Sometimes? Sometimes you just don't know until you know. You know?

So the local convenience store here at work (which by the way is not in a particularly residential area, in fact, I think it mostly serves the surrounding businesses) DOES NOT carry tampons, but DOES carry douche.

How very helpful.

Thank you, Mr. Convenience Store Owner for making sure I can wash out my vagina (at work) after I bleed all over myself.

Thank you so so so much.

All aboard

Crazy, but that's how it goes

Millions of people living as foes

Maybe it's not too late

To learn how to love, and forget how to hate

Mental wounds not healing

Driving me insane

I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train

I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train

Let's go

-- Crazy Train, [Daisley - Osbourne - Rhoads]



So, here in Boston on our fine public transportation system, also known as the "T", one sometimes, not always, but sometimes, finds oneself in a car of the "T" that one might be tempted to label due to the type of people who are temporarily occupying this particular car (not including oneself, of course).

Yes, there is the 'ugly train' when one looks around oneself and truly cannot find a pleasant face upon which to rest one's gaze.

Or perhaps the 'drunk train' when it seems that everyone around oneself has a soda bottle filled with some sort of 'fruit punch' concoction that smells remarkably like jello shots and the owners of these bottles seem to have a hard time staying upright and/or not vomiting.

Or even the 'kiddy train' when ENORMOUS amounts of children come pouring into the car (usually with a very plain looking late teens early twenties chaperone, hair in ponytail, and with some sort of bead on a string necklace and sensible sneaker type shoes), shove themselves three to a seat, stare at one unabashedly, wiggle around nervously, and shriek a lot, either at each other or at the fact they are in a moving vehicle.

However, there is one train, that trumps all others, the GRAN MAL train of all time! The Crazy Train.

Oh yes, you know of what I speak. Those days when you get on the "T" and as soon as you sit down, you know something is terribly wrong. You sit and you think, "Motherfucker, do I have time to run into the next car?" Sometimes, it's the smell. Sometimes, it's someone staring at you with a blank smile on their face and NEVER LOOKING AWAY. Sometimes it's someone going up to everyone on the train that will make eye contact with them and trying to talk to them about their crazy feeeelings.

Yes, today was a Crazy Train day for your's truly, a one Ms. Twicksie Carmichael.

It doesn't take much to make a Crazy Train, it really only takes one crazy person, but sometimes, like on a day like today, you hit the Crazy Train jackpot.

Today, (and let me just say, I have the deepest sympathies for these people because obviously they are mentally ill, but well, they are still crazy) I got on the "T", sat down, and settled in for the painfully slow, constant-stopping for no reason, and lights flashing on and off, daily ride to my destination.

Soon after I sat down, a young man, not older than 30, dressed casually but conservatively, wearing some sort of beige windbreaker and white sneakers, (for chissakes, it doesn't get more casual conservative than that) clean shaven, a touch of a bowl cut going on, clutching his "T" pass and a scratch ticket and talking on his cellph... oohh dear.. wait, no, cellphones don't work down here in the land of "T", do they?

No, no, they don't. Then who is he talking to? No one next to him, not me, no, no, he's talking to himself. Quite loudly actually. And compulsively scratching his scratch ticket. I sincerely hope it was a winner.

So, yes, he continued to talk VERY loudly to himself as we, the other passengers nervously moved in our seats, constantly checking to see if he was actually talking to one of us. But he wasn't.

Great. But wait, there's more.

About two stops into the Crazy Train ride a new crop of people enter the train car and I smell a distinct whiff of 'very drunk person'.

I look over, and what do I see?

There is ANOTHER crazy person, *just about* to 'out crazy' the first crazy person.

She looked like a career alcoholic, bad teeth, very frizzy bleach blond hair pulled tight into a blond pompom atop her head, poorly applied upsetting pearlescent pink lipstick, and a tiny purse with a string strap worn across her cross your heart areas. And she was holding a big gulp cup, complete with the red straw. Gosh, I didn' t know they were making vodka slurpies now. Neat.

Like a birds to a feather she flocked to our young protagonist engaged in his one man show, and sat right next to him.

He was hunched over facing sideways the other way, and she sat facing forward, smiling a big crazy smile and said to the people across from her something like: I LOVE ASS.

Once that had been established for everyone (and I mean, who DOESN'T love ass, so I was relating to her a bit) she kept on smiling her crazy smile and whipped around to have a look at Mr. Crazy sitting next to her. She had to do some serious maneuvering to get a good look at him and when *she* realized he was talking to himself, well, I think she fell in love.

First, she decided to help him fix the collar of his jacket which was all tucked in because 'he probably put it on too fast' she conjectured. He smiled uneasily, agreed and was actually quite normal seeming when conversing with her.

She then went onto explain to him, how normally she doesn't dress this way, she normally dresses in girly dresses with a lot of funky jewelry. And on the 21st! She'd see us all again and see her in her finery. He smiled some more and looked around at all of us as if to say 'Can you believe this freak?'

And then just as quickly as she had sat down, she got up, mentioned seeing him and all of us again on the 21st and promptly exited the train at the next stop.

To this our young Mr. Crazy said: Not likely.

He then rolled his eyes again looking around for some sympathy having had to just deal with such a crazy person, focused back in on his scratch ticket, and continued the conversation he had been having. With himself.

So there you have it. A crazy out crazied by another crazy. On the Crazy Train.

All aboard.

Reason 739 Why I am Uniquely Qualified to Have the Job that I Have (or at least more so than some other 'librarian types'):

A student asked me today, "Do you think it would hurt more to get a piercing or a tattoo?"

And I knew the answer.

From personal experience.

Two Random Thoughts Brought to You by Me, a One Ms. Twicksie Carmichael*

Random thought number 1: Yeah, I like the foam soap. I like it. All foamy and fresh and clean. There's less work to do with the lathering. I really like it.

Random thought number 2: I think it's safe to assume that people who skimp on the hot fudge sauce (and you know who you are) are most probably definitely really really bad in bed.

*names changed to protect the moronic