Ridin' Solo

Despite (apparently) popular belief, the New York City subway system is not a private mode of transportation.

There are many wealthy people in Manhattan: those that have their own cars and drivers, the ones that take a car service everywhere, the others who only "cab it".  The people on my commute are not these people.  I am not these people.  I'm a Metrocard girl from 9-5, Monday to Friday.  However, there are people on my commute who think that even though they are not pulling in enough money to have a personal mode of transportation to and from their destination, they deserve it anyway.

These are the people who have zero subway etiquette.  They think a subway car is their own independent chauffeur service and act annoyed that they must deign to share the ride with the rest of us; a true privilege for anyone else surrounding them.   So to these proud and few, I'm issuing a wake-up call, a warning, a list of rules if you will.

1) Back. The fuck. Up. - This isn't your own car.  You are not as small as you think you are; you are not as big as you think you are.  Move into the middle of the car and make room for everyone else squished by the door.
2) GET OUT OF THE DOORWAY! - If you're not getting off there, it's OK to step outside of the car.  Common sense and courtesy (two things that yes, New Yorkers are often lacking) require that everyone waiting on the platform WILL let you back on the car first as you are kindly getting out of the way of the disembarking passengers.  Jappy Long Island girls and large black men, I'm mostly talking to you.
3) And speaking of getting on the subway, Stop Rushing. - Trust me, I've been in this fair city for six years and never once have I ever seen a train let everyone get off that needs that particular stop and then quickly slam its doors closed and pull away before anyone else can get on.  Old ladies, take note.  Most mornings I feel like Simba in the stampede scene of The Lion King.
4) If You Can't Fit On, You Can't Fit On. - Middle-aged white guys: you're job is not more important than everyone else's.  When the driver says that there's another train directly behind this one, he's not lying to keep you off his train.  If the doors can't close because you're in the way even when your dick is pressed into some woman's back and your umbrella is on another person's foot, GET OUT.  The next train is guaranteed to be empty enough that you can even have a seat!  Nobody wants to have to have their commute delayed because the train can't leave the station with your briefcase and butt half out the door while the driver screams over the speakers to stand clear of the doors.
5) Give Up Your Seat. - "You'll be standing up for what's right."  If a blind person, an elderly person, a pregnant woman is standing and a fat white guy who looks like he works in the Tech Department of your office is sitting down, there's a fucking problem.  These three categories of people get precedent over ANYONE for a seat.  After that, if there is a woman standing, be a REAL man and offer her your seat.  This is New York, so the odds are she'll look at you like "fuck off" and say "no, I'm fine", but always double-check.  If you've got a Y chromosome, two working legs, and are under 65, let someone else sit.
5B) If You Can't Fit Into One Seat, You Shouldn't Be Sitting. - This is two-fold: firstly, standing burns more calories than sitting and if you can't fit into one seat, you needs to be burnin' some more calories.  Secondly, I'm not paying over $100 a month to stand for 114 blocks on my ride to work while your fat ass either takes up 1 1/2 spaces or acts annoyed when I decide, to hell with you, and squeeze into the half seat leftover.
6) Shut Up. - Teenagers: you may not have yet learned how to control the volume of your voice, but any enclosed public space is a really good place to start practicing.  Hispanic/Eastern European/Asian women: despite your seemingly popular belief that speaking a foreign language thrusts you into a cone of silence wherein everything you say is shielded from the ears of the rest of the passengers, it is not.  In fact, being unable to understand you actually makes you MORE annoying.  By all means, feel free to chat with someone. However, do so at a volume that only the object of your attention can hear you.  If they are sitting across from you, by no means should you carry on a conversation.  Trust me, everyone else on the train wants to strangle you.

I'm contemplating printing up a simple brochure, in black and white and translated into various languages, that I can hand out to these above-mentioned offenders in real-time.  BB also would like to start a website where people can upload photos of said rule-breakers with captions describing their inability to function in the most basic social sphere of society.  (I'm hereby trademarking both of our ideas.  Get your own.)

Are we both crazy? Is it true love?

Ah, possibly both.

My Eugoogly

Today, I buried my third "grandmother".

My cousin's grandmother on the other side, Marthe (lovingly and jokingly pronounced Marth-eee) was like another grandmom.  She and my paternal grandmother (the infamous Bubbie) have been friends for almost 50 years, growing ever closer as they got older.  Marthe has been at every family occasion and holiday throughout my life and I'm saddened for all of our loss in her passing.

At Marthe's funeral today, I began thinking about my own funeral.  Now don't get me wrong here or take me out of context; people said beautiful things about her because she was a beautiful and lovely person.  This always happens at funerals, as it should.  They are a time to celebrate a life well-lived and a person well-loved.  However when I pass, I want people to be totally honest about how they felt about me.

Don't go on about how nice I was. Don't sugar-coat my life.  Don't pretend I was a great person, don't make my death into something more than it was, don't only mention the positive.  If you hated how I'm OCD about loading the dishwasher in a specific format, don't forget it.  If at one time we were living together and I blacked out and threw up in the shower and insisted the next day that someone else must have done it because I wasn't THAT drunk, still be annoyed with me.  That was gross.  If I over-use "haha" in text messages then I over-use "haha" in text messages.  It was part of my character.  If it drives BB completely nuts that my bedroom never gets more than 98% clean, he should be like "she was lazy and wasn't a great cleaner."  Be true to me, that's all I ask.  By all means, if you think I'm an asshole then say it.  On second-thought, scratch that.  If you think I'm an asshole then why are you coming to my funeral in the first place?  But don't be afraid to say "Yes, we loved her.  She was a good wife/mother/friend/sister.  Did she have her faults? Absolutely.  Did she drive me nuts from time to time?  Without a doubt.  But did she try, overall, to be a good and kind person? Yes.  And so we will remember her truly and honestly."  And that's it.  That's all you need to say.  (Wait-- that's all you need to say, but you have saaaay it in that sing-songy Jewish questioning everything tone.)  Then I want everyone to start drinking and feel free to share funny stories about me...or not.  The rest is up to you.  

I also don't need a headstone or a mausoleum or a bench or anything commemorating me.  I want to be cremated and scattered into the wind at all the different places in the world that I've visited and lived in and loved.  Then, every time the wind blows, I'll be all around you no matter where you are.  

Done.

I'm a simple girl, why wouldn't I want a simple ending?

(Irony people, it's called irony.)

This Just In!

I just heard through the grapevine that there's a Facebook campaign a-brewin' to make my old roommate, Ashley S., the next Bachelorette!  Search "Ashley S. for Bachelorette" and "like" the page!!