Screaming is not singing unless you are a member of an '80s hair band.

This next event did not happen on the bus, but rather by the bus stop. It was about 4:00 p.m. on a delightful Texas evening in November. I was sitting at my desk, jamming out to a little Bob Schneider and tying up some loose strings (i.e. anxiously staring at the clock and willing it to hit 6 p.m.). All of the sudden, through my headphones, I hear this....wailing. This is not completely unusual as my office is on Congress Avenue and the less fortunate frequently stand under my window in a Romeo-esque fashion, screaming the most ridiculous shit at the top of their lungs. Sometimes it's annoying. I usually get a kick out of it. But I peeked out my second story window, looked down, and there was no crazy to be found. So, I ignored it and moved on.

Less than a minute later, I heard it again. Someone was definitely scream-singing and doing it at a decible that hurt my throat by proximity. I looked out the window again and followed the horrid noise to a small boy (?) across the street with a guitar, just rockin' away. He was surrounded by a group of scraggly-looking, pint-sized buddies that were rockin' along with him. Several thoughts hit me at this point:

1. Surely his friends must be slightly deaf, because if my friend was singing like that, I would slap him/her and deliver the appropriate STFU.

2. Where are these childrens' parents? Seriously, they looked 12, give or take a few years.

3. How far can I throw my wireless mouse, and can I get enough upward trajectory at this angle to launch it over the trees and right at that kid?

I understand that Austin is the live music capitol of the world. I love that you can't walk two blocks without seeing some dude toting a guitar. But as we have learned from American Idol, most people are not musically inclined, and actually suck. And these "most people" are usually the ones you hear playing on the street. There is a part of me that feels bad for them. However, a slightly bigger part of me feels like grabbing that guitar and tossing it into Town Lake so that they don't have to waste their life on a pipe dream, and I don't have to be badgered into listening to crap. Your classic win-win situation.

Drunks love David Sedaris, too.

I'm on the ride home and the bus is crowded. This always makes me nervous. When seating is plentiful, people will opt to sit by themselves. Some will even put their belongings in the seat next to them without guilt because there are plenty of other places for other riders to sit. Why? Because sitting next to a complete stranger is awkward. However, when the bus is crowded, it is an inevitability that you will end up sitting next to someone. I always hope for a dashingly handsome young professional to come sit next to me and ask me about the book I'm reading. However, money doesn't grow on trees and hot men never sit next to me on the bus. In fact, hot men don't ride my bus. Ever. Crazy people, do, though.

We pull over at a stop, and this man dressed in a ratty suit slovenly makes his way onto the bus. All I can think is, "Please oh please do not come sit next to me." He of course singles me out and makes his way to the empty seat beside me. I am reading a book, and I hope that he does NOT ask me about it. He, of course, does. His question is carried through the air by the stench of malt liquor, that hits me before his words do. I answer without looking up, hoping he will get the hint. He, of course, doesn't. He tells me how he loves to read and he thinks that people don't read enough anymore. I agree with an "mm-hmm" and continue to read. He then tells me he is sorry to bother me. I guess he got the hint.

Less than a minute later, he tells me that he just finished reading a book and is looking for a new one. He asks me who my favorite author is. I tell him that I have a few, but my favorite is David Sedaris.

Well, guess what? That just so happens to be his favorite author.

Of course.

He starts talking about how great a storyteller he is and how he has an amazing way of telling mundane, everyday happenings in such a funny way. I agree with him completely, but I try not to look too encouraging. He tells me which of Sedaris' books is his favorite. That particular one is not my favorite, but I love it just the same. He begins to recount a particular funny story in which Sedaris talks about his brother, the Rooster. I love this story and have read it several times. At around this point, it occurs to me that I am having a conversation about my favorite author with a man in a suit. Partial fantasy achieved. However, said man is clearly intoxicated, and upon closer inspection, is missing a couple teeth and is balding. Further proof that God has an amazing sense of humor.

After discussing the greatness of the Rooster, the man tells me that he loves listening to talk radio. He asks me if I ever listen to The Moth podcast. I listen to The Moth almost every day, and if you don't then you should (http://www.themoth.org/podcast). As he continues to tell me about his love of The Moth, I begin to realize that I have a lot in common with this drunk man. We both love David Sedaris. We both listen to The Moth. We both live on the east side and work downtown. His prattle drones on while I am having a bit of a mental crisis trying to figure out what all this means. Is the universe telling me to lower my standards in terms of men? Am I just as crazy as this dude? Is he going to sense the connection and ask me out on a date?? Shit.

Finally, the bus reaches my stop and I begin to gather my things. He tells me that it was great to talk to me. He does not ask me on a date (there IS a God), but instead simply says, "Keep it real." I laugh, wave, and can't help but be amazed at how ridiculously real it is.

"Do you speak Vietnamese?"

It's the end of the day on a Tuesday. The clock hits 6:00 p.m., and I launch out of the office in hopes of catching the 6:02 p.m. As per usual, I miss the bus. So, I stand at the bus stop with my headphones in. I do love music, but that is not the real reason for listening to it at the bus stop. Having my ipod blasting is an avoidance mechanism above all. With my headphones in, it is clear to the surrounding public that I am not interested in any sort of interactions. If they don't get that and try to speak to me, then I am still safe because, "I can't hear". It's all apart of my meticulously laid out plan to avoid the crazies. Sometimes, though, it just doesn't work.

So, I'm standing on the corner and I see this man across the street. He is walking briskly. So quickly, in fact, that his every movement seems to be a twitch. From across the street, he makes eye contact with me. When the little man lights up on the crosswalk, he twitches my way. In my head, I am of course thinking, "Oh shit, he is totally coming to talk to me." Obvs.

He walks directly up to me, making it impossible to ignore him. I remove my headphones and listen to him. His speech is clearly disjointed and he says something about being an honest person and just needing a couple bucks. Usually I say no to people who ask for cash, as I myself am also strapped for cash. However, once in a while, if I have it on me, I will give it to the person. Do you remember that story from Sunday school where there is a beggar on the rode and everyone ignores him, and it ends up being Jesus (or something like that)? Well, I would hate to screw over the Son of God, so sometimes I give the crazies my cash. This was one of those times.

Usually the convo ends with the monetary exchange. This was NOT one of those times. Instead, the tweaking man asked me if I knew Vietnamese. You know, because so many middle class white girls do. I informed him that I did not. He then started to "speak in Vietnamese" to me. I put this in quotes because I know damn well that was not Vietnamese. I feel like I can say this with confidence for two reasons: 1. My best friend is Vietnamese, and after having spent substantial time with her and her family, I may not speak the language, but I have an idea of what it sounds like; and 2. This dude was CRAZY. And black.

I stood there and stared at him. He didn't stop. For like a solid 2 minutes. I even did the dodgy eye thing as a non-verbal to let him know that I felt uncomfortable. But the thing about crazy people is that they lack the capacity to pick up on non-verbals.

Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the #20, my beacon of hope, streaming down Congress. I motioned toward my bus and said I had to go. He then grabbed for my arm and said, "You are a princess. A princess! God bless you!"

As crazy as he was, I couldn't argue with that. :-)

Swipe your card.

A few months ago, I started a new job in downtown Austin, TX. This job was the one I had been waiting for. The pay was good. I would be writing, albeit technical writing, but still. The company culture seemed young and vibrant. The entire prospect of it was very exciting to me.

Because parking in downtown Austin is a joke and costs roughly the price of an arm and a leg (which are pretty pricey these days, what with the economy and all...), I decided I would take the bus. I just moved to an apartment on the east side of 35. The location was not only convenient, but automatically updated my status to "cool hipster", a title I strive for on the daily. Note the sarcasm? Anyhow, the bus stop is basically at the edge of my driveway, and though I graduated from UT almost two years ago, my student i.d. still warranted me free rides. Thank you, Texas.

I am a big proponent of public transportation. Less cars on the road means less pollution. You can't argue with that. Also, it saves me from having to put any undue stress on my jalopy of a vehicle, which I lovingly refer to as La Bestia (despite its obviously domestic origin). However, my experience with the bus system in Austin was relatively limited up until this point. I took the bus around campus, but the clientele was almost entirely students and faculty. My freshman year I took the bus to the mall a couple of times, but I can barely recall those days.

I have now been riding the bus five days a week for a little over 3 months. In this time, I have had several thought-provoking experiences and learned some important things about myself. One of those things being that strangers love to come and talk to me. There can be 20 people on the bus, but for some reason, the more "interesting" people of the world that frequent the bus will single me out, sidle up next to me, and begin a conversation. This happens often enough that I feel the need to document these occurrences. So, that is the purpose of this blog. Some posts might slip into other areas, but everything I cover will be in some way related to things that have happened or occurred to me while on the bus. I hope people read this, but even if they don't, I think it will be funny to look back on and marvel at the oddities of life.

So, if you do read this, then thanks. And enjoy the ride.