Hello faithful followers,
Although one half of the bus hoppers duo will be out of the greater Bay Area for the next two weeks, the other half will be back and ready to take the city by storm...via bus, bus, and more bus.
Also, look out for updates on bus hopping and trolley hopping in the San Diego area...it could get real, real fast.
That is all.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Pretty Young Things
It's like all my friends on the bus know that I write a blog about buses.
Since this will be my last AC Transit-based post until I come back from my homeward bound adventures, the 1 knew exactly how to bid me farewell in style on this hot day that made my brain melt.
As I walked to the the bus stop on my way to Oakland I did wonder what my trip on the 1 would be like since last weekend proved to be nothing short of underwhelming...or maybe it was just whelming.
Waiting at the 1 stop on Telegraph and Dwight never ceases to amaze me and today all of my friends were out in full force.
I realized today that just because I can't hear all of the characters at the bus stop doesn't mean that they don't want to be my friend.
Standing next to the old pay phone seemed to encourage the homeless Frick and Frack to stage a bit of performance art in front of my very eyes. The man in the safari surfer hat decided to eat his delicious burrito directly in front of me while his other half (man or woman...hard to say) chugged her canned beer and did a little jig.
The beer turned out to be so good that once she was done she smashed it against a tree...
Between the sounds of the street and my own faithful music, she appeared to be rapping about "fucking this city with a million dollars." Too true too soon.
Finally the 1 arrived but there was some street mojo that had to be straightened out first. The beer infused friend confronted another friend in dark dark sunglasses and apparently said something that made him very angry...so much so that he started to choke him/her a lot yelling "I thought I told you I never wanted to see your face around here again!!"
Due to the drama of this situation, the bus driver didn't allow the drunkst choking victim onto the bus for fear of a re-enactment from the 1989 hit "Crackhouse".
But wait there's more. Who knew that there were silver foxes in Oakland?
Usually one might define silver fox as: An attractive older man. Generally, one that has gray hair and is often desired by younger women. (Thank you Urban Dictionary).
In actuality it seemed that one can think of himself as a silver fox even if he appears to be potentially homeless but is actually only in need of the keys to the gallery next to yours.
Let's just say that this fellow...we'll call him Steve...was very much interested in coming into the gallery I happened to be sitting in this afternoon and wanted to chat it up. He must have come into the gallery at least 6 times asking what time it was (really? you don't even have a watch?). Then he asked if I wanted a beer since he just found some in a back shed! The best was when he asked if I was the pretty young thing they hired to sit in the gallery. All in all good pick up lines that unfortunately did not work.
Coming home, the 1 was 45 minutes late as I melted like a small angry popsicle in the funny Oakland sun.
And surely riding the bus is never the most comfortable experience, but at the end of the day (like the insightful man on the 1 this afternoon announced) we are all just trying to get by.
Since this will be my last AC Transit-based post until I come back from my homeward bound adventures, the 1 knew exactly how to bid me farewell in style on this hot day that made my brain melt.
As I walked to the the bus stop on my way to Oakland I did wonder what my trip on the 1 would be like since last weekend proved to be nothing short of underwhelming...or maybe it was just whelming.
Waiting at the 1 stop on Telegraph and Dwight never ceases to amaze me and today all of my friends were out in full force.
I realized today that just because I can't hear all of the characters at the bus stop doesn't mean that they don't want to be my friend.
Standing next to the old pay phone seemed to encourage the homeless Frick and Frack to stage a bit of performance art in front of my very eyes. The man in the safari surfer hat decided to eat his delicious burrito directly in front of me while his other half (man or woman...hard to say) chugged her canned beer and did a little jig.
The beer turned out to be so good that once she was done she smashed it against a tree...
Between the sounds of the street and my own faithful music, she appeared to be rapping about "fucking this city with a million dollars." Too true too soon.
Finally the 1 arrived but there was some street mojo that had to be straightened out first. The beer infused friend confronted another friend in dark dark sunglasses and apparently said something that made him very angry...so much so that he started to choke him/her a lot yelling "I thought I told you I never wanted to see your face around here again!!"
Due to the drama of this situation, the bus driver didn't allow the drunkst choking victim onto the bus for fear of a re-enactment from the 1989 hit "Crackhouse".
But wait there's more. Who knew that there were silver foxes in Oakland?
Usually one might define silver fox as: An attractive older man. Generally, one that has gray hair and is often desired by younger women. (Thank you Urban Dictionary).
In actuality it seemed that one can think of himself as a silver fox even if he appears to be potentially homeless but is actually only in need of the keys to the gallery next to yours.
Let's just say that this fellow...we'll call him Steve...was very much interested in coming into the gallery I happened to be sitting in this afternoon and wanted to chat it up. He must have come into the gallery at least 6 times asking what time it was (really? you don't even have a watch?). Then he asked if I wanted a beer since he just found some in a back shed! The best was when he asked if I was the pretty young thing they hired to sit in the gallery. All in all good pick up lines that unfortunately did not work.
Coming home, the 1 was 45 minutes late as I melted like a small angry popsicle in the funny Oakland sun.
And surely riding the bus is never the most comfortable experience, but at the end of the day (like the insightful man on the 1 this afternoon announced) we are all just trying to get by.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Hola Bonita or How I Survived Shattuck Ave.
Bus hopping truly requires letting go of all and any fears...particularly those fears that come with wearing a summer dress on the bus (as has been noted in past adventures). However, there comes a time when all the friends and characters not on the bus make us question traveling by foot.
Yesterday was a spectacular summer day that nearly mimicked any day in Southern California. As I walked down Shattuck Avenue amongst all of the regulars and those getting off work, I knew I had one mission and one mission only: to get on the 51B and go back home.
This indeed was not as simple as it sounded. As I attempted to walk down the seedy sidewalk, a petite teddy-graham shaped cholo stumbled past me remarking "Hola Bonita...mmm...you are guapa!"
To this I could only say "Bleh" and roll my eyes. But afterwards I wondered many things: 1) How many times has this "pick-up" line ever really worked in all honesty? 2) Why should I have to worry about cholos in Berkeley? 3) I should be able to wear summer clothes in the summer. And scene.
Maybe he thought I was Nancy Botwin from Weeds, but I wasn't even driving around in a Prius with an iced coffee in hand.
All I knew was that even if I were to get looked at on the bus in my summer garb, at least I wouldn't have to deal with miniature friends in baggy pants and flannel.
And in this I realized why riding the bus was in fact a magical, sacred ritual that nothing could top.
Yesterday was a spectacular summer day that nearly mimicked any day in Southern California. As I walked down Shattuck Avenue amongst all of the regulars and those getting off work, I knew I had one mission and one mission only: to get on the 51B and go back home.
This indeed was not as simple as it sounded. As I attempted to walk down the seedy sidewalk, a petite teddy-graham shaped cholo stumbled past me remarking "Hola Bonita...mmm...you are guapa!"
To this I could only say "Bleh" and roll my eyes. But afterwards I wondered many things: 1) How many times has this "pick-up" line ever really worked in all honesty? 2) Why should I have to worry about cholos in Berkeley? 3) I should be able to wear summer clothes in the summer. And scene.
Maybe he thought I was Nancy Botwin from Weeds, but I wasn't even driving around in a Prius with an iced coffee in hand.
All I knew was that even if I were to get looked at on the bus in my summer garb, at least I wouldn't have to deal with miniature friends in baggy pants and flannel.
And in this I realized why riding the bus was in fact a magical, sacred ritual that nothing could top.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Chronicles of a Cookie Monster
When bus hopping, as discussed before, it is necessary to recognize the mystical magic that comes with carrying food and other treats onto the bus.
We found on our way to the BBQ in Oakland this weekend with kabobs, beer, and cookies that were not only for us but were potentially up for grabs for the entire bus stop and bus goers.
When waiting for the 1 for nearly 45 minutes with food and drinks in hand, one has to wonder when it is okay to bust out raw kabobs on the bus and subsequently start drinking our beers.
Luckily we didn't have to take our adventures to this level, but we were thinking seriously about it.
Likewise, we realized that the Lindsay Lohan raspy-voiced man waiting with us at the bus stop is truly the Cookie Montser of the East Bay.
Maybe we shouldn't call so much attention to our cookies by carrying them in large tupperware containers as it is quite difficult to hide a large tupperware container in a bright yellow purse.
Though we thought we got away from the Cookie Monster, the chase was not over.
The next day when traveling by foot (oh the horror!) I found myself passing by the same Cookie Monster yet again as I carried a very small tupperware full of cookies on the mean streets of Telegraph.
He was extra aggresive this time and kept yelling "I WANT SOME COOKIES GIRRRL!"
I couldn't help but laugh and Julliard-dance myself away from him....only to consider that we would most definitely meet again.
We found on our way to the BBQ in Oakland this weekend with kabobs, beer, and cookies that were not only for us but were potentially up for grabs for the entire bus stop and bus goers.
When waiting for the 1 for nearly 45 minutes with food and drinks in hand, one has to wonder when it is okay to bust out raw kabobs on the bus and subsequently start drinking our beers.
Luckily we didn't have to take our adventures to this level, but we were thinking seriously about it.
Likewise, we realized that the Lindsay Lohan raspy-voiced man waiting with us at the bus stop is truly the Cookie Montser of the East Bay.
Maybe we shouldn't call so much attention to our cookies by carrying them in large tupperware containers as it is quite difficult to hide a large tupperware container in a bright yellow purse.
Though we thought we got away from the Cookie Monster, the chase was not over.
The next day when traveling by foot (oh the horror!) I found myself passing by the same Cookie Monster yet again as I carried a very small tupperware full of cookies on the mean streets of Telegraph.
He was extra aggresive this time and kept yelling "I WANT SOME COOKIES GIRRRL!"
I couldn't help but laugh and Julliard-dance myself away from him....only to consider that we would most definitely meet again.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
What's better than Kabobs on the bus? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Part 2
After so much action on the 1, or rather, leading up to the 1, we knew we had to take a break before our next adventure to our old neighbors' house for a BBQ. So we stopped back at the home base castle to make some kabobs and fill our shopping bags with beer.
A thirty minute nap and the skewering of 2 bell peppers, 2 sausages and a handful of onions got us all pepped up for another bus adventure. We grabbed a sweater each and headed down to the good 'ol 1 stop on Telegraph (if you haven't checked it out, make haste). And we waited. and waited, and waited and waited andwaitedandwaitedandwaitedandwaited. Made some new friends who wanted to steal our cookies. Were serenaded by a man playing a duct-tape guitar ("Throw some golf balls and rubber tires in that mother-fucker...got a volcano in my backyard", a new song brought to you by the bus stop band). andwaitedandwaitedandwaited.
"What's our cut-off?" "5:30. There is NO way I'm waiting for this betch longer than an hour. No matter how much I love the 1." and just like that, magically our baby appeared, another 13 year old at the helm.
Side question: are there ANY requirements for an AC Transit bus driver? I mean honestly, do you even have to have a driver's license? or eyes?
Seated ourselves in the back (kind of our thing, if you know what I mean...) next to a couple VERY outspoken young ladies, who seemed like they might have been responsible for the filming of a favorite bus hopper's video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWoE__ICkkc&feature=related. Not to mention their matching cheetah print leggings, gold teeth, and sweet tattoos (Chest tat of "family first"...next adventure, we're going to go get inked...stay tuned).
Switched to the 57 deep in West Oakland. There was NNNNNOOOOOOO way we were making that switch after dark on the way back. Looks like we're making boyfriends with cars tonight. Gotta have a plan.
Some members of our team (cough cough, not to name names) neglected to write down the directions for post-bus. Luckily, we hopped off next to the Budget Inn of West Oakland, seeing some old friends dancing their way through the parking lot. That's what networking is for, you never know when you'll need a sweet 50-something prostitute to help you out.
Anyway, long story short (well, not really...more like short story long...) we made it to the BBQ and got a ride home. No details for you ;)
A thirty minute nap and the skewering of 2 bell peppers, 2 sausages and a handful of onions got us all pepped up for another bus adventure. We grabbed a sweater each and headed down to the good 'ol 1 stop on Telegraph (if you haven't checked it out, make haste). And we waited. and waited, and waited and waited andwaitedandwaitedandwaitedandwaited. Made some new friends who wanted to steal our cookies. Were serenaded by a man playing a duct-tape guitar ("Throw some golf balls and rubber tires in that mother-fucker...got a volcano in my backyard", a new song brought to you by the bus stop band). andwaitedandwaitedandwaited.
"What's our cut-off?" "5:30. There is NO way I'm waiting for this betch longer than an hour. No matter how much I love the 1." and just like that, magically our baby appeared, another 13 year old at the helm.
Side question: are there ANY requirements for an AC Transit bus driver? I mean honestly, do you even have to have a driver's license? or eyes?
Seated ourselves in the back (kind of our thing, if you know what I mean...) next to a couple VERY outspoken young ladies, who seemed like they might have been responsible for the filming of a favorite bus hopper's video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWoE__ICkkc&feature=related. Not to mention their matching cheetah print leggings, gold teeth, and sweet tattoos (Chest tat of "family first"...next adventure, we're going to go get inked...stay tuned).
Switched to the 57 deep in West Oakland. There was NNNNNOOOOOOO way we were making that switch after dark on the way back. Looks like we're making boyfriends with cars tonight. Gotta have a plan.
Some members of our team (cough cough, not to name names) neglected to write down the directions for post-bus. Luckily, we hopped off next to the Budget Inn of West Oakland, seeing some old friends dancing their way through the parking lot. That's what networking is for, you never know when you'll need a sweet 50-something prostitute to help you out.
Anyway, long story short (well, not really...more like short story long...) we made it to the BBQ and got a ride home. No details for you ;)
Hey sista, can you spare a quarter? Part 1
When the sun is shining and there's nothing to do but ride buses and drink strawberry daiquiris, you know it's time to jump in your prettiest summer frock and ask yourself, or your roommate, "Is this a bus-hoppers kind of day?"
The obvious answer is yes, with the one caveat, "Am I ready to get all them bugs in my vajay?" There are just some occupational hazards we must incur, and the dress was a non-negotiable.
So ya'll don't get lost, I'm going to break the journey down by route. The adventure was as follows (in case you want to replicate it): 51B, 72 (southbound), 72M (northbound), 1 (northbound), *break*, 1 (southbound), 57.
As a seasoned bus hopper, you know it's going to be a good day when you step on to College Ave with nothing but a borrowed bus pass and a water bottle full of wine (not yet true, but an idea we're playing with...) and there, coming full speed ahead as if driven by a 14 year old is your new favorite bus, the 51B. Oh, there was no doubt about it, definitely going to be a good day. We scooted our way to the back of the bus, settling our bare legs onto the cozy blue plastic seats ("the bugs, the bugs!"), happily on our double date with a couple fine looking 40-something, mustached gentlemen.
We hopped off at the Pab (San Pablo for you novices out there) and ran (yes, actually ran...this is a full time gig you know) to catch the 72. Thus began our journey into Oaktown: bibles, bottles, babies and all. We kept on ridin' because we knew it had to get worse before it could get better and we had no need for a new weave or a fire and brimstone sermon. Finally, we embarked onto a fairly safe looking street and stopped in at a good ol' Starbucks (a favorite friend depot for these travelers). "You ladies lookin' for something to do? My [frat] bros and I are having a BBQ in Ocean Beach." Thanks Starbucks man, you sure know how to make some ladies feel special.
Walk walk walk, watched a baby run 8 miles back and forth in Jack London Square. Crazy babies.
Finally, we headed back. The 72M was a nice quiet bus with a rowdy man ready for any type of sportcasting emergency that might rear it's head. After yelling at a young woman, who was completely minding her own business, he accused the bus driver of "chastising a blind man." A good scuffle ensued, thanks for the fun Sportscaster Dan.
And then there was the One. Any good bus hopper has to have their fail safe: that one bus that you know is guaranteed for a good time, like that booty call boy that's just too good to delete out of your phone. And to think we almost took the
51A ...idiots.
As we stood, waiting for the purple lights to announce our old friend's arrival, a man approached us, seemingly sprung from the man hole on the sidewalk of our West Oakland bus stop. He casually asked me, "Hey sista, can you spare a quarter?" I did the old avoid-eye-contact-pretend-to-be-dead thing, which was the exact WRONG move. "Red faced (assed?) bitch, I'm a break yo brains with this bottle bitch!" Thank god his glassy, cataract crazy eyes couldn't see us basically lose our shit, almost peed my pants from laughing so hard.
Moral of the story, you can always count on the 1.
The obvious answer is yes, with the one caveat, "Am I ready to get all them bugs in my vajay?" There are just some occupational hazards we must incur, and the dress was a non-negotiable.
So ya'll don't get lost, I'm going to break the journey down by route. The adventure was as follows (in case you want to replicate it): 51B, 72 (southbound), 72M (northbound), 1 (northbound), *break*, 1 (southbound), 57.
As a seasoned bus hopper, you know it's going to be a good day when you step on to College Ave with nothing but a borrowed bus pass and a water bottle full of wine (not yet true, but an idea we're playing with...) and there, coming full speed ahead as if driven by a 14 year old is your new favorite bus, the 51B. Oh, there was no doubt about it, definitely going to be a good day. We scooted our way to the back of the bus, settling our bare legs onto the cozy blue plastic seats ("the bugs, the bugs!"), happily on our double date with a couple fine looking 40-something, mustached gentlemen.
We hopped off at the Pab (San Pablo for you novices out there) and ran (yes, actually ran...this is a full time gig you know) to catch the 72. Thus began our journey into Oaktown: bibles, bottles, babies and all. We kept on ridin' because we knew it had to get worse before it could get better and we had no need for a new weave or a fire and brimstone sermon. Finally, we embarked onto a fairly safe looking street and stopped in at a good ol' Starbucks (a favorite friend depot for these travelers). "You ladies lookin' for something to do? My [frat] bros and I are having a BBQ in Ocean Beach." Thanks Starbucks man, you sure know how to make some ladies feel special.
Walk walk walk, watched a baby run 8 miles back and forth in Jack London Square. Crazy babies.
Finally, we headed back. The 72M was a nice quiet bus with a rowdy man ready for any type of sportcasting emergency that might rear it's head. After yelling at a young woman, who was completely minding her own business, he accused the bus driver of "chastising a blind man." A good scuffle ensued, thanks for the fun Sportscaster Dan.
And then there was the One. Any good bus hopper has to have their fail safe: that one bus that you know is guaranteed for a good time, like that booty call boy that's just too good to delete out of your phone. And to think we almost took the
51A ...idiots.
As we stood, waiting for the purple lights to announce our old friend's arrival, a man approached us, seemingly sprung from the man hole on the sidewalk of our West Oakland bus stop. He casually asked me, "Hey sista, can you spare a quarter?" I did the old avoid-eye-contact-pretend-to-be-dead thing, which was the exact WRONG move. "Red faced (assed?) bitch, I'm a break yo brains with this bottle bitch!" Thank god his glassy, cataract crazy eyes couldn't see us basically lose our shit, almost peed my pants from laughing so hard.
Moral of the story, you can always count on the 1.
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