Red Line Stabby & The Problems with Bachelorettes

So, I made it through the move. Phew.

The newest news (besides a really swell cohabitation arrangement that is held together by love and a completely adorable appreciation for one another) is that I have switched train lines to commute back and forth from work from the Brown Line (yuppie central. Cushy, mostly pleasant, clean-ish, avoidable at 5:05 pm when it is packed like a sardine can) to the Red Line (overcrowded, full of garbage--T calls it the "chicken bone line" because there are always chicken bones on the ground from someone's lunch).

Grrrrr.

Yesterday morning, I was treated to 40 minutes (40 full minutes, people. From Lawrence to Jackson.) of heterosexual PDA unfurling with great vigor in the seats in front of me. He was touching her hair, he was stroking her cheek, they were making out, she was giggling. Blech. It's not what I want to bear witness to at 7:10 in the morning.

TODAY was a treat. I switched seats three times after I got on. One: "Sleeping" worker guy--he was not asleep but he wanted to pretend so he could have a seat to himself--taking up 20% of my seat; Two: fat lady--also taking up 20% of my seat--knitting, arms flail-y and akimbo; Three: yuppie chick reading her Red Eye, elbows up.

I am surprised I do not stab people with my fictitious swarovski-encrusted blade.

I guess I can excuse fat lady, but I do think it's sort of annoying when people do activities that involve their arms being perpendicular to their shoulders on rush hour trains. I think that things like knitting and boxing sparring practice should be reserved for non-rush-hour trains.

In other news, I read this morning in the Red Eye (in between all the seat-switching) that gays do not like it when bachelorette parties invade their bars. It made me recall the days when they wouldn't let women in at all, asking them for four and five IDs to prevent them from entering. I think that's my potential solution for the problem.

You wanna come in, bachelorette? No problem, just provide the required four IDs and you and all your girlfriends can get your drink on here. Or maybe we should just make them sign petitions to legalize gay marriage before they can come in. Or maybe, we should send them all the Spyners or Stargaze. I think that the neighborhood dykes would get a big kick out of them.

As a lesbian who does profit somewhat from the marriage industry, however, I think that more queer performers and queer industries should pop up to profit on the queers-as-popular-for-bachelorettes trend. I say there is nothing wrong with drunken bachelorettes in Catholic Schoolgirl outfits paying me handsomely to teach them how to take off their clothes.

Nope, nothing wrong with that.

Just stay out of my bars, bitches.

xox,
Ms. Bea Haven
The Great Chicago Fire