I’m on the market for a new fragrance. I ran out of Calvin Klein’s lovely Eternity Summer and only sort of knew what I wanted my next fragrance to be. I’d been pining over Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle for a while — especially at the time when I acquired Eternity Summer — but I think those days are over. I don’t like the way it smells on me, so I’ve decided to just let it go. In the meantime, I’ve got a shitload of samples so I’m trying to see if any of them react well with my skin.
Euphoria, which I used briefly last fall, is pretty nice but it smells just a bit too sweet. Armani Code for women smells a bit too strong (very woman), hence the motion sickness association (I used to be greatly affected by motion sickness, and I remember my mother’s strong fragrances making me feel like I was going to puke right there and then, in whatever stuffy car we were in). Anyway — it’s nice, but sweeter and stronger than I’d like. Amor Amor by Cacharel is the front-runner at the moment.
I don’t think I’ve ever gone so long without a perfume. I usually have a new one waiting for me to finish the last few drops of the old one… I don’t know what happened here. I wanted Chanel’s Allure for a long time, but my mom got it as per my recommendation, so there you have it.
So, what else has been up since the last time I posted? Well, the issue of the moment is that public transit hasn’t been running since Tuesday. The transit union, in short, isn’t happy. Apparently, a salary averaging $50,000 a year + crazy benefits aren’t enough for them. I understand that it must be frustrating to be without a contract for such a long time (since March). But the contract — which sounds fucking swell, by the way — proposed by SEPTA was quickly turned down, complicating things ever-so-slightly.
The contract “included a $1,250 bonus upon ratification, a 2.5 percent raise the second year, and a 3 percent raise in each of the final three years.
It also called for no increase in the workers’ health-insurance contributions, which are 1 percent of base pay. It called for a graduated increase in workers’ contributions to their pensions, from 2 percent to 3.5 percent, and an increase in the maximum pension payment to retirees, from $27,000 a year to $30,000 a year.”
Do you know how many people would kill for a contract like this? I’m not sure the transit union gives a shit or even knows whom this strike is hurting. I’ll tell you: it’s the people who don’t have cars, bicycles, or any other means of getting to work. And it’s precisely those people who might lose their jobs because they can’t. get. to. work. Those are the people whose jobs most likely involve more than just sitting on their behinds pulling levers and pressing buttons to make a vehicle crawl along the tracks, driving a bus around town, or sitting behind a window to sell tickets. Jobs that most likely pay less than those greedy bastards earn each year. Jobs that also might not offer health insurance.
So that’s my outrage of the moment. FUCK the union.
Or maybe SEPTA just sucks. It’s nearly 11PM and I’m no longer fuming, but I figured I should blog this before it all becomes somewhat irrelevant.
I made two bad decisions in a row this morning — both before 10AM. My plan for today was to get up early and go to the library (at Penn) to get a potentially massive amount of work done. As I painfully tore myself away from bed, my mother told me to stay home and get some more sleep. Not wanting to seem lazy, I got up anyway and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I was so incredibly sleepy, and stood there looking at myself in the mirror, wondering what I should do; I really wanted to crawl back into my warm bed and get another two or four hours of shut-eye. After five minutes of deliberation, I jumped into the shower; it feels better to sleep when you’re clean anyway. A couple minutes later, as you may have guessed, I was wide awake and ready to tackle this hard day’s work.
Fast forward to me walking to the library after having bought a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese from the local Dunkin Donuts. I have a habit of looking at the windows of a building before I go in, partly to see what’s going on, partly to weigh the situation and see if there’s anything telling me I shouldn’t go in. It’s my paranoid side taking over, I can’t help it. The library looked strangely empty and dim, almost like it was closed. I walked up the steps and tried to discern some silhouettes, but to no avail. I finally got to the glass doors and got a good look in; nobody was there. I tried to open the doors anyway, and, of course, couldn’t.
The library was closed. Of course it was! I had just proven to my mom that I wasn’t a lazy bum, Penn just HAD to shit on my parade.
For some unknown reason, I thought that either Houston or Williams Hall would be open. But as everyone should know, if the library is closed, it most likely means that the University is closed — especially if it’s right after New Year’s Day. I’m just a dumbass, so I walked over to Houston anyway.
It was closed. So I walked over to Williams.
It was closed, too. Duh.
So I called my mother who simply said, “Ha ha haaaa!” It wasn’t even a laugh, like “hahaha!” It was a deliberate attempt to laugh at me. She asked me to go to the Reading Terminal Market to get some shits like apples and bananas, since I was going back east anyway. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get downtown.
Enter bad decision numero dos. Since I was by Williams Hall, I figured the fastest, easiest, and therefore best way to get my ass downtown would be the trolley at 37th street. BOY was I wrong! Who knew that this usually short ride would turn into thirty minutes of unspoken frustration?
After having reached 36th street, the trolley went crazy, beeped real loud, and stopped. There was a big red light on the dashboard (is that what it’s called on a trolley?), and the conductor tried to start again. Once more, it beeped and stopped. He tried another time, with the same result. It was 9:15AM, and the conductor remained strangely silent until another man showed up ten minutes later. The man poked around the trolley for a few minutes, and still nothing was explained to the passengers — and there were about fifteen of us. Interestingly, none of us said a thing nor showed any sign of dissatisfaction. Most were either sleeping or staring off into space; meanwhile, I was contemplating how warm my seat was and how much I liked the fact that SEPTA took care to heat the seats.
Two trolleys passed right by us, heading in the same direction. I wondered why they couldn’t lead us off the trolley to the functional ones.
Fifteen minutes later — that’s 9:40AM — a third SEPTA dude came and finally spoke to us. I couldn’t understand the first two sentences that he said because of his thick accent, but then I heard that we were “on the wrong track” and that if the conductor kept going, we would derail.
Fast forward five minutes, and we’re good to go. Thirty minutes wasted — a solid half hour of my life spent warming my ass up and wondering if my bagel was getting soggy.
On a brighter note, we’ve officially left 2008 behind! 2008, craptacular year, you will most definitely NOT be missed.
Why do I always end up sitting near the inconsiderate jackholes who spend their entire train ride trying to pick a ring tone? Would it be wrong to grab the phone, run to the other end of the car, throw it down violently and scream “TOUCHDOWN!”?
Why do some non-homeless people smell so awful?
And why was there no a/c on the train this morning?
It makes me want to hurl. I haven’t felt so sick on public transportation in such a long time. It didn’t help that I saw two puddles of puke–yes, two–as I walked up Market Street after my hellish morning commute.
I hate everyone. Everyone. I hate them.
On a brighter note, I almost got crapped on by a bird this morning.
concernedcitizen10 has a very good point. I’d like to add to that the fact that kids get out of school way too early. 3pm? Give me a break. That’s the time most schools have their mid-afternoon breaks in France.
The efforts to make people use public transportation instead of their cars are all in vain until this violence issue gets resolved. I’d rather pay an exorbitant amount of money for gas, waste my time in traffic jams, and get to where I’m going intact (barring any road-related injuries) than pay an exorbitant amount of money for a transpass and hand my life over to a bunch of punks.
Unfortunately, I don’t have car.
I’m sorry, this shit should not be happening.