Ewe, I'm a herdee!

This past week I became an expert herdee. Never heard of a herdee?

From Tuesday morning, I was one of thousands of riders on the green line to Riverside that was shuttled from the train to a bus and back on the train every morning and night for four days on my commute to work. It turns out that the 48 hours of steady rain caused the dirt under the tracks to disappear, creating a sink hole. The pictures just showed a set of tracks with nothing under them. Scary to think that a train could've been passing and derailed.

The first time I did the 1-2-1 routine it was kind of fun; I got to see new areas that were unfamiliar to me because I'm never in a car or bus in those neighborhoods.

It was only three train stops that were closed off but it got tedious very quickly. Unload from the train quickly, follow the mob scene up the stairs to the awaiting buses driven by folks that had just signed up that morning to collect the overtime (familiarity with the route not required), go around collecting other "stranded souls", make your way down the ramp at the station where the track had not been affected and make the trek to one of the last three stations on the line.

By day three, I was ready to scream. Or walk to the Applebee's near one of the stops and have a drink or two. Thank God it wasn't opened at 8:30 in the morning!

At each of the 1-2-1 points there were at least five MBTA employees "guiding" us through the process. Yeah, right!

Guide is probably the verb used early Tuesday morning when the MBTA officials disseminated the plan to the hordes of employees raking in the OT. In reality what these folks did was watch as the one or two shepherds herded the ewes and sheep to the next step in the process.

It's just water

Last weekend, Mother Nature decided to bless the Boston area with two days of showers. The end result reminded me of Storm 2006 in El Paso.

I set out on Monday morning with my family-of-four-sized umbrella and my cheetah print rain boots. A light drizzle fell throughout the day, but occasionally it would pour. When I arrived at the train station at the end of the day, the MBTA was using buses to shuttle us from the station. The employees from that station that rode along with us appeared to have been sworn to secrecy when I asked what had happened. We then proceeded to go to each station along the route and pick up every other person that was supposed to be riding the train.

Within minutes, the bus was filled with other anxious, wet commuters. So I settled in my seat for the most odoriferous 45-minute ride I hope to ever experience. The scent made me think of what it must smell like in the staging area at the annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in Madison Square Garden: wet dog.

getting my fix

On October 16th, I arrived in Boston to start a new job. I spend a lot of time on the T since my commute to work is at least an hour-and-a-half long. My experiences on the commute from the Bronx to Manhattan is what I miss the most.

On Valentine's Day weekend, I rode the mega bus to Penn Station to get my fix. We arrived at Penn Station at around 1:30 a.m. When I got on the 2 to make my trek uptown, the train was packed like it is during the middle of the day. A large majority of the folks riding were under the influence. As I got on, I immediately noticed a guy that was sitting in the corner seat closest to the door, bent over with his head between his legs. I didn't see his face but saw the "baba" pooling on the floor of the train. I remember the day when I would've wanted to get off the train at that point. Instead, I smiled and thought to myself, "Yes, I'm home!"

kerchiefs on the 2

Before arriving at the 135th Street stop, I looked up from my book and felt like I had been transported to Amish country in Pennsylvania.

There were about seven women, most in their early 20s, dressed in lightweight cotton ankle-length skirts and blouses. The floral pattern designs reminded me of the material Mami used to make curtains. No, not like last week, either. I'm talking about the mid 70s at a military base in Germany. But by the looks of these ladies, I don't think there's a Jo Ann Fabrics anywhere near their home.

Not being up on the latest in "modest wear", I couldn't really identify which fundamentalist Christian sect they belonged to. They weren't handing out anything and kept to themselves so I didn't get the impression they were doing any kind of missionary work either.

I stopped reading and removed my earbuds to conduct some in-depth research. Because of the distance between us, I wasn't very successful. All I could make out was that they spoke English. And that they were incredibly pale in comparison to the other folks on the train. (Until we got to 96th Street, that is. But even still, those folks visit a beach every once in a while or spray it on!)

So, I just had to resort to glancing in their direction occasionally. The thoughts running through my head: Where are they from? Why are they in NYC? And, on the subway in the Bronx?? Would the folks at Nike consider using the "rebel" in the group wearing the swoosh on her feet in an ad campaign?

When we all got off at 42nd, I smiled to myself, hoping the ladies were heading over to the garment district to stock up on material for the winter line...

Wait, was that my Mr.?

As I quickly ran down the stairs to catch the L at 16th Street and 1st Avenue recently, I heard the man next to me say, "Miss, I love you, Miss. How can I share my life with you?" Not sure if he was talking to me, I kinda glanced over, but kept going. He repeated the come-on line again.

I responded with, "Excuse me?" Those of you that know me well, can see the face I was making at that moment.

Again, he said, "How can I share my life with you?"

I came back with, "Right now, at this moment in time*, you are. That's how you can share your life with me!"

"Huh?", he asked, not getting it. So I clarified. "Right now, on this staircase, at this exact minute*, you are sharing a part of my life!"

I hurried along and jumped on my waiting car alone...

*props to Sermier and my NUF family

the angelic voice on the 2

Last week, a co-worker and I got on the train with a young lady wearing the required subway gear - an iPod. She was so in her groove, and she didn't seem to realize that she was on a hot, cramped subway car. Or she just didn't care! My co-worker and I got seats right when we got on, but she didn't. She stood directly in front of my buddy for several stops before the seat directly next to him opened up. I thought he was going to kill her. I tried making out who the artists she was karaoking to were, but couldn't. She knew them really well, not missing a single "uh, uh, uh", "oh yeah, oh yeah" or other filler phrase.

When my buddy got off at 110th, I told him to get a good look at her, because she'd probably be auditioning for American Idol soon.

Tourist tip: If you wanna pass as a native, bring your iPod with you. Especially if your stop is above 96th Street. Listening to something besides the ghetto dissertations helps keep you sane.

my celebrity encounter on the mega bus

Last Friday afternoon in Boston, a couple walked up to the small group that was waiting for the mega bus to head out to NYC. They seemed a little disoriented and frustrated. It didn't help when I told them that the line formed behind me. Not my usual style to speak up, but I guess living in the city has had an effect on me.

The husband looked like he wanted to jump me and his wife tried to calm him down by offering him a cigarette. He was probably in his mid-60s and she looked like a botoxed 50-something. Yes, he was my elder but it was his sense of privilege that bothered me.

She, without being asked (but appreciated by me!), started venting about the long day they'd had. They were afraid they'd miss the bus after being given wrong directions in Hyannisport.

Segue to the conversation in my head: "Hyannisport? Like where that morning they'd buried Eunice? That Hyannisport?!"

So, using my in-depth reporter style I asked the hard question, "Isn't that where the Kennedys live?" And she bit, "Yeah, we went to the funeral. My husband's best friends with Arnold."

Now, for you recent out of the cave folks, Arnold would be Schwarzenegger, husband of Maria, daughter of Eunice, the late sister of John, Robert and Teddy. How cool, huh? Then I thought, why the hell are you on the $20 mega bus if you're pimp tight with the Governator?