my 100th post!

i made a mistake when i sold my car. i know that now, in every fiber of my being. i know it when it takes me an hour and a half to get to a friend's house that lives two towns over. i know it when i wait 30 minutes for the bus in freezing temperatures. i know it when i cant escape the crappy music coming out of a fellow passengers ipod who clearly has hearing damage. i know it when i have to listen to a stranger shout about her ovaries into her cell phone. i know it when it takes me an hour to get to work and it used to take me ten minutes. and most of all, i know it when i lose my $71 bus and subway pass a week before the month is over and i have to walk twenty minutes to the bus station at midnight to wait for the bus that is coming who knows when and i get hit on by an extremely creepy guy with bad breath. it's 12:15 am. i've been working for 8 hours and i'm tired. i'm sitting on a cement bench in the bus tunnel of harvard station, reading my abnormal psychology textbook, minding my own sleepy business, when a lanky, poorly dressed fellow approaches and asks for the time. i tell him. he introduces himself, i oblige and tell him my name. "liz is my favorite name," he tells me, as if i am somehow supposed to believe him. "you have pretty hair," he continues, telling me the number one thing i get told by creepy strangers on public transportation. he sits down next to me. too close next to me. he smells. i try to be nice, yet send a clear signal. "i work at legal seafoods," he volunteers. "i don't like seafood, " i reply, and attempt to go on reading about the three different types of suicide according to the sociocultural model. it doesn't work. he keeps talking. and i keep silently pleading for my bus to come, for his bus to come, for him to go away. finally, his bus comes, and he goes in for the handshake, and the inevitable question: "do you have a boyfriend?" "yes," i reply. his name is mr. right. and when he shows up, he's going to kick your ass.