"Duncan."
Thanks for clearing that up.

Pets are a great topic for first dates or for awkwardly long car rides, but talking about pets is barely less generic than discussing the weather.  Caring about the weather, though, is at least something I can relate to.  I find it so difficult to muster up the energy to feign enthusiasm over something I simply do not care about, which can be problematic since people tend to care very deeply about their pets.  Some folks take it very personally if, like me, you insult their obsession with their animals.  Again, let me state that I love my dog, but aside from this post I don't really care if you know it or not.  People who spend excessive amounts of money on their animals are people I just cannot relate to. I'm sorry; your dog is a yorkie, not a freaking Clydesdale.  

I will leave you with a lesson from one final example:

If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to ask them about him or her.  If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to tell the family about your dog for whom you have an actual twin size mattress even though it's only a small terrier.  If you are at TJ Maxx and you observe a family purchasing a dog bed, please do not take that as license to tell the family about how your two cats are now so old and confused that the eat the dingleberries that fall off your dog's ass.  DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO THAT. Please.

bitch hates taking pictures with me

Stupid Cupid: Part Deux

The Christmas season is my favorite time of year, and while I adore spending time with my family and friends, I do not relish the barrage of questions from the extended family regarding my current relationship status.

"...but you're such a beautiful young lady there must be a guy in your life!" followed by the uncomfortable glance at my mother who must disappointingly corroborate my story.

In the past this has never really bothered me. I have always explained away the issue by telling Cousin Charlene I couldn't choose between the eight boyfriends I'm stringing along or explaining to Aunt Ethel why I don't have time for one anyway.  However this year a different kind of exchange took place. At a sorority reunion the day after Christmas (see, bitches, you thought you were safe) when giving a formal 'life update' I playfully told my long lost friends I was, of course, single, but planning to start exploring my sexuality.  Now, while I am so proud to say that there was immediately an overwhelming acceptance of this news I was, in fact, joking.  I realized it was once again time to share some of reasons I am still without a boyfriend and to squash the sneaking suspicions of those who think I'd be better off with a lady.

So in the spirit of being a good sport, I give you the much anticipated return of the nightmare that is my dating life.  Fortunately for me, none of these examples are nearly as nauseating as last years' batch, but I hope they entertain you nonetheless.

He sent me this message in October...

Freddy Spaghetti

New York City does not have a reputation for being the friendliest place on earth, so when a (clean) stranger strikes up a conversation with me on the subway I am always pleasantly surprised.  He and I had gotten on at the same stop and he had slyly made his way to my end of the subway car.  He was tall, unconventionally handsome, and wearing a fitted suit so naturally I had already noticed him.

"You look like you're doing something exciting tonight," he leaned over and said in a deep voice with a thick Brazilian accent.  I swooned... and realized I should wash my hair and wear makeup more often. He was a Columbia MBA student, a semi-professional rugby player, and couldn't take his eyes off me.  We spoke for a while, he even stayed on my train when he should have taken the express, and it seemed like the makings of true love.  Before my stop he asked me for my number and if I would like to get lunch later that week, an offer I aptly accepted.  

Several days passed before he finally asked me if I like Italian food and would be willing to meet him on campus after his class the next afternoon.  We met up and exchanged pleasantries. As we started making our way to lunch I realized we were headed toward another school building, and trying not to be rude I asked him where he was taking me.

"You said you like Italian right?  The dining hall has a pasta special on Fridays so I thought we could go there. I have a meal plan."  

Now, I am not terribly picky when it comes to food, but anyone who has been to college can relate to the image of an over-sized, multi-line dining facility when it's filled with hundreds of undergrads in their pajamas as a not-so-ideal first date venue. As we walked in I told him I had never been there before and asked what was good, but before he could answer he darted off to some unidentified line and left me standing awkwardly by the fountain drinks with the 18 year old who was mixing together four flavors of soda.  By the time I had my food he was nowhere to be found and I had to wander through the hall until he finally stood up and waved to me from the far corner.  Trying to salvage our time together I began asking him about his friends and his hobbies, but the conversation quickly devolved into him asking if I had hot friends I could bring to his next rugby game, then inviting me to his school's happy hour before promptly revoking the invitation for some reason I couldn't hear through his full mouth, and telling me his uncle is an architect and he thinks it's a useless profession.  When we had finished our meals he seemed to sense my aggravation and asked me to sit tight while he fixed a to-go plate before he would walked me back.  Luckily we left with a mutual distaste for one another and I never heard from or saw him again. 

The Captain

As a full time architecture student it is easy to guess that I don't have a ton of free time to spend seeking the perfect mate.  So when another student comes across my tinder I give them more than a glance before deciding which way to swipe.  I, like most people, treat tinder as a game more than a place to find a boyfriend, but when law students from my hometown message me I am slightly more inclined to pay attention, especially when the message is coming in the middle of the day and not in the form of a booty call.  Even though he wasn't an "ideal" candidate, The Captain and I spent an entire day messaging back and forth sharing school war stories and the great things about Pittsburgh.  By the end of the day my fingers and patience were worn, so I extended the invitation for coffee.  He responded with a counteroffer to come to his school's happy hour the day after next.  I was a little hesitant and asked if I could bring a friend if he was serious, which he told me would be alright.  We signed off saying we would both be busy the next day so we would talk the day of the happy hour. 

When Thursday morning rolled around I texted him with a simple message asking if drinks were still on.  Minutes passed, hours passed, I got the hint and told my friend that there would be no happy hour that evening and went on with my day.  Then around 5pm I received this unpleasant confirmation: 

"Sorry, sweetheart. This ship has sailed."  

First, let me make a quick public service announcement to all my male readers out there,  DO NOT call a girl sweetheart.   

At no point did I ever press after that initial message so, second: if you are a pasty, overweight, and generally boring, do not assume that a girl wants your dick so badly that you need to send such rude followup messages to get your point across. 

Stage 5

For those of you unfamiliar with the practice of online dating, there is a certain amount of back-and-forth that typically takes place once you begin talking to someone.  These exchanges are sometimes dragged out over days, sometimes weeks, and you end up becoming pen pals with someone rather than their 6o'clock.  I started talking to Stage 5 on a day I happened to have very little work, and we got along splendidly.  He didn't quite meet some of my physical standards, but was very funny, and his quick-witted banter was enough to get me to ask him to drinks that night. 

As usual, I was running a little late, so he was already at the bar when I arrived.  We hugged, I explained my tardiness, and was about to climb up onto the empty stool next to him when he choked back his drink and told me to wait.  Assuming he must have asked for a table, I stood quietly while he squared his tab at the bar.  I was observing the room when all of a sudden he grabbed my hand and told me to follow him and say nothing to no one.  "Rape. He's gonna rape me," I panicked to myself as we sailed past the booths of dining middle-aged couples.  Walking unquestioningly into the kitchen, he led me past the cooks and the freezers, through a storage room, and out into what must have been the enclosed courtyard of the building.  It was three stories high, decorated with a bunch of antique found objects and filled with some of the most beautiful people I have ever seen.  The table of tall foreign models smiled at us while the fedora-fitted bartender poured us some cocktails.  To say the least, the place was really freaking cool.

And so was Stage 5.  He was a photo editor for Vogue from a somewhat rural part of Virginia and we could relate on a lot of levels.  We shared anecdotes, we gossiped, we made fun of the bartender's hat; it was great.  The evening was a blast, that is until he put his hand on my knee and I remembered I was supposed to be romantically interested in this guy, which I was not. When we finally left I was sick to my stomach; this guy was nice and really seemed to like me, but I just wanted to be friends.  A simple goodnight kiss on the cheek and the promise for a call later in the week was a good sign for me to get my shit together and figure out how I was going to let him down gently.

Several days later I finally got up the courage I needed.  I called him, but was met with a text message saying he didn't like talking on the phone.  Phew* I can do this an inhumanly as possible. The conversation went something like this:

"Hey, Stage 5.  I had a ton of fun with you, but I think we would be best off as friends.  Is that something you would like to try?"

"But you asked me out."

"Yeah? To get to know you, which I think I do and you're awesome, but I don't think I want to keep dating you.  I'd really still love to hang out as friends if that's something you want."

"It's not.  I thought you liked me.  I feel like you made it kind of clear that you liked me. I think you should spend some more time with me and give me another chance before you blow me off like that."

I made it clear?  I made it clear by...asking him out first?  I can admit that I was tipsy and flirty and what have you, but this reaction should have been an obvious red flag.  Knowing, however, that I had really hurt his feelings I left things a little open ended.  One night he asked me to dinner, but I had an evening class and couldn't go.  A week or so later he invited me to a party, a very fancy, high profile party, that in all honesty I would have LOVED to attend.  Yet my shitty school schedule couldn't really permit staying out until 4am schmoozing on a Monday night so I politely declined.  His reaction was over the top.  He sent me an avalanche of text messages (which I should have saved before dropping my phone into a puddle) decrying my academic pursuits telling me they were worthless since I would never know what it's like to love another human being and how life isn't worth living unless I foster the relationships I've already made.  Our relationship.  Our three week relationship that consisted of exactly one date.  On and on the messages went explaining how I was wasting my time, and on and on I let them go.  My only response was to tell him to enjoy his party.  He texted me the next morning apologizing, that he must have been drunk (at 4pm on a Monday?).  I didn't respond, and was met with more anger.  A couple days later he messaged me again to tell me his family would be in town and invited me to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of his rich/famous artist brother.  

"I think that would inappropriate since we're not really dating and since I'm not sure I even want to be your friend any longer, but thank you for the invitation.  I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving."

I didn't hear anything from him for a few weeks, until he tried to ask me out again. And then wished me a Merry Christmas.  And then wished me a happy new year.  Then asked me out again.  Then asked me if I had Valentine's day plans.  I finally just told him I was dating someone and he sent me the last message I have ever received from him:

"Yeah...maybe that's something you should tell someone before you lead them on for three months."

Dickhead.

Thor

Bergen, Norway is a small city about the size and population of Cincinnati, so I never expected to see the tallest, fittest, most beautiful man in all of Norway there in line for a restroom in the basement of a hipster bar.  Lacking all subtlety, I was pretty obviously staring at this fine specimen as he went into the unisex bathroom and nothing changed when he came back out.  He glided past me back into the bar, but must have doubled back because in an 
instant he was by my side with his hand on my arm breathing Norwegian into my ear.  

"Sorry?..I don..." I stuttered, cupping my hand to my ear. 

Now bent eye-level with me, he pushed back his long blonde hair off his chiseled jaw and repeated himself in Norwegian.

"Oh no sorry!  I only speak English."  I admitted with an apologetic shrug.

He stood upright and smiled...and my God what a smile.  
He leaned back toward me and put his hand on my side. I was dying. This could not be real life.

"There's no toilet paper in there."

And then he walked away.
Ladies and gentleman, my life.

As always, I take the good with the bad.  I went on a number of great dates with really wonderful guys over the last year, and while I am still optimistic, here are some of the reasons I will probably end up alone with a cat:

 I am 88% concerned for myself.

If by big toys you mean, like, go carts...then yeah.

Lucky me.

Yeah, definitely.  This sounds totally safe and legitimate.

I'm honestly more upset that he used "u" instead of "you."

I am still unsure if he was trying to ask me on a date or offer me a job.

HERE I COME, 2015!