NJ Transit: You think you know, but you have no idea.

So many things happen on the NJtransit. I can't even fully gather my thoughts in a comprehendible manner to write logically about this. I'll try. First of all. This morning. I was in one of those moods where I really did not want anyone to sit next to me. You know those moods. I mean, I guess no one ever really wants anyone to sit next to them, but today it was just...not an option. So I sat in a 2 seater and placed both my bag and my lunch (two separate bags - important to the story) on the seat next to me. Now, to any normal person, that is a perfectly clear "Don't Sit Here" sign. Alas! Not to the creepy man with the oily hair! This man approaches my seat and does that clearing throat cough thing that is so obvious and unnecessarily powerful and throaty. I don't really hear the faux-throat clear due to my blasting ipod to avoid human interaction, but I still sense a figure. I look up, sigh heavily, and say "Oh." Literally just "Oh." Not "Oh, sorry" or "Oh, excuse me" as I move my things. Just "Oh." Probably because I noticed several open seats around me. What was going on?! I lift up my bag so lethargically and with such difficulty, you'd think it was full of bricks. What seemed like years later, my book bag is moved to my lap. I'm about to move my lunch bag when out of nowhere, oil man SITS ON MY LUNCH. He sits. on. my. lunch. I don't think I've ever been so upset. Yes, I bring my lunch.

Another thing about the Trans. All those men in suits you see on their Crackberrys for the entirety of the trip? Guess what. They are playing Bubble Breaker. I'm not lying. More than 3 times (so... 4 times) I've glanced over at a young business man frantically clicking on his phone only to find a screen full of colorful bubbles and toy guns. The best part is that they always look SO SERIOUS. What does this say about the upcoming corporate world of New York City? You decide.

Furthermore, while I have discussed this with many of my non-NJtransit riding friends, something must be said about the automated female announcer voice. You know the voice. Someone needs to explain to me why this woman suddenly becomes a sultry dominatrix with a hidden agenda whenever we arrive in... "Maplewood." Next time you're on the train, you listen for it. You will not be disappointed. In particular, the transition from "South Orange" to "Maplewood" is my favorite. She seems so happy to be in South Orange, but is definitely up to no good in Maplewood. I continue to giggle audibly every time I hear this. Matter of fact, I have come to find that my stifled giggle is actually the only way to get the business men to look up from their daunting bubble breaking tasks. Still can't believe that man sat on my lunch. And he was oily. GOODNIGHT!

Headlines don't sell papes, Newsies sell papes!

And apparently...social workers write papes. A lot of them. I wish I could sell my papes like a newsboy. Which brings me to my next point...

I would like to take this time to talk about someone incredibly important to me. That someone... is Christian Bale. Now I am fully aware of the infamous lighting guy "We're done professionally!" rant and the alleged abuse he bestowed upon his mother (LIES) but even so, I just cannot shake my adoration. From Jack Kelley to Patrick Bateman, this man can do no wrong in my eyes. I think my love for Mr. Bale stems from my fascination with interesting people (other favorites include: Kieran Culkin and Matthew Gray Gubler). Who likes cookie-cutter beauty and perfection? NOT ME! I also enjoyed the fact that every time Christian won his "Best Supporting Actor" award for The Fighter this year, my inbox flooded with Congratulatory texts. As if to say I helped him win. I'd like to think I did.

I conclude this post with an anecdote. Junior year of high school, I recall walking down the halls of CHS one day with no one else in sight. Suddenly, I noticed two of my closest friends who shall remain anonymous (Stephanie and Abby) and I guess to spark a laugh, my body instantly developed a limp, I raised my arm and shouted "Nevah feah, Brooklyn is heah!" Not sure where the limp came from, but it happened. I was fully aware that my two friends loved this Newsies quote as much as I did and my expected response was that they would giggle at my weak attempt to brighten the day. However, both unnamed friends (Stephanie and Abby) said nothing. Did nothing. Turned the corner and ignored me. Perplexed, I looked around to see an entire class of kids (that must have gotten out early) directly behind me, trying to pass, but unable due to my sudden limp and shouting. This group of kids (undoubtedly seniors) looked at me in horror. I ran. I believe I was silently judged for the remainder of my high school career. Although this happened 7 years ago, it is still vivid in my mind and haunts my memory. Perhaps a career as a newsboy is not in the stars for me. Maybe I will become The Bale Family social worker instead, or maybe the nanny to this little piece of heaven:

Dancing with my Homework

As I sit here watching Kirstie Alley ballroom dance on ABC and briefly glance at a page of statistics for a paper I don't want to write, I think to myself: let's start a blog! I'm not quite sure what direction or theme I want this blog to have, but let's just see what happens. I'm sensing it won't be serious.

Whilst bbm-ing my dear friend Kerry, I can't help but emphasize to her (and now all of you) something serious. The painful awkwardness of Brooke Burke and her hosting skillz. It's truly hard to watch. Truly. I cringe every time she cuts someone off. (I realize as I write this that I sound like a die-hard DWTS fan and that's not true. It just happens to be on. Criminal Minds on the other hand...) but seriously. Brooke. Burke. Who told her she could co-host a show? Let alone speak at all. She can keep doing those shape-up commercials though. As long as she is not speaking to another human, it's tolerable. Point of the story: I just love Ralph Macchio.

I want to be on this show. Dancing for a living and wearing sparkly things all the time. I could handle that (I'm beginning to notice that this will most likely become a "stream of consciousness" blog). I think I'm slowly losing my mind due to grad school overload. In 10 days though, it will all be better. I will be sipping cocktails and singing my karaoke heart out with my Fordham favorites. I can almost see the light. Oh wait. Nope, that was just my blackberry lighting up. I shall conclude this night with a glass of chardonnay and a yoga pose or two. Gotta open those hips. xoxo.