Dead Feet Walking

For the unenlightened, during the evening ride, there’s a sense of dread that settles over the streetcar when it begins to approach the streetcar yard at Connaught Street because that’s the stop where it’s determined whether a streetcar will short-turn or not. It’s probably the most holy of times because everyone is praying their streetcar doesn’t get the short-turn nod. This evening, we got a double whammy: not only were all streetcars turning back at Kingston Road due to a pedestrian accident at my streetcar stop, but the buses they were using to shuttle people further into the beaches were only going as far as Woodbine (2 stops beyond Kingston Rd). That was the moment when I realized that my decision to bring my high-heeled boots out of hibernation today was a poor one.
(Originally posted March 7, 2012 on Facebook)

He’s A Maniac, Maniac…

About a million years ago (well, it’s more like 9 years, in fact), we had this male courier appear in the office wearing rainbow-coloured leg warmers over loose grey jogging pants, a skintight pink tank top (which exposed all kinds of things that no one should have to see) and a thick white headband holding back his sweaty long hair. Small portion of the story short, eyes were averted, cheeks were bitten and ultimately it ended in a co-worker tearing off to the other side of the building so she could burst out laughing (which could be heard everywhere). Apparently the movie Flashdance kept haunting her brain and the courier was starring in it. ;p
Fastforward a few “million” years,  and I’m pretty sure I came across “Flashdance” today while passing through the Ryerson Campus. His multi-coloured hammer pants, colour-blocked (navy and pink) spring jacket, fountain-style ponytail on the top of his head and the boombox blaring Van Halen were the dead giveaway. He’s the only person I know who’s completely on trend with the current return to ’80s fashion.
(Originally posted March 3, 2012 on Facebook)

Bionic Doppelganger

You know that photo that’s been floating around since the Academy Awards featuring Angelina Jolie’s leg? Well, I came across a gentleman this evening, on my walk home from the streetcar, who was trying to imitate the pose with his sexy prosthetic leg. Sure, he didn’t have the dress, high heels, or the killer red lips, but he was flashing his limb for all he was worth, through the giant front tear in his wind pants, the prosthetic glistening (from the fine mist and periods of sn-rain, no doubt) as if it had just been waxed. Take that, Angelina’s leg! There’s a new limb in town and it’s practically bionic. ;p


(Originally posted February 29, 2012 on Facebook)

S’not Right

To the sidewalk menace who felt the need to express snot onto the sidewalk while he was walking past me, I move to have you banned from all city sidewalks and well, public areas in general. Kleenex was invented for a reason. A good ol’ fashioned sniffle works too if you need to bide your time. Hell, a sleeve wipe would have been more acceptable. Barring those options, go find a nice quiet alleyway or side street nowhere near your fellow pedestrians and have at it. Firing snot at passersby goes against the code of the sidewalk and well, pretty much every kind of etiquette in existence. I hate to make a judgement call on what type of person you are based on the nice suit, shoes and briefcase you were wearing, but you at least looked educated enough to know better.
(Originally posted January 26, 2012 on Facebook)

Anger Management

You know when you walk out of the house and you see an older couple walking down the street and you think how cute, they still hold hands after all these years. Then when you catch up to them, you suddenly realize from the tone of their voices that they’re ridiculously pissed off at one another and barely able to contain their anger, and as you’re skirting around them, a giant argument erupts and suddenly you feel real awkward for being there to witness to it? Yeah, that happened.

(Originally posted October 22, 2011 on Facebook)

My Idea of Hell

Walked into a swarm of mathletes this evening on my way through Ryerson campus. Either a math exam had just let out or it was the saddest excuse for Friday night conversaton I’ve ever had to overhear. I heard words and phrases like, “proofs,” “co-efficients,” and “I got negative 130” being bandied about as though it were an exciting sports recap. If my eyes hadn’t glazed over and my brain hadn’t gone into immediate shut down (my automatic response to math), I might have found it almost amusing.

(Originally posted November 18, 2011 on Facebook)

Mere Observations

Tonight’s random thoughts:

1) Thank god for menopausal women on the streetcar. If it wasn’t for them pulling the windows wide open, letting the cool air breeze down the aisles of a packed car, we’d all die from the heat. I promise to pay it forward when my time comes.

2) What is up with women wearing their little ballet flats sans any kind of socks or tights with the temperature hovering around zero and a smattering of snow on the ground? No one’s telling you to put pantyhose on (the Horror, the Horror), but why not take advantage of the current legging/tights trend, the latest throwback to 80’s fashion? As it is, I was forced to don an extra pair of mittens to make up for your heat loss.

3) If you have to contort your body into an unnatural position in order to stay upright and adjust your walking speed to a teetering snail’s pace to accomodate a listing 5-inch spike heel, your shoes are too high.  Note to the woman who was dangerously close to breaking an ankle: your taste in fashion is impeccable. Unfortunately, lurching around like a new foal learning to walk kinda ruined the effect.

(Originally posted December 9th, 2011 on Facebook)

The Dangers of Heel-gating

If you want to know how to nearly break your collar bone just in time for Christmas, this is what you do: go to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. Make sure to get stuck behind that family who’s meandering at a snail’s pace and clogging up the entire width of the hallway or it won’t work. When a polite “excuse me” doesn’t capture their attention, that’s when you must break all the rules of polite walking and heel-gate. This almost always yields results because it’s an assault to personal space. When one family member – teenager, say – finally gets nervous and starts edging off to the side, you must be prepared to move swiftly, in order seize the “passing” opportunity. However, you must also be prepared to deal with fall-out, you know, in the event that the nervous teen decides to stop dead in their tracks to crouch down to tie their shoes, forcing you to recall how to hurdle, and the fact that you were never a great hurdler to begin with.
(Originally posted December 11, 2011)

Circumventing a Bieber run-in

You know, I don’t usually have much use for Justin Bieber fans, but their high-pitched screams – which could be heard from 6 blocks away – were able to penetrate my cold-addled brain fog, just in time to remind me that my normal route to the streetcar was about to be disrupted by hundreds (probably more in the thousands range) of hysterical tweens and teens waiting outside Massey Hall for tonight’s taping of the Bieber Christmas Special. If I can barely tolerate the Christmas sidewalk traffic, you must be able to imagine where my thoughts turned when I pictured having a run-in with Bieber groupies (I know, I swear a lot!). So thanks, Bieber fans. May we keep never meeting up. ;p

(Originally posted December 21, 2011 on Facebook)

Sn-ice + Hills + Me = Doomed

You know when you walk out in the morning to find a thick layer of sn-ice blanketing the ground and a feeling of dread settles over you as you think about the double-tiered downhill journey before you en route to the streetcar, but you trudge on anyway, managing to stay upright down the first no-nonsense hill (despite the fact that the so-called kind souls who had shovelled the evening before had left their sidewalks barren of snow and plentiful with ice), a small amount of relief kicking in as you slowly and painstakingly wind your way down the gently descending (yet deceivingly long) hill – a victory dance flashing in your head as safe, flat ground looms before you – only to be foiled by the last foot of it, when you find yourself flailing and contorting like Bambi on ice to find balance as you skid off the sidewalk onto the even icier roadway? Welcome to my morning. ;p *No Colleens were harmed during the making of this vignette.*

(Originally posted December 30, 2011 on Facebook)