I Am a Sweaty Girl

It's hotter than Mercury here in NYC, which is a problem is you're a sweaty person like me.

Most people sweat in this weather: What I do is mutate into a human sprinkler. I seriously look like I've been hit with a hose. Like maybe one of those guys who's always spraying down the sidewalks in front of apartment buildings got me by mistake. (Note: They never do this. There's clearly a lot of training that must be gone through before one can become a Hose Guy.)

Today, I walked my usual eight blocks to the train, only to discover that I was completely covered in perspiration. I mean, but completely. Usually I'm a tad damp. It looked like I had neglected to dry off at all when I got out of the shower.

It was so bad that I couldn't even tell myself it wasn't that bad. This is because people were staring. I learned something today, though: I learned that if you're a sweaty girl, people will fuck right off out of your way on the train.

I owe this realization to the dried up ol' sourpuss who was standing next to me on the B train this morning. She had a lot of bright red hair, nine gold necklaces, actual stone-washed jeans, and a face full of puckers that weren't entirely the fault of the aging process and/or overexposure to the sun and Merit Ultralights.

She stared at me in disgust as I continued to water my little square foot of standing room, so I stared right back at her. After a moment, I began wiping my chest and making horrid sickly little groaning sounds, like maybe the TB was going to take me at last. Finally, she looked away.

Seriously, lady: Would I sweat this much if I could help it? Just because you haven't had a natural bodily function since 1983, is that any reason to take it out on me?

Did I Mention My Mom's a Nurse, and That I'm a Spinster Lady?

Ma Smash: I got here right in time to see him born.

Me: No way! He was waiting!

Ma Smash: Yup! Three pushes and he was out.

Me: Ew.

Ma Smash: Oh, look! Here comes the placenta!

Me: EW.

Ma Smash: That's so interesting. You know, it looks just like cube steak!

Welcome to planet earth, Baby Oz Piddlington. Your Mommy is brave and your Gramma is ridiculous.

I Can Pick 'em

Seats on the bus, that is. Today, on my way back from Bostonland, I picked out a lovely window seat about a third of the way from the back. I was near the bathroom, in full view of the TV screen and on my preferred side. (Right. I don't know why.)

Shortly after I sat down, the bus got FULL. I mean, like, nearly SRO full. So it wasn't a big shock when the seat next to me got snapped up, in this case by a very nice 30ish woman who appeared only to speak Mandarin. (OK, not quite true. She did ask me what time it was at one point, in pretty good English. Still, I'm deaf and stupid about accents, so I had to ask her to repeat herself four times.)

Anyway, she was a good seat mate for most of the trip. Her husband was sitting in front of her and she spent most of the time talking to him. Then we rolled into New York and she started making this gacking sound deep down in her throat, picked up a plastic bag, and started HORKING UP CHUNKS.

I immediately freaked out and started feeling for the escape panel. Fun fact about me: I can throw up at the drop of a hat. I'm like the Fly, for reals-for reals. Just the smell of puke makes me want to do my impression of a sea cucumber.

I didn't throw. But I did spend the rest of the ride training my nose into the crook of my wrist, which I had fortunately and for once remembered to perfume that morning.

Pukey Girl? Yeah, she didn't even bat an eye. She didn't get up to go to the bathroom and she didn't even pop a piece of gum. Now that's being used to vomiting, people.

I managed to maintain my cool until she tried to lean across me - still holding her bag of vomit- to point out the many glorious sights of 34th street. Then I had to say, "I'm sorry, but you REALLY NEED TO BACK UP."

Ugh.

I'm Actually Surprisingly Bad at Scrabble

Facebook has this excellent thing called Scrabulous, which lets you play Scrabble with all your internet friends. Most of my internet friends are writerly, so I spend a lot of my time getting my ass kicked. For example, I am currently losing four games.

Scrabble also has a message function, via which I just had the following conversation:

Jen H: everyone is raping me at scrabble today

Ross P: so many things in one sentence! aargh!