Bus Stop, Bus Go

This morning I rode my bike to work (bring on the Spring!) -- I've been riding the bus since December when it got too cold for me. I'm a little bit of a wimp, but I don't care. The bus offers a slight diversion at least. Maybe next year I'll get a bike with fenders and avoid the rain-up-the-back winter riding.

Usually I don't mind the bus. Lots of characters on there. Some friends (not friends I made on the bus). There's a bit of a stigma associated with riding the bus around here. There's a light rail that runs here and there in Sacramento that does not have a stigma attached -- it's more urban and hip than the dirty old bus, I guess. The light rail doesn't run between West Sacramento and Downtown Sac though, and beside, riding the bus is like going to a dive bar, and you all know how I love me some dive bars.

Occasionally however, I'll meet someone either on the bus or while waiting for the bus who makes me wish it were warm enough to ride. Yesterday was such a day. I walked up to my stop and was cut off by a low to mid-twenties man with dark braids and dark eyes and a darkish complexion who said, "You have a really nice glgasbough." "Thanks," I said, not understanding him, and hoping he said something nice and would stop talking. Nope: "You're beautiful and I am lucky to gfdakibu agogi." I smiled. Whatever he said did not seem like it was going to lead to pleasant conversation. I stepped forward as though maybe my bus was coming and our friendship of circumstance was coming to an end.

"No matter how old you are, I would still like to get with you." That, he did not mumble.

First of all, being told, at a bus stop no less, that someone wants to "get with me" is not the most flattering forms of flirtation and courtship. Starting that sentence of with "No matter how old you are," is sort of like saying, "Even though you're ugly. . . ," and, statistically speaking, has no hope of success.

What's wrong with you, Strange Man at the Bus stop? You must not have had a mom to teach you about women and age. Maybe a few episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 would clear this up. Remember?

David: My dad told me that beautiful women like to be told that they're smart and smart women like to be told they're beautiful.

Donna: That's so not true.

David: It's true.

Donna: Well, which one am I?

David: You're smart.

Donna (blushing and honored): Awwww, thanks David.

[Donna, just FYI, was not known for being the sharpest knife in the drawer.]

Sort of reminiscent of Rudy, but Rudy was a little more humbled. Remember him? Maybe Rudy was on a different blog.