Sugar Ray

Some might say I'm trying to blow my own trumpet again, but really I'm not.

Yesterday I helped an amply sized blind man cross the street. I was standing at Flinders St station waiting for the pedestrian lights to go green, when a blind guy nearly tripped over another dude who dropped his change. The blind guy, let's call him Ray, then proceeded to shout out ''Can someone help me cross the road?"

Well at least I think this is what he said, cos I did have my iPod on full blast at the time. Everybody standing around him looked down at their feet...duh people, he can't see! Avoiding his gaze makes no difference! I walked over to him and offered him my arm. Well I wasn't gonna hold his hand, he was clutching onto a McDonalds bag and I really couldn't deal with the grease. (See previous blog about touching ANYTHING that isn't myself...ahem)

So the lights changed and we walked over to the tram stop, to catch a tram up St Kilda Road. He said he needed the Glen Iris tram and I said I would take him to the conductor, to make sure they helped him board the correct tram. That kind of got me off the hook of having to wait for his tram, cos I can catch most trams going up St Kilda Rd. I digress boringly...

Anyway the strangest part of helping this young chap was when he started singing along to some cheesy loud music. I thought that was cute. This guy was kinda funny.

Then this morning walking along by myself to the tram stop, I heard the same music again. Gee that's weird I thought, there must be someone playing music this time every morning. Can't they invest in an iPod like everyone else? Then I realised that it was Kate Ceberano's 'Bedroom Eyes' and the music was coming from a scary advertisement featuring Kate in control briefs. Scary leopard print control briefs.




















And at that point, I envied the blind dude...if only for a second.

Can't touch this

I was raised to be paranoid about germs. By both parents. It hasn't just affected me but my siblings too. We are the type of family who cannot touch anything in public and open doors with a kerchief. Which poses a particular problem when riding on public transport.

Luckily for the rest of my family they avoid PT like the plague and work in locations that are reasonably accessible by car. But little ol' me, rides to work each day with an anxiety bordering on obsessive compulsive disorder.

I would love to say that I have rock hard abs, and I probably do under my thick layer of belly blubber, as I have almost mastered the art of adopting an anti-falling stance on PT, with a "look Mum, no hands!" approach. I say almost, as although I don my tram legs (similar to sea legs, you get the drift), on some trips I am forced to grab hold of the nearest greasy handle to save my own life and those around me. This fills me with deep regret and I feel tainted for the rest of the trip until I can get into work and wash my hands. I make a point of remembering which is my 'dirty' hand, and make sure that I do not use this hand for clean things, like holding my takeaway coffee cup or scratching my face...

So if you see a crazy chick, with red goggles, wild brown hair, legs akimbo, concentrating hard not to hold on and muttering curse words under her breath, that's me or one of the other million germaphobic people catching a tram to work. Hey, that handle slime can't be good for you...

Random poetry interjected between lame public transport rhetoric

Yep...a 'state the obvious' title.

Apologies peeps, I've been away for a while. Prepaid internet will get you every time you are down and out. Oh well, it's better than signing up to stupid limitless technology like an Iphone plan with...oh yeah I promised myself I wouldn't name people or pick on companies in this blog...

I don't give a fuck (Malades du travail)

It's a curious affliction,
That affects my diction
and reduces me to a puddle of fuck.

I would love to say that I sweat and I toil,
But the reality is I foil
wrap everything in sight.

If it's hidden,
Then I'm smitten
with delusions of peace and calm.

I feel like shrieking and shouting,
I'm alive, I'm here, don't discount me,
But to do so would be to be labelled a freak
and I'm not going back down that road.