Subway Series *Welcome Home Editon*

It's no secret that I hate people. I especially hate overly eager men. *rolls eyes*


After a week of riding up and down VA, MD, and DC highways in luxury cars, the subway is not a welcomed ride.

I stand on the platform, head bopping, lost in my thoughts and my music.

The train arrives and I take a seat, happy that it's relatively empty. I don't scan the car for strange people. I immediately close my eyes and let the music envelope me.

I realize the train has been immobile for quite some time. I open my eyes to see a tiny old woman push her way onto the train, hitting people with her tiny shopping cart, filled with tattered bags and papers. Her long, gray, hair is a tangled mess and it looks as if she has attempted to put it in a ponytail. Her clothes are dirty and the large collar and bell shaped pants give her the look of a 70's sitcom character. She sits down crossing her legs and arms. She purses her lips, looking around, disdainfully as the conductor announces the last stop on the train will be 96th Street. She's trying to make eye contact with anyone so she can strike up a conversation. I avert my eyes but the young man standing near me is not so lucky. She slaps her thigh engaging in one sided dialogue, complaining about the MTA. The guy, a rocker Mexican with large holes in his ears, tattoos and spikes is staring at her, nodding occasionally and looking around as if to say "Help me".

The train still hasn't moved and I'm tempted to get off and take a cab. Of course as soon as I get ready to stand the doors close. I close my eyes again and lean back as it pulls into the next stop. I feel a tap on my arm. I open my eyes slowly to see a guy in a flannel shirt and unshaven beard, smiling waving a party flyer. I smile politely and shake my head no. He's talking. He's not particularly unattractive but definitely not my type. I'm looking at him not hearing and not caring what he's saying. Why is he still trying to shove his flyer at me?

Now I'm annoyed. I'm tempted to snatch the flyer and toss it on the floor. I growl, "I said no thanks".

My iPod chooses to die at this very moment. "..cause I think your beautiful and different.", he's saying. Is he for real? Having a whole conversation with me?

" This is 96th Street. This is the last stop. You can take a shuttle bus, blah blah blah". I jump up and make a mad dash for the door. Flyer boy is yelling after me about my number. I'm not interested in taking the bus. I'm gonna catch a cab.

At the top of the subway stairs, on a crate, sits a man with one leg, sipping coffee. His prosthetic leg, with sock and sneaker sat on the ground beside him.

Only in NY. Welcome home to me!



*ding dong*

Thank you for riding the MTA

"Subway Series" *Heatwave Edition*

This has been one of the hottest summers I can remember and today is no exception. It's sweltering!


Dressed in dark, skinny jeans, a black camisole, a fedora, Hollywood shades, arms full of gold bangles and leather wristband, I strut up the stairs to wait for the train. My make up is flawless and my skin shimmers. I'm heading to perform at a show and I feel fab and don't even care that people are staring, yet.

Bilal's sweet melodic voice sings "I wanna be your one and only" in my ears. The train arrives quickly and I walk on scanning the car for a seat. There's a couple vacancies scattered about. Beside a young girl with a chubby baby in a baby sling, a middle aged woman with glasses and her bag on the seat, a young guy in large headphones and a middle aged woman wearing knee length shorts, a visor and a jean jacket. I sit beside the woman with her bag on the seat. She seems annoyed by this and I ask her if there is a problem. "No", she says quickly and pulls out a magazine.

I settle in and allow myself to be enveloped in the sweet sounds coming from my headphones. The train has stopped for what seems like an extended period so I open my eyes and look around, still rocking to the music.

The announcement says something about train traffic. I'm still swaying and singing a little and looking around at the other passengers. I look at the woman in the long shorts. Beneath her visor are a pair of grandma glasses and behind those, a set of crazy eyes. They are darting back and forth as she swings her legs. She has a strange smile on her face, as if she knows a secret that she wants to tell. I almost burst out laughing she looks so insane, but I look over at the man that has taken the seat next to her. He could easily be anywhere from 45 to 75. He is in incredible shape. Dressed in a cowboy hat and a black, fitted, "I <3 NY t-shirt his pecks and muscular arms are on display. I notice many, small, dark spots on his arms and wonder if he is a recovering addict. I look up at a handle bar mustache and eyes behind tinted glasses. He's staring. Oh gosh I hope he doesn't think I'm attracted to him. I quickly look away as I see the corners of his mouth twitch about to form a smile. I turn to my left toward the guy with the headphones. Why did I do this? I realize he too is staring. He's bouncing his head and doing odd motions with his hands and arms. Wtf? Is he throwing up gang signs at me? I frown as I realize he's doing dance moves. His back pack is on the floor between his legs. He's wearing a t-shirt, sneakers and parachute pants. Perhaps he's a dancer or maybe he is just corny. Either way I'm not interested. He is still staring and doing twisted arm movements. I roll my eyes behind my dark shades and concentrate on my music.

He picks up his bag and stands by the door across from me. He's rather tall and not that bad looking but I think of the convo I had with my "Juicy" about men and dancing and I giggle to myself.

I shake my head as I realize he is not getting off the train he just wanted to be in my line of sight. Are you fucking kidding me? He is staring at me and doing his arm movements and now he has incorporated some foot movement. Is he putting on a show for me? Is he trying to do voodoo on me with this fucking rain dance? I avert my gaze and I'm back to the cowboy who's licking his lips.

FML! I want off this train!



*ding dong*

Thank you for riding the MTA

"Subway Series" *Drunk First lady edition*

Remember my disdain for riding the trains on the weekend? Yeah!

It's been a wonderful day of laughter, drinks, and merriment with the girls. Now I'm tired and ready 2 go home. It's not too late so the train is a good, economical choice, right? WRONG!!


The rest of the girls are gone and I look at the sign which reads, "No service at this station. Take downtown train to Brooklyn Bridge.." Blah blah blah. I'll hop in a cab to 14th street because I'm not riding downtown to come back uptown and then take another train.

I get to 14th Street station. A couple trains pass. (Not my train of course) then a local train announces, "No 5 train service at this station. Take this train to grand central". I suck my teeth as I scurry onto the train and am sandwiched between a girlfriend and boyfriend who are talking nonsense and getting on my nerves.

Did I mention I've been drinking? We arrive at Grand central and my train is across the platform. A swarm of commuters run to the train only to have the doors close in our faces.

I'm beyond annoyed now as the effects of my shots and unlimited cocktails start to kick in. A train finally arrives. I push my way past people and snuggle into a seat preparing to nap until I reach my stop.

Not even two stops into a nap my nostrils are accosted by a stench. It was a mixture of hotdog juice and onions wrapped in garbage, sprinkled with gym socks. I turn to my right alarmed that the smell was coming from a woman!! Her mousy brown hair, hung limp at her shoulders. Her thick glasses sat at the bridge of her nose. Her pale skin was pasty with sweat.

I'm breathing heavy trying to swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. I know you're thinking, "Just move"..Ummm..I've been drinking and my feet hurt from walking around, playing celebrity and posing with strangers in Tribeca and Soho. I'm not moving. *purses lips*

The entire ride this light bright dude, who resembles R&B singer, The Dream, dressed in a flannel shirt, and a visor (yes, really, a visor) has been staring at me, licking his lips. He rolls up his sleeves to display his tattooed arms. I suck my teeth, mumbling, "Fucking cornball. Tattoos can't help your corny ass". I roll my eyes and averted his gaze. He's still staring.

"What the fuck are u looking at!?" I scream. Did I mention I'm dressed in a church hat, blazer and dress. Looking like the first lady? I hear a bunch of gasps and murmurs. I'm sure they think I've just left church. Little do they know, I'm half past drunk.


Way to represent huh? Oh goody, my stop. "Fuck y'all", I mumble as I sashay off the train.



*ding dong*

Thank you for riding the MTA

"Subway Series" *Homeless Edition*

Ok, you would think that after all the years of staring I'd be used to it, I'm NOT!
I hate people staring at me. I don't think I look special. Dressed in white jeans, a camisole, my "Hollywood Mocha" shades, Giuseppe slippers and one gold and brass cuff, (as opposed to bangels up to my elbows)I think I look regular.


I'm already annoyed by all the gawking earlier today in "Home Depot" so I'm certainly not in the mood.

I walk onto the train, all eyes on me. I'm disgusted by the blonde guy dressed in greens scrubs who has a full meal spread out on his lap, and is chewing with his mouth open, staring. The two women who are either in their late forties or early fifties are looking me up and down over their glasses, lips pursed. One dressed in a cheap polyester suit with dyed reddish brown hair. The other in mom jeans and a tee shirt and a slick ponytail with a pack of hair that doesn't match hers. The unattractive men, staring. I turned my iPod louder. "So Amazing" by Tye Tribbett blasted as I turned my lip up and nodded my head to the heavy rock beat.

I try to lose myself in the music as I lean back against the door but make the mistake of looking to my left first. A large woman, probably my age, is staring. Not just the normal stare but a look of utter hate. I imagine she's saying to herself, "Skinny bitch". This woman looks as if I took the last piece of chicken on the buffet line. I stare back. I realize, although my head is facing her, she may not know I'm looking at her, so I remove my shades and stare. I smirk as she looks away, "Fat ass" I mumble as I put my shades back on.

Just as I've convinced myself to relax and let the music soothe me, my iPod dies!! *gasp*

I'm breathing heavy and my nostrils are flared anticipating the content of the conversations I'm about overhear. To my surprise it's quiet aside from one voice. A deep, raspy voice, repeating the same words. It's getting closer. I look up to see him standing in front of me. His kinky hair was littered with lint. The shirt he wore, tattered and dirty as he held his dirty, chapped hand inches from my face. I blinked twice waiting for him to move on, but he stood there staring at me, talking, with his hand in my face.

I'm not sure what he was saying to me, I felt the smoke coming from ears and the white spots danced before my eyes. My face was hot with anger. I was either about to black out and murder this man on the train or pass out. .wait..what is he saying? After asking me for change was he really asking me out on a DATE?! Where are we going? Panhandling? FOH!



*ding dong*

Thank You for riding the fucking MTA

"Subway Series" Complexion Connection Edition

I've been stuck indoors for the past four days, with back pain, so I'm anxious to be out and about.


Dressed in white skinny jeans, a tank top and fedora, I tip toe gingerly in my four inch heels, feeling the tugs and tweaks in my back. I think to myself, "These heels were a bad idea"

I stand waiting for the train, all eyes on me. I roll my eyes and pull out my iPod.

The train arrives and I'm bopping my head, to the remix of "Sugar we're going down" by Fall Out Boy, as I board.

My eyes quickly scan the car for a seat. I spot one near a young man with a stroller and a toddler. I look down at my white pants and think, "No way!" I spot a seat beside a middle aged hispanic man, with socks up to his knees and sandals, who is staring at my "pants" and a perfectly tanned, female, dressed in dark, stripped slacks and a rumpled white blouse, her blonde hair pulled in a careless bun. I sat by the girl.

I relax, leaning my head back against the wall and crossing my legs. I close my eyes. *tap tap* on my arm. What the..? My eyes shoot open, I sit upright, and my head whips to my right with a snarl. The blonde girl is talking to me. I rip out my ear plugs and growl, "What!?" "What color is that on your toes?", she smiles. Her haggard, tired face is transformed and she is radiant. I couldn't help but soften and respond, explaining that it could only be one of three colors, because I only wear pale pinks, looking down at my manicured toes in my opened toe shoes and then at her's, which were large. Stuffed into flip flops her feet were dry and chapped, nails without polish. I grimaced and looked back up at her.

"..Because, it looks great against your skin color", she was saying. I smile. "Aww, thanks."

She asks why I only use the pale pink colors and I explain that I don't like the way the darker colors look on me. She begins to tell me of her black friend who also doesn't wear dark colors. "You guys are crazy. Especially you. Your complexion is good it goes perfect with everything. It's nice because it's not too dark" *errrkkkk* WHAT?! Time out. Did she really just say that? I roll my eyes and smile coldly as I put my headphones back in, mumbling to myself, "This bitch with her orange spray tan talkin' to me. That's why I don't fuckin' talk to strangers. Stupid ass."



*ding dong*

Thank you for riding the MTA.