Never run after a bus or a man. There will always be another one.

Things you notice while riding the bus, that you might not otherwise:

Many, MANY men have bald spots. I wonder if *they* are aware of this?

That cool-looking building I always thought was a synagogue, next to the Rodef Shalom synagogue (I know, I know…)? It’s not – it’s a Byzantine Catholic church. Complete with a BVM. How did I miss that?

Pointy-toed boots are actually pretty dang ugly. Especially the ones with the seam right down the middle of the wearer’s foot.

There is a Korean deli/store on Fifth Ave with a sign for “Ass Noodles” in the window. I guess it’s a legit brand, but all the signs are in Korean, so all *I* see is the cute little image of a girl slurping up noodles and a big banner proclaiming “Ass Noodles!” next to her smiling face. (It made me think of Badger. I can’t imagine why.)

If you wear hijab, your bangs can’t show. And I look awful without bangs. Not that I wear hijab, I’m just saying.

Even people who look like total losers are often on cell phones on the bus and end their calls with an “I love you,” so they can’t be total losers, regardless of how dorky/geeky/slovenly dressed they are.

The forsythia is budding.

Thank God for text messaging cell phones to ward off bus boredom. Because I can’t read on the bus, I get motion sickness. Which is a real disappointment.

I am apparently the only person in the Western Hemisphere who actually uses CASH to pay her bus fare.

And my shoes are in desperate need of a good polish.

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If you are not smart enough not to fake-tan yourself orange, you are probably not really smart enough to be in college.

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My friend at the library just lent me his copy of EL Doctorow’s The March. I was kinda, sorta interested in reading this, and then it fell into my lap. So I will read it and report back. I really need to finish The Left Hand of Darkness, although the circ guy just renewed it for me, even though it was OVERDUE. I do love working in a library - the silliest perks make me happy.

And I am halfway through Speed of Dark which I am loving so much I never want it to end.

Andrea brought me The Plague and another Black Death book, and then I had to go home and dig out my copy of Daniel Defoe’s Journal of a Plague Year, and then several people on the blog recommended other plague-y books. I have a serious infectious-diseases fetish. It’s a sickness.

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My Show-and-Tell windows are coming tomorrow. I’m sorry for the delay. I swear I am not being passive-aggressive about the day. It’s just that, by the time I got the boys all breakfasted and dressed and off to preschool this morning, and then packages packed up and laundry started and dinner for tonight cooked, and everything else that required doing today, minus of course taking myself for a nice run, I left the house without the camera and just in time to hop on my bus, so I will photograph tomorrow. Primo can help and he’ll really enjoy that, as he asks each week what the show-and-tell topic is.

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Last night I went out with Andrea, to drink and eat disgusting but good food at the Sharp Edge – yay, buffalo bites! and chill. I had a few drinks, got mildly toasty, was much relaxed…and then I went home. As I opened the front door, I heard Terzo wailing, in that I-have-been-crying-so-much-I-can’t-catch-my-breath sort of way. Hiccup, hiccup, sob, pant, pant, pant, wail…repeat. I ran upstairs, my pleasant buzz forgotten, picked him up from his crib, patted him, rocked him – he wasn’t really hungry, he just must have woken up and gotten scared. Where, you might ask, was H? You MIGHT ask, because I certainly freaking did. And he was: sleeping peacefully upstairs on the third floor, door closed, humidifier on, nary a baby monitor in sight. He would not have heard an attacking horde of barbarians, much less a wailing baby. Or a three-year-old falling out of bed. Or a five-year-old having a nightmare. Or an axe murderer creeping - or for that matter, STOMPING - in to steal my children and sell them away into white slavery. He’s lucky *I* wasn’t an axe murderer, or he’d have been minus a few limbs.