The MBTA hasn’t changed much in the 20+ years I’ve been its captive/customer. The cars are a little shinier but are essentially the same as the ones from the 80s minus some fabric and padding on the seats. Who thought it was a good idea to use woven fabric and absorbent foam on seats that are regularly sweated, urinated and vomited on? You definitely want something that can be hosed down on the regular – certainly not something that retains stains and odors. But I digress… One innovation I’m particularly fond of  is the electronic tracking system that shows when the next train (and the one after) will arrive. There’s even an app that will show you the next 4-5 trains’ arrival times. It’s remarkably accurate. I’ve spent entirely too much time standing on the platform either sweating or freezing wondering when or if the next train would arrive and when it did would I be able to wedge myself into a space among the great unwashed. Now I just look up and see it’s 3 minutes til the next train and go back to mentally berating people for bad behavior and writing future blog posts about them. Apparently, not everyone finds the same comfort in the system. Today after avoiding the Jehovah’s Witnesses stationed outside Beachmont  (more on that later) I entered the station behind a crazed and sweaty young man. He seemed frantic to get through the turnstile. The sign showed a Bowdoin train was approaching – which gives you at least a couple of minutes to get up to the platform. While trying to get out his T-pass he managed to drop his phone, his lunch bag, his sunglasses and said T-pass is rapid succession. He bent down and slipped – his skater shoes giving him no traction on the slick tile. He tried to get purchase but just kept sliding, reminiscent of Jack Tripper trying to hide from Mr. Furley at the Regal Beagle. Once he stopped slipping he then couldn’t get the pass up off the floor – it had that vaporlock that only very thin fingernails or a stiletto will break. From his demeanor, he seemed a nail-biter and there were no knives to be had. He kept slapping at it and grunting but just couldn’t lift it. After what seemed an eon but was really only about 15 seconds he got the T-pass up and kicked the other items through the turnstile. The train was now “arriving” which still gives you about 45 seconds to a full minute to get to it. The guy scrambled to pick up his other items and launched himself up the escalator at a pace Usain Bolt would admire. He missed the train. I know this because when I got to the platform maybe a minute later he was pacing and muttering to himself in a way that made me think he missed a dosage as well as a train this morning. Literally two minutes later, another Blue Line rumbled in. I made sure not to get on his car because I attract enough crazy people without seeking them out. As luck would have it (my luck, not good luck) he got off at Aquarium as I did. Still crazed, he almost knocked over a bunch of pre-schoolers and their teacher as he bolted up the stairs and out of sight. Now I have to wonder – where the hell was he going that 120 seconds made that much of a difference? Does he get lashed with a cat-o-nine-tails for every minute he’s late? Is he a tester at the vodka and blow up doll factory? Is it oral sex day at the plant and if you’re late you have to give instead of receive? Whatever it was I hope he made it – and I’m really glad I’m working from home the next two days.

It’s raining. It’s been raining for weeks now. Right now outside my window there are sheets of rain falling. The sky is gunmetal grey. And I wouldn’t be surprised to see Elmira Gulch ride by on her bicycle. I know the sun peeked out a little over the weekend but I was mostly inside dealing with my overfilled mucus membranes (see last post for details) so I can’t be sure it wasn’t a Dayquil induced hallucination. But Boston is starting to look like Tim Burton’s version of Gotham City and with all due respect to Vicky Vale and Commissioner Gordon – no one wants that. I know very soon it will be hot and sticky and the sun worshipers will be in their glory. I know everyone is complaining how we never get a spring around here. But I’m OK with grey and cool – I just want to know when we should start building the Ark?

I’m not complaining. I’m not one to complain about cool wet weather. I hate the heat. I would have a hard time choosing between my darling husband and air conditioning in my car. I hate being sweaty. I want it to be 60 degrees forever. Day, night, morning afternoon, evening. And no humidity – like ever. Humidity is a cruel joke the devil played on curly haired women. In Boston in July there isn’t enough product in Sephora’s warehouses to keep my hair tamed. I end up looking like Little Orphan Annie’s haggard long lost mother. I want to like the summer – I really do. I was born in July so I should be a beach baby but there’s nothing I hate more than sand in my shoes and salt water in my hair.  I love the look of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing, the smell of the sea air. But I’m not going in it – or probably even near it. I’ll be just fine here on the beach wall – thanks. I envy the summer lovers – with their sleeveless tops and flip-flops and sundresses. None of these things look good on me. I’d show off my bare ass before my bare upper arms. Flip flops give me a back ache and make a sound so annoying I actually sent one of my employees home for wearing them once. And sundresses just say chafed thighs to me. I always thought I’d probably like summer if I were thinner. But I’ve been thinner and I still hated the heat. The size of my thighs has no effect on my frizz-prone hair on a scorcher in August. Being skinny doesn’t help the smell in the subway when it’s pushing 90 and the guy next to you hasn’t bathed since there was snow on the ground.

But the summer is short – there will be fall clothes in the stores before the 4th of July fireworks are over. Football will be back on TV. And I’ll be spending a small fortune on school supplies again. In the mean time – I’ll start gathering animals – it’s like herding cats around here most of the time anyway.

I found an allen wrench in my purse today. I know I used an allen wrench to put the patio furniture together on Sunday – but my purse was in the house at the time. I don’t need the allen wrench – we have three sets of them in the house and when you keep one it that comes with whatever you’re putting together it only ever fits that one thing. So unless you are a compulsive nut-job who not only keeps spare allen wrenches but also labels them – there’s no need or reason to keep an allen wrench. But I digress… I was searching for my daytime cold medicine in my purse when I found the allen wrench. I have cold – or really bad allergies – or the plague – I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Bottom line: I feel lousy. The daytime cold medicine helps a little – it keeps my runny nose stifled and allows me to have clear enough thoughts to function. I didn’t buy the daytime cold medicine – my husband did. It came in a package that had day and night liqui-gels. Daytime is orange – like the sun! Nighttime is a swampy blue black that looks like every drowning nightmare I’ve ever had. I don’t like the diurnal/nocturnal split of cold medicine. I inevitably end up with too many nighttime doses because I never get up in the middle of the night to take another dose once I’m asleep. But I chew through the daytime doses like it’s my job. I tell him – just get cold medicine that is time agnostic. Or buy just the daytime stuff. 24 years we’ve been together and we will have the same discussion.

Him: The day stuff will keep you up all night.

Me: No it won’t – it’s not speed.

Him: Then what makes it for day?

Me: Did you really think there was speed in them? The nighttime stuff has diphenhydramine in it. The nighttime stuff makes you sleepy – the daytime stuff doesn’t. We have enough benedryl to tranquilize a pack of direwolves – I’ll just take some of that if I need to sleep.

Him: Oh…

Every. Damn.Time.

Why don’t I just buy my own cold medicine you ask? Well the short answer is…I do. I usually keep it stocked. The problem is I am the only one who shops proactively. So when someone else in the house gets sick – I will proffer up the cold medicine and they will use it up and not replace it. Then I get sick – and there’s not a zinc tablet or a Hall’s lozenge to be had. And since I will fight being sick until I am almost bleeding out my eyes – by the time I need the medicine I am too sick to go get it. He’s a good husband – he goes for me – but he buys the dreaded combo pack for the nine hundredth time. I could build a diorama of King’s Landing with all the leftover nighttime liqui-pills we have running around in our bathroom closet.

Ever take a nighttime pill during the day? I don’t recommend it. Last time I did that I closed the door to my office so I could “rest” for a few minutes. I woke up three hours later with my face in a puddle of drool on my desk and one of my employees knocking on the door asking if I were alive. I think I had a post it note stuck in my hair as well. Not pretty.

Anybody need an allen wrench?