(#38) The "Mannequin Lover" I Should've

The other day, I was walking down the street next to the Boston Common when I noticed a strange man coming my direction.

He wore what I assumed (and hoped) was a long, scraggly black wig on underneath a top hat with sunglasses and a black jacket which was much too short for his skinny, long arms. Yes, this is odd, but it gets even odder.

The man was carrying a legless mannequin with a matching getup!

I just gawked as I kept walking, but I should've . . . run up to the man and grabbed at the mannequin, sobbing and shouting "You told me it was over between you two! You promised me it was over! I love you, baby! Please, come back to me! Don't do this! Don't do this to me, baby!"

(#37) The "Wedding Trash Talk" I Should've

The other day, my roommate and I were meeting some people for dinner at a restaurant downtown. It turned out these friends were going to be late (thank you, Green line), so we decided to cross the street and hang out in a park until they arrived.

While roaming around the park, we saw a wedding party taking pictures.

I should've . . . walked through the wedding party and said really obnoxious things like "That wedding dress makes you look fat" or "The bridesmaid's dresses look like birth control pills" or "You know your husband slept with my sister last night, right? Yeah. She's got herpes. Have fun with that."

(#36) The "Bicycle Butt Slap" I Should've

Last night, a friend was driving me home. We were going down a road that had a bike lane on the right hand side and there were two bicyclists pedaling away.

I Should've . . . rolled down my window, slapped the bicyclists on the butt as we passed them, and said "Good job saving the environment, you dirty hippies!"

(#35) The "Plate Swap" I Should've

Last week, I was informed of a free seminar about combating writer's block and procrastination. It sounded great. Free advice from a professional? But wait, it gets better. The promotional material I received promised a free book, a free personal consultation, AND a free meal--all for just showing up and listening to this woman speak! Forget the book, forget the advice, they had me at "free meal."

Unfortunately, when I got to the event this evening, the "free meal" was actually four veggie platters. I was pissed. I'd skipped dinner.

So, I did what most people would do. I piled a plate high and ate my humus and veggies while secretly cursing everyone present.

After finishing my plate (which, sadly, was a pitiful 6" plate), I noticed the woman sitting next to me was talking to someone else. Her back was turned to me and her plate of fresh veggies and humus stood within my reach.

I should've . . . stealthily swapped my empty plate for her full plate. Two things could have happened at that point. 1) She could have realized I was stealing her food. In response, I would have told her not to be selfish. OR 2) She wouldn't have noticed right away, and when she finally did (at which point I probably would have already consumed her food), I would have pointed to the man sitting behind me and shook my head in disbelief.

(#34) The "Posthumous" I Should've

Tonight in my Textual Editing and Criticism class, we were discussing the work of Thomas Wolfe. He was a well-known author back in the earlier part of the 20th century. One of his works, Look Homeward, Angel is considered to be controversial because of how he collaborated with his editor, Maxwell Perkins, to bring the novel into print (changing the novel in many drastic ways).

To better illustrate Wolfe's body of work, our professor drew several circles on the whiteboard. One to represent each of the novels Wolfe wrote while alive and then another circle with two smaller circles with an X in each of them to represent Wolfe's work that was published after he died. I thought this last circle was hilarious because the professor didn't realize what he drew closely resembled.



As he continued talking, I should've . . . calmly walked up to the front of the classroom, gently took the dry erase marker from his hand, completed the picture, and then sat back down in my seat because I'm sure everyone in the class was wanting to do the same thing. Especially since the circle was labeled "Posthumous". How ironic.

(#33) The "More Stretching" I Should've

If there is anything I have learned during my time in public transit, it's "Don't be a complete jerk to the crazy person on the T. You'll probably see him/her again."

This held true this evening when I saw the same man who showed me how to properly stretch the other day. This evening, he did not have enormous fake flowers stuck to his hat, but he was carrying a bunch of pussy willows and several plastic grocery bags.

Tonight, he started talking about how the Mass General Hospital put him "back together" after he stepped on a landmine in the war (Vietnam?), how nigga is just a word and that there are white niggas and black niggas (the man, himself, was Black, so, I guess he can say that), and he even lowered himself to the floor and showed everyone how to stretch again. He was very vocal--as most crazy people are--and even told a woman to "knock that white nigga (the man she was with) out if he does anything wrong." At one point, he dropped his bags and sent a bottle of Budweiser and a little brown bottle of a different alcoholic liquid spinning across the floor of the train.

Oh, there were so many things I should've done.

I should've . . . shouted "Amen!" loudly every time he said something strange, told him that I didn't believe he was in the war and asked for specific details for him to prove it, or snatched away his pussy willows and ran off when the T came to my stop. He could have gotten more pussy willows when he's sleeping down by the river. No big deal.

(#32) The "Stretching" I Should've

Surprise, surprise, I met another crazy person on the T last night.

He was on older, thin gentleman who had a bounce in his step despite the cane he was using. I spotted him in the T station before getting on because he was very loud, had a brimmed hat with two huge fake flowers sticking out of it, and had a small American flag tucked into his shirt collar like a makeshift bib.

This gentleman ended up sitting five seats away from me when the train came. At first, I tried to just read my New Yorker but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something odd. The old guy was gripping a vertical handrail in each hand, his legs stretched out before him, and he was slowly sliding off the seat to the floor.

Thinking that he was slipping off the seat and needing help, I asked him if he needed help. He was, after all, pretty old looking and had a cane. The man replied that he was okay, that he was just stretching. He lowered himself onto the ground and began swinging his legs around, saying "You got to remember to breathe when you stretch" while making a bulgy-eyed, bitter beer face as he breathed in and out dramatically. "This is how I stay young," he said. "I'm 75 years old. But I know how to take a hit!"

I should've . . . told the guy I wanted to learn how to stretch like him and then followed his example, throwing myself on the floor of the T but stretching in ways that the man would not have approved of--just to make him try and explain himself and his unusual methods.

(#31) The "There's Spit In This" I Should've

So, my BFF came into town for Spring Break (Woooo! Spring Break! Party!) and I've been showing her around Boston.

We went to this great restaurant near Harvard Square called Bartley's. It's this amazing burger joint that has these specialty burgers with funny names such as the Viagra, the Michelle Obama, the Facebook, and many others. Even though the server was great and kept refilling on a regular basis, I had an urge to do something devilish. 

I should've . . . spit in my water after it had just been refilled and then taken it up to the front counter and said "Uh. There's spit in this." The cashier would have looked at me in shock, at which point I would have slammed my fist on the counter and yelled "Someone spit in my water!" just so I could see how they would react, which I hope would have been in an Three-Stooges-Slapstick sort of way.

(#30) The "Dry Hump" I Should've

I am not opposed to PDA (public displays of affection--just, so we're all clear). A little kiss on the cheek or lips, the holding of hands, sitting on laps, wrapping arms around each other--that's fine. I don't mind it, I don't feel it's inappropriate, and I'm actually probably jealous that I'm not involved. I do not, however, condone PDA when it involves making out with excessive slurping and smacking noises while at a bus stop and standing in the direction of where the bus is coming from, thus forcing people to look at your inappropriate public kissing if they want to see if the bus is a-comin'.

I kept my peace, praying that the bus would arrive soon, and was relieved when it did.

Imagine my disappointment when the couple going for the PDA 2012 Award got on the bus after me. They didn't resume their noisy kissing . . . this time it was much worse.

They remained standing, the man leaning against a bar that ran from the floor to the ceiling, and the woman leaned her butt into his crotch and started moving it back and forth. All of which was done in my periphery and in front of the rear exit door.

I should've . . . made a loud sexual moaning noise and then said, "Oh, yeah! That's sooooo hot! Yeaaaaaaah! I love how you two are just in your own little worrrllld--it's like you're not even aware that people can see you! Whooo! So hot! Look at this hotness, everyone! Isn't it so HOT?! Don't stop, baby! Keep working it! Yeah! And you, sir, are one lucky man! Mmmm! Mm-mm-mm-mm! HOT!"

(#29) The "Xena Yelp" I Should've

I went to have my taxes done yesterday. The service was prompt and the people who helped me were very friendly. They got me a lot back (around $1,600). There was one little thing that felt very strange to me.

One of the women was named Xena. You know, like the warrior princess who ran around some mystical forest and made strange yelping noises.

I should've . . . jumped onto the desk and did that strange Xena yelp whenever someone said her name (which was quite often).

(#28) The "Stop Faking!" I Should've

I am starting to suspect that I cause seizures. I can now say that I have encountered three different people having seizures. The first was while I was at someone's house, another was while I was in a class during my undergrad, and tonight it was while I was on the bus.

I didn't really know what was going on at first. I was just minding my own business when the bus stopped and a lady started freaking out. Of course, I turned towards the commotion and saw a man slumped in a seat and shaking uncontrollably. It was very obvious that he was having a seizure. Being a veteran of such situations, I wasn't too concerned. No one's died on me, yet.

Since the driver had conveniently opened the doors, I ended up jumping off the bus and walking the rest of the way home. I felt kind of bad just leaving, but there wasn't anything I could do. 911 had been called, people were tending to Mr. Shakey, and the bus wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.

Thinking about it, what I should've done was . . . push my way to the front of the bus, shouting "Calm down! Calm down! He does this all the time!" and then stood over the seizing man, shook my finger in his face, and yelled "Stop faking! You're embarrassing me! Why do you always do this?!" I then would have begun to sob and then jumped off the bus and ran into the night.

(#27) The "Fly Away, Little Bird" I Should've

Back in my pre-Boston days, when I was the happy owner of a burgundy 1990 Buick Century (move over, Grandma, I'm driving!), I was known to have an unhealthy amount of road rage. But that road rage seems to have mutated into sidewalk rage as I have become an avid pedestrian in the big city.

Boston can get so cluttered with people on the sidewalks and especially underground in the T stations. And it seems that I always get stuck behind the short and/or old people who walk very, very slowly. I end up getting very frustrated, even if I'm not in a particular hurry. I just hate having to walk slow.

Today, I found myself in such a predicament, a very short woman with a backpack was waddling in front of me and there was no way to get around her because of all the other people standing around.

I should've . . . picked up this very short woman from under her arm pits, whispered "Fly away, little bird!", and tossed her aside like a rag doll into the crowd on either side of us, knocking several people over as I continued on at my normal walking speed, laughing maniacally. Certainly, another short person would have witnessed this, and I would've pointed to them and said "You're next if you don't watch it!" in my best impersonation of Sean Connery.

(#26) The "Prayer Circle" I Should've

Last night, I was walking adjacent to the Boston Commons to get onto the T to go home after class. I looked over, and there was a group of four guys. They were standing pretty close to each other in a circle. There was a cold wind, and I think their positioning was an attempt to block it out as they talked.

For a second, I thought they looked like a prayer circle.

I should've . . . walked over to them and started to pray with them. "Oh, Gracious Father, please protect these young men from sin. Help them to stop touching themselves as they think about their mothers in perverse ways. Please, help them to stop worrying about occupying Wall Street so that they may one day occupy Heaven. Please, Father, guide these poor souls. Amen." Afterwards, I would have smiled at each of them, patted one of them on the shoulder, and walked away.

(#25) The "Clash for Coins" I Should've

The other day, I was riding on the T when a man began moving around the train and asking for change. He was very, very nice about it, unlike certain homeless individuals.

As he was asking for change, he kept telling us about himself. "I am homeless. I live in the Cambridge Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I have no money for food or shelter. If anyone could, please, please, spare any change, I would greatly appreciate it. God bless you. Thank you." And then he would repeat himself. He did this several times.

During one reiteration, I got an idea.

I should've . . . started moving around the train and competing for change, coming up with an even more dramatic story and see which one of us inspired the most sympathy and got the most change. "State legislation has been passed so that I can never live in a house again. I live in the sewers underneath Cambridge, Massachusetts, attempting to stay warm by covering myself in the waste that oozes through those dark, stinking passageways. Rats have eaten off all of my toes. I have arthritis, asthma, and erectile dysfunction. If you could, please, please, spare any change, I would greatly appreciate it. God bless you. Thank you."

I imagine the homeless man would have glared at me and began to tell even more dramatic details about his impoverished life so as to combat me. I would have then made something else up, and we would have gone back and forth until I either got off on my stop or he stabbed me in the gut.

(#24) The "Roundhouse Kick" I Should've

I find people who complain excessively to be very, very annoying. Lucky me, I am stuck with such a person for the next few of months.

I went to my first class of the new semester this evening to find myself in it with a girl who complains about everything. She doesn't like the classes she's taking (including the one we are currently in together), the literature course she took in the fall made her never want to take a literature course ever again, and she's tired of the city and just wants to "get back to the farm". Please! By all means, go back to the farm! It went on and on.

When we moved into the classroom (we had been early and were waiting outside of it for a few minutes), I was pleasantly surprised. We were on the 11th floor and had an amazing view of Boston. It overlooked the Common and the capital building and all kinds of tall, lit up buildings. The view is definitely the best I have seen since coming to Boston, and I get to take it all in every week. It's great.

But as this girl continued complaining before class, and then during class, my patience grew very thin and I began fantasizing . . .

I should've . . . grabbed the girl and thrown her towards the large windows that overlooked the city. I should've then shaken her and screamed "I'm sorry, but you're not going to make it back to the farm . . . unless the farm to which you want to return is IN HELL!" and then roundhouse kicked her through the window and watched her plummet eleven stories down. At that point, I would've gotten the entire class to lean through the broken glass and tell me what they saw in her blood as it lay splattered across the pavement like a gory rorschach test . . . a dingo . . . a locomotive train . . . maybe even SpongeBob SquarePants! Oh, what fun!

(#23) The "Stick Assault" I Should've

I was walking down the sidewalk the other night when I saw two guys standing outside of a car. They were fairly young, probably in their late teens or early twenties, and one of them was being especially loud in a very obnoxious way.

I looked down at my feet and saw a stick just laying there on the sidewalk.

I should've . . . grabbed the stick, rushed over to the louder of the two guys, and struck him across the cheek with the stick, shouting "You're too stupid to be so loud! Be quiet! Be quiet this instant!"

(#22) The "No Pointing" I Should've

Last night, I went to the Boston MFA museum . . . with a girl. Oooooo. Yes. I am so intelligent and articulate. I wooed her with my impressive grasp on all art forms.

Not really.

She wanted to go because there was a big exhibit of Degas and all of the nude people (mostly women--a lot of which were prostitutes, for real) which he painted or monoprinted or sculpted. I liked some of the work, but many of the pieces were pretty funny . . . a woman scratching her back in a very awkward position . . . a woman bending over at the waist and the view being from straight behind . . . weird looking people in bath tubs . . .

Anyway, I pointed to one of the pictures and a security guard moved in close to me and told me not to point at the paintings.

Not to point? Really?

I should've . . . said "Fine. I won't point." and then proceeded to lean in and lick the painting--which was protected by glass, so, I really wouldn't have licked the actual painting, but it still would have been fun to see the secuity guard faint. He was a shorter, older gentleman, and I am pretty sure he is the fainting type of security guard and not the kick-you-in-the-face or the stun-gun-you-in-the-nuts type of security guard.