Titanic, tricksy, tramp tramp trampy tramp. Thief. Lame.

This morning on the Milwaukee bus a giant woman was staring at me. Now, I’m a substantially wide person, but she easily doubled me. She was all kinds of scrupulous. Kinda freaked me out. I mean, she glared for a good like five minutes. I'm already kind of self-conscious right now since I'm peeling all over my chest and arms from the fucking sunburn and my hand looks like I store it in a barrel of acid while I sleep and I kind of feel like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly.

So of course my inner reaction to this staring is all, "What the fuck now? Is something on my face? Have I been marked like Cain? Does she recognize me? She thinks I look funny? I should buy her a mirror. Lame." Etc. etc. etc.

But this bitch-whore was totally glaring. I don't glare back because she's not making eye contact, but I fucking know she was glaring at me. She's just standing there, all assed and falling every time the bus jerks slightly, and she keeps on sighing dramatically and staring.

So I wasn't seated, I was standing, on a lower step by the back door, leaning against that little wall thing. I'm very comfortable standing there and reading Life of the Hopi, because I can lean, you know? We get to Huron Street. Strange Large Staring Woman lumbers her way through several people and politely excuses herself, because this is her exit. So I move from my spot so she can get her gluttonous frame out the door. She opens the doors, looks outside, says, to God or some other fucking invisible entity that crazy people talk to in times like these, I assume, because it wasn't to anyone I could particularly see, "Oh, this isn't my stop. My stop is the next one." She smiles all sweetly all around and looks at everyone, but they're all ignoring her but me.

Next stop comes up and she looks out the window, again speaking to goddamn no one, "Oh, well, this isn't my stop either. Isn't that funny?"

Yeah, you slutty cow, it's funny. Give me my spot back.

Another bus stop comes and goes, and the Giant Glarer has not moved. She doesn't even pretend to get off the next time, because she's all settled and leaning now in my spot instead of having to surf her way through the bus driver's earth-shattering driving skills. It's impossible for me to read my book at all. I'm getting frustrated. When is she going to get off the bus?

I look over at her. She's got her eyes closed and she's pleasantly leaning. She's not even paying attention anymore, and she doesn't have to, because she's a sneaky bastard buttfuck of a woman who fucking lied so she could lean as comfortably as I was before. I didn't steal her spot, I got on the bus before her, she just sucks. She sucks real bad.

Then she gets off on the same fucking stop as me, seventeen aching minutes later, on Wacker. Wacker. Like anyone could ever confuse Huron with Wacker. LAME. I can't even pretend that she really thought Huron was her stop. She was staring at me, formulating a plot to take advantage of my sweet and giving nature. Titanic, tricksy, tramp tramp trampy tramp that she is. Thieving piece of ugly fuck.

I vow that if I see Her Vastness ever again, I will not hesitate to cheat her out of a comfortable place on the bus.

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