Upskirt

As I have mentioned before I have been taking the express bus now to work as a substitute to the subway some mornings a week. These buses are pretty high off the ground and when they stop to let you on the driver usually lowers the bus so you can climb up the stairs. “Kneeling Buses” is what they are called. I’ve noticed that this one bus driver on X90 conveniently does not do this whenever I am wearing a skirt. Because of this I have to hoist myself up on to the bus leaving a good view for all to see. I am 99% positive he does this on purpose.

Nice.

Rules of being a Pedestrian in NYC

After living and commuting here in New York for almost a year I have learned some rules of travel that I would like to pass on to whoever may decide to visit the Big Apple.

1. Never walk two across down any sort of narrow stairway. Ever.

2. Do not walk two across on constricted or very busy sidewalks. An example of “very busy” would be the Financial District during rush hour or Herald Square just about anytime a day. On a regular, moderately crowded sidewalk it is acceptable to walk two across but never ever three or more.

3. ALWAYS look where you are walking. If you do not you will walk into something, someone, be hit by a moving vehicle or possibly a piece of construction debris.

4. If you must stop to look at something, go over to the side of the sidewalk, street, subway station-wherever- just get out of the way. Examples of places not to stop to look at your map, check out the scene or talk to somebody include as follows:

The middle of a sidewalk
Any sort of intersection
The edge of curb when you have the walk signal
The stairs or entrance of the subway (!!!!)
In front of a subway turnstile

5. This last one is a more advanced skill that has taken me almost this whole year to cultivate. There is a certain level of aggressiveness that is expected and appropriate on the subway. However this is a fine line. If one is too passive, you yourself and also the people behind you will never get anywhere. At all. Everyone secretly or not-so-secretly will hate you. However if you are too pushy you will just be that self-absorbed asshole that everyone hates and wishes to be hit by the train. Or at least get caught and dragged (just a little!) in the closing doors.

Controlled Chaos- or Uncontrolled?

This afternoon there are delays everywhere on the subway. No particular disaster or anything, just one of those afternoons. When the train finally comes rolling into to the Wall Street platform the rush to squeeze on is more beastly than usual. Although I say it usually is a tough fit to get in the car (with elbows and minor grunting) USUALLY most people are pretty civilized. This is not the case today. People are freaking out in frustration while they force other commuters with their bodies.

Hey Man can you move in? C’mon just f*cking make room.

You just need to chill out- CHILL OUT we are ALL trying to get on.

Stop pushing me b*tch!!

It is even worse when I transfer over to the 6 at Grand Central. I actually see a woman physically shove another woman across the platform. I have never seen anything like it. Even more outstanding is she just keeps right on walking, doesn’t even turn around to see who her aggressor may be. Although the subway is always crowded during rush hour with cranky and tired people, the air today just has an aggressive edge to it that I have never quite seen come out before.

Beautiful Women and a Girl with a Staring Problem

This afternoon on the 5 train home I study an exceptionally stunning girl. Thin but not skinny, tan but not orange and waxy, symmetrical face, long long dark hair, big eyes and small turned up nose that all the celebrities go to their plastic surgeons to get. I find I stare constantly and probably a bit creepily at attractive women on the subway. Does this make me a little bit of a lesbian? Maybe... I just like to look at nice things, especially when surrounded by a lot of not-nice things, like a subway tunnel. I see a lot of models. Not like big-time Gisele Bundchens but plenty of runway models, and B-list print ones. I can always tell right away- always tall, always striking, always dressed in a way that quite hasn’t come into mainstream fashion yet, and usually with a bored, slightly coked-out expression.


I also see women that are definitely beautiful enough to be models yet are simply just too smart. Dressed up in perfectly tailored business suits they look like they have fun, sexy sounding jobs in public relations, media communications, or publishing. Jobs that either their good looks or their well-connected daddies got them but their intelligence allows them to be successful at. I guess I stare at them too.

Thursday is the Best Day

In the mornings now since it is fall again there are unfortunately school children on the subway. I do not believe the subway, actually most of Manhattan is a place for children. That’s just a personal opinion. Anyways, I was eavesdropping on a conversation that a group of young boys were having, chaperoned by one of their nannies.

Thursday is my favorite day.

No hey dawg, Wednesday is MY favorite day.

No WAY. Thursday is best because we have a long gym block.

Well Wednesday we have art AND social studies…

And so it went.

I long to be back in school when some days of the week were actually different than others. Now every day is exactly the same now in terms of bestness and worstness. I suppose Friday is better. But really it is only the end of Friday that makes any difference. No matter what city you live in I am sure you can empathize. Sigh.

VIP and VP(?)

Since I have been taking the bus sometimes in the morning I have been noticing a beautiful brick row house on Sutton Place and 57th street that we always pass. I’ve started to observe that every morning there is a man in suit standing outside the front door. He has a wire and earpiece- a secret service agent. He is always standing next to a black BMW with tinted windows with a government license plate. There is also another car, a giant scary-looking security SUV with a driver waiting inside. WHO is staying there? Who ARE you? Every morning I try to catch a glimpse of this uber special person but so far no luck. Mr. Super Important remains elusive. I must say I get much more excited about government figures and big business heads than I do about trashy celebrities any day.


Also this morning while on the bus I notice a new high-rise being built across the river in Brooklyn. A gigantic sign on the partially constructed building reads “SARAH PALIN LIVE HERE. SEE WALL STREET.” I am not sure what that even means or the significance of it. It is so big I can easily read it from my bus, speeding along the highway all the way across the East River.

Breathing in the Fresh Air of the West Side Highway Exhaust

This morning as I get off the subway and walk across Liberty Plaza I pause for a minute on the top of the stairs, in front of the Brooks Brothers store. The crisp October wind whips my hair all crazy as I look out over the scene from my elevated viewpoint. Since there is a gaping space where the world trade center once stood I can see fragmented pieces of the distant skies over the Hudson, tinged with pink and yellow. A new morning, a new Monday, a new week in New York. The steady pulse of jackhammers drilling away at Ground Zero scream in the foreground.

This isn’t so bad, I think to myself.

I'll Take A 6 Train With a Side of Tits

On the 6 train home this afternoon there is a girl seated in front of where I am standing. What I notice right away is that her breasts are completely busting out of her shirt. She is not particularly slutty looking, or even has THAT gigantic of boobs. They are simply just hanging out.

Ladies and Gentleman tits are on the menu tonight on the 6 train buffet.

Big and white they are really just spilling everywhere. Her boyfriend, sitting next to her sees me staring straight down at them. He is either a) creeped out because I am a stranger and I am staring b) disgusted and feeling that I am violating his girlfriend by looking there or c) excited by the this fact. However I just can’t stop gazing intently. When she finally stands up and gets off at 59th street nearly every man in the car tries not to look at her breasts- bouncing and rolling with every step.

Only some are successful.

Magazine

I notice this afternoon that the three people standing in front of me as I sit on the 5 train are all reading the exact same thing- New York Magazine’s 40^th Anniversary edition. The same magazine I too was reading all last week on the subway and finally finished this morning. I also notice someone else seated across from me reading the identical New York Times Sunday Magazine from two weekends ago that I am currently flipping through now. Everyone likes to say New York is so diverse and we like to think we are such individuals. But really we are all the same.

Oh Tranny...No?

This afternoon on the six I take notice of a youngish woman seated across from me. What catches my eye right away is her mustache. Dark and foreboding it crusts around her mouth in ways I have only seen on the most mountain of men. What takes it over the top is that she also has facial stubble- a full blown five o'clock shadow...only it is four o'clock (I got out early today due to the bank holiday). Everything else about her is feminine enough- dark skinny jeans and black ballet flats, the fall uniform of nearly every 24-year old girl here in the city.


Now unfortunately being half-Italian I know first hand of having to remove body hair that is a little...darker. I can also understand when old wrinkly ladies have some runaway stays on their face. But this woman has a very long way to go until her golden years. I try not to look but I really have never seen anything like this.


The thought crosses my mind that she is really actually a man...however after almost a year in this city my tran-dar is quite developed and accurate. Despite the facial hair, she is no guy. This is a different kind of being that I have not been able to classify yet. Not a man, not a woman, not a man trying to be a woman, not a woman trying to be a man...


hmmm

Disfigured

This morning I see a woman that I sometimes see on the 4 train during my commute. She has short styled gray hair, is always in a business suit and appears to be in her 50s maybe. The reason I keep noticing her is that she has a disfigured face. If I were perhaps more talented I could describe it to you in great detail but I simply can’t. I just can’t. I try not to look but I cannot help it- I think I am just trying to make sense of it, trying to make myself feel better about a stranger with a horrific face. Everyone knows you shouldn’t stare at people with a disability or deformation. I feel like it would be much worse though to never have anyone make ever make eye contact with you because they are too afraid to look.