So There I Was . . . . .

Standing in Victoria's Secret, a bit vexed they didn't have the pretty lacy "lilac frost" panties to match the bra I found, and perturbed that their selection of pretty white delicates were lacking.  I have the free cotton panties in my hand, along with the white delicates I decided to settle for.

A fellow who was there with his wife and small daughter looked at me, and said, "You work at The Company, right?"

I honestly never saw this fellow before in my life.  How the hell did he know?  "Uh, yeah.  I work at The Company." 

"I knew I recognized you!  I see you all the time walking by my building!  You're always going somewhere!" 

"Yeah, I'm on my way to Coffee Bean."  I'm standing there with panties in my hand talking to some married guy I've never seen before who's apparently been spying on me at work long enough to notice that I frequent the nearby cafe.  This seems ripe for comedy.

"That's right!  You're always walking back with coffee!"

He's got me like a deer in headlights now, because I'm not walking to Coffee Bean all that much these days.  Not only that, but how can someone notice me for so long and yet not eventually say hello and introduce himself?  Preferably in the context where he's been noticing me, and not in a lingerie store?

I'm not sure whether to be slightly disturbed that this guy recognized me without my Company Badge (which, if you don't socialize with coworkers, ensures your anonymity at The Company.  At least, I have a hard time remembering names of people I rarely interact with when I don't see their badges), or to be perplexed that I was having a random conversation I did not initiate with a married man at Victoria's Secret.

At any rate, I obviously need to find a better way to get to Coffee Bean.  Or do a better job at becoming a mistress of disguise.  Or figure out how to exploit this strange ability or quirk to profit and make my millions.

Why Do Free Upgraded Drinks Bother Me?

I ordered an Original-sized Pomegranate Paradise with soy protein.  Why did this dude just give me one that looks like the Original-sized cup took steroids?  Sure, he was being flirty and extra helpful when I ordered, but. . . . oh.  I get it now.  It's not that I don't appreciate the favor, it's that I asked for one thing at a beverage counter (in this case, Jamba Juice), and distinctly got something I did not want.  I'm pretty sure I eat enough sandwiches, so it can't be because they think I need to eat more.  In which case, I don't think all the frozen smoothies from Jamba Juice can help me.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me.  Go all the way back to 2006, Twin Falls, Idaho, at the Starbucks inside Barnes & Noble.  There was this barista who had spent a lot of time in Lodi and in some weird way we got along and over time I realized he had taken a liking to me.  He started adding stuff to my coffee orders as "favors" that totally annoyed me and made me not want to go there.

"Do you like it?  I added an extra shot of espresso for you."  Thanks man, now the coffee-to-flavor-to-steamed-milk ratio is all fscked up.  If I drink the whole thing I am going to be extra-super wired for the rest of the day.  This is not what I wanted.  :(

I know I should just smile and roll with it, be grateful and thank the Beverage Gods that there are beverage service people who want to do favors for girls they think are cute.  One day I will not be cute anymore, and the baristas and juice guys are not going to surprise me with an upgraded drink for free.

But man, it bothers me.  It's not fair to all the other random strangers who wander into the cafe or juice joint and wander out with exactly whatever drink they ordered.  It bothers me because I don't want to turn into one of those snobby bitches who ask the barista to scoop off the foam (why would I do that?!?  The stuff tastes great!).  It bothers me that I can't be a random stranger whenever I go to whatever place.  I gotta be the odd person out.  I should take my free upgrade and run, but I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it.

I don't get this kind of treatment at my Coffee Bean near work.  They're all just nice to me because I go there a lot and we're all friendly.  They know what I like (it's Americanos with room now) and they've never tried to surprise me with some magical "favor".

Whitewater Kayaking

Last weekend I spent up at the Kern River whitewater kayaking.  I took a 101 course from Shannon at Sierra Sports, and she's an awesome instructor and guide.

I obviously don't have quite the upper body strength or endurance for two full days of kayaking, but I had a lot of fun and learned something new.  I didn't quite get to the point where I could perform rolls unassisted, but I'm sure with practice I'll get there.   I got banged up a bit on some Class II/III rapids that turned me over and forced me to bail out, but it was all in good fun.

One of the best parts about the weekend was the camping!  I haven't been camping in years and even though there were no showers and just a port-o-potty, I had a great time.  I saw the most magnificent sky of stars both Friday and Saturday nights.  We saw 5 meteors on Friday night and 3 on Saturday (probably part of the Perseid meteor shower), plus a couple spy satellites on Saturday night.

If you're ever up by Bakersfield and want something fun to do, go check out Sierra Sports and take a class from Shannon!

Skinny Jeans

I'm getting "me" back.  Not just getting "me" back, but really hanging on to the "me" I have.  There was the guy from the internet, the guy from my department, the guy from the other department, and the guy from the parking lot.  Within a span of 24 hours I simultaneously lost interest in all of them (the guy from my department is, let's say, one of those people who you wish would permanently bother someone else), mostly because I felt too exhausted to get involved with or deal with any of them.  Even though I have a lot of free time now to sit, navel gaze, and watch Netflix and YouTube all evening, I prefer it to whatever torture the dating world has dreamed up for me.  I would rather have all of "me" than share myself with any fellow who is unwilling to share his half.  And for me right now, I don't even think half would be nearly enough for me.
This morning, when I was dressing myself for the day, I pulled a pair of my fabled skinny jeans from the closet.  The ones I saved for when I lost enough weight that I'd have my "beach body" back from last year.  The ones that made me feel the sexiest and empowered.  Miraculously enough, they fit!  Not fit perfectly, but comfortably enough I could wear them and not look like an overstuffed bratwurst sausage.
I wonder what else will fit when I have more of myself to keep.

Where The Cute Girls Are

I've had two married men independently tell me the same thing, so I'm thinking it must at least be true among the men I know at work.  I'm now going to share their secret with the world, but only because I find it so hilarious.

Men scope out and keep a map (either in their heads or written down somewhere) of where all the hot girls at work sit.

I don't even know where the hot guys at work sit (Someone please tell me there are hot guys at my work!)!

And I thought women were the only ones who plot.

No Kids?

Today is "Bring Your Child To Work Day" at my workplace.

This morning when I walked in, both of the guards (the one in the parking lot, and the one at the building), both asked, "No kids?"

Geez, I didn't think I looked *that* old. When I said that I was single and had no kids, both guards seemed embarrassed. I kind of thought it was funny.

Maybe I gotta start wearing my hair down at work or something!

Coffee Break

Sometimes (more often than I care to admit), I will wander across the street from work to the Coffee Bean for a cup of that delightful black brew. I know I'm going far too often because the employees recognize me and know me by name. They even know what I typically order - a small (or regular, depending on how tired I am) Americano, with room for cream.

An Americano is comprised of espresso and hot water. If that's not enough for you, get a Red Eye. It's espresso and drip coffee. I like the term sailors and Marines have come up for it: A "depth charge".

Anyway, I'm at the bar thing that has the sugar packets and carafes of half-and-half, 2%, non-dairy and whatever else they have out for creamer. It's nice that they have those little sticks for stirrers. So much better than the short plastic straws, which never reach the bottom of your cup to stir up the sugar crystals.

He walks in. I haven't seen this dude in ages. Back in the day, we would head out for Starbucks runs around 10:00 AM and commiserate over failing relationships and work politics. Since the last time I ran into him, he's moved at least once and had a baby with his girlfriend (wife now? I didn't check his hand for a ring). This was the guy who used to tell me, "Don't chase 'em; replace 'em!"

"Hey!" He says. "I haven't seen you in forever! What's new?"

I wait for him to order, and as he's pouring cream and sugar into his cup he says out of the blue,

"Diane, you're going to make a great mom."

Huh? Where the hell did THAT come from?

"You know why? You're patient, and really kind."

I know he's being sincere, but it wasn't quite the pick-me-up I wanted that afternoon.

One More Breath

My yoga instructor has a great philosophy.

"All you need is one more breath", he tells us. "This is practice for what we do in the real world. Dealing with the frustrations and tensions on the mat is going to help us when we're faced with challenges in our lives. Being calm and learning how to relax in Warrior II is going to help you remain centered and calm when faced with stressful situations at work and at home and in the rest of our lives."

As we come down from Standing Split, he says, "Clasp your elbows, bend your knees, relax your neck and just breathe."

Just breathe. Because all we need is one more breath.

One more breath.

Just one more breath.

Anticipation

I gripped the paper ticket in my hand. It was a warm day, and I had really booked it down to the train station after work. The sweat from my hand softened the cardstock of the one-way Green Line ticket.

I had woken up early that morning, so I could go to work early and leave early enough to drive home and walk down to the train station, about a mile and a half away. This elaborate scheme was so that I wouldn't have to leave my car at Hawthorne Airport, and also (apparently) so I could get some exercise in. He had raised some concerns about leaving my car at the airport after dark, and also it would be more convenient if we didn't have to stop on the way back to pick my car up on the way back to my place.

Plus I like public transportation, even if the train system in L.A. is woefully inadequate. And the airport is just right across the street from the station.

Man, where is that train? There must be three of them down at the Marine Station by now. What's holding them up?

A Raytheon employee had joined me in wondering what was holding the trains up. He had bowling league tonight, and a Tom Clancy book to finish. The Bear and the Dragon. He only had about 20 pages to finish, if that. If only my time weren't so valuable and I still had a long commute that I could make by train. I would get so much more reading done.

A train finally rolls in, about 15 minutes behind schedule. It had to be today, huh? Oh well. It's not like he's going to strand me at the airport. Plus he has to refuel and everything. I might still make it there before he does.

I tick off the stations as we come to them. Mariposa. Aviation. Hawthorne. The next one is Crenshaw. I glance at the airstrip and don't see his plane on the tarmac. I run down the wrong stairwell and end up on the opposite side of the street I want to be on. I cross Crenshaw, then Imperial Highway, impatient that the lights take so long to turn. All the while I'm glancing at the sky. I see a couple planes land; neither of which are his.

I run to the terminal. As I pass the runway I see his plane parked in front. He must have landed after I got off the train but before I reached the bottom of the stairwell.

The two guys who were working the desk last week are still there, and recognize me. I guess they don't have too many passengers fly out of Hawthorne. Or at least pilots who pick up their dates there.

Pretty soon he strolls into the terminal and we hug. We head to the pilot's lounge so he can call the briefer and check on the weather. Before I know it we're heading out onto the tarmac and he's telling me to get into the plane first. He does his pre-flight inspection, checking the flaps, making sure everything is good to go.

It's a beautiful day, but he cautions me that there is a lot of turbulence and take off would most likely be bumpy.

He climbs in, buckles up and we close the canopy. He rattles off the take-off checklist from memory (the first time he took me up he pulled it out and went over each step very methodically). "Cle-ar Prop!" he calls before he starts the engine. He contacts the tower and we get permission to take off.

He pushes the throttle forward and when we get enough speed he pulls up on the stick ever so delicately. And then we're airborne. Free.

Coincidence or Fate?

I definitely think people look for patterns in their lives. After all, with so much chaos, isn't it only logical that we would want to find some sense in all that muck?

I've recently met someone, who, at this point, I think our stars were aligned to meet.

God that sounds so hokey.

He lives not far from one of my favorite places in Los Angeles, in a city that I dearly enjoy to hang out in. He used to work just a hop across the street from where I currently work, and I'm certain we frequented the same Coffee Bean and fast food "grill" for coffee/lunch on occasion. We both knew, not to mention have similar fond memories of a certain burger shack in Playa Del Ray. While we don't work in the same industry, we do have similar degrees and similar skills. Not to mention unparalleled chemistry on all fronts.

The whole experience of meeting this fellow just over a week ago has upturned my exciting single girl's life upside its head. And left me thoroughly confused. I never thought meeting someone new who was also compatible would be easy. I also thought I would be bored to tears by many more dates before I found someone I actually liked.

I don't often talk about my personal life on here, but I wanted to comment on how . . .spooky this whole situation seems. I was just talking to a coworker recently who mentioned how much Life seems to depend on "blind, dumb luck". If this just happens to be a cosmic fizzle in the grand scheme of the universe, then so be it. I have to say I've enjoyed the time I've spent with this fellow so far. But if it turns out to be something more, then I don't know what to call it.

As I've gotten older, the strange giddy excitement of meeting someone new feels the same, yet has also changed into something more nuanced and complex. I feel more cautious now if I really like someone, but I also hold a deep hope that this person might be my match. I've become more cynical with relationships, but still hold out the romantic hope that maybe one day I'll find someone (or he'll find me) who will be my loving companion on this great adventure called Life.

I Am Woman! Hear Me Roar!

I kill big spiders on my own. This is a major accomplishment. I am the queen of my domain.

The Happiest Girl To Ever Be Dumped

I highly recommend not moving twice in less than six weeks. It wrecks havoc on your stress levels. I also highly recommend not having another major life stressor happen in between moves that are six weeks apart. But I've done both of those things, and the Superwoman high I've been feeling throughout the last two weeks has skyrocketed. I can conquer anything Life throws at me. Life, dish it out!

I found a place close to work that is economically priced and I think I will be happy living there. I have returned to South Bay, and I think my quality of life will improve dramatically. One of my dear friends from before I left California came over and helped me unpack some of my things on Thursday.

"I've never seen a girl so happy to be dumped," she told me after dinner.

Is that so? Maybe. I personally theorize that I've reached my limit of stressful activities for the year, and just don't care anymore. If anyone or anything wants to weigh me down, I just don't need that person or thing in my life right now.

I only have vague ideas of where certain items are, and for someone who tries to be fairly organized, this bothers me greatly. Ditto for having a truly chaotic house.

But I am free. I don't have to check with anyone on plans I make for myself, I don't have to compromise on what time would be good to go to sleep or wake up, I can eat whatever I want without having to consult with someone else. . . .

My list extends to at least the other side of the Pacific.

I've never been happier to be single. Usually I feel like I need to be in a relationship, and that idea just doesn't feel palatable to me anymore. Dates are nice, but who needs a suffocating relationship when you can be free, and easily find attention from members of the opposite sex?

Lavender

When I was a child and my family lived in California, my bedroom was a bright yellow color. I don't know how old I was, but once my parents wanted to repaint my bedroom and let me pick out the color. It was a soft shade of lavender, the hue barely discernable. I remember this because the people who bought the house from my parents commented on it. They had to repaint the room because they had a son and I guess he didn't care for lavender too much.

After I learned my family was going to move to Utah, I was very excited. I had this fantasy that Utah was like the old westerns in the movies, and that people were generally nice and say things like "Howdy." Let's say this was not the last fantasy I had that disappointed me.

We lived far enough away from my elementary school that I needed to ride a bus. The bus would pick up a bunch of kids from Kanarraville, then me, then a bunch of other kids, and then finally take us all to school. That particular route served two elementary schools, and the kids from my school would get dropped off before the kids from the other school. In the afternoon it was reversed, and the kids from my school were picked up before the kids from the other school, and all the kids were dropped off in reverse order along the route. The afternoon bus driver was considered cranky by all the other kids, but I got along with him and at the end of the year he gave me a pin with a school bus on it that had flashing red LED lights. He said he gave it to me because I was the best kid on the route.

I was really excited to ride a school bus. When I lived in California my family's home was close enough I could walk to school. When you are young you read stories like "The Magic School Bus" and your imagination really runs wild. In California school buses were for field trips and other fun adventures, not for the daily trek to school and back.

My dad was nervous about dropping me off at the bus stop, because it was close to the interstate on-ramp and he didn't want some stranger to kidnap me. I know Dad tried to petition to have the stop moved but I guess our family didn't have enough influence in the area. So he would take me to the bus stop and I would wait in the car until the bus came. Then he would go to work. We would make up games to pass the time like how many ground squirrels we could spot, and listen to talk radio.

I'm not sure when exactly it started, and I'm not even sure of what was said anymore. There was a girl who wore a lavender jacket and lived in Kanarraville. She had long, stringy brown hair and was the leader of the pack of girls she hung out with. I put so much energy into erasing this part of my life that I don't remember her name anymore.

She started to tease me. Not because of anything I said or did, but because my eyes were almond-shaped. I got flak for something I could not change about myself. Not that I ever would; I think my eyes are one of my best physical attributes. I had never been teased so mercilessly for something as inane as that. I could understand not fitting in because of the clothes I wore or the food I ate, but those were things that are easily changed. Who we are, the essence that makes us, can never be altered. We can cover it up with makeup or surgery, or hide it with false personas, but it cannot be revised.

I don't remember if I stood up for myself, or if I just watched her and fumed. I know she had a lot of fun, because she would tease me every day. I hated taking the bus to school and would dread the ride if she was on the bus that day. I remember going home and crying to my dad about it. Dad suggested I sit in the seat behind the bus driver, so if she was teasing me the bus driver could see and maybe do something about it. If he ever said anything to her, I never knew.

Nobody wanted to sit in the seat behind the bus driver, because it was reserved for bad kids. Also probably because they couldn't get away with whatever kids get away with on the bus. I didn't really want to sit there because I would get even more ostracized than I was. But for the most part it was a successful strategy, unless someone had already ticked off the bus driver and the first few seats behind him were taken up by unruly children. Once he asked me to move so that he could watch someone less civil than myself. In those cases I was left to fend for myself again.

One winter day I brought gloves with me on the way to school, but after I stepped off the bus I remembered I left them in my seat. So I got back on the bus, but couldn't find them where I left them. The girl in the lavender jacket was sitting a couple seats behind, and I knew she had taken my gloves. I asked her to return them, but she smiled and said that she didn't have them. Exasperated, I turned to get back off the bus again, and after I turned she tossed the gloves into the seat where I had sat in.

I remember picking up the gloves, and in my accumulated frustration and rage ran back to her and punched her in the shoulder. The bus driver didn't like that too much but it's not like I pummelled her face in or anything. I remember he got out of his seat and said something but when I stopped he let it go. I wonder now how much he knew.

For the longest time I detested any shade of purple. Much later I learned that some shades of purple complement olive skin tones and hazel eyes.

I've been slowly learning to like lavender again.

The Things I Carry

I've been absent for longer than usual, I know. There's really not much to say.
I thought I had something good, and moved to be closer to him. Then he broke up with me shortly thereafter, citing his unhappiness and the fact that there will soon be no room for me in his life. It's OK. I'm not sad - I feel free. I've been happier than I've been in a long time, and for the first time I am single and happy. I'm moving back to South Bay. I've signed the lease on the new place and will be moving next week.

One box of cookbooks and general reference. One box of software reference. One box of literature. One box of books I'm trying to sell on Half.com. One box of sheet music and sewing reference. Two boxes of DVDs.
One box of decorative candles and associated items.
Two boxes of glassware and mugs, two boxes of dishes. Two big boxes with small appliances, cooking utensils and cookware.
Three nesting Samsonite suitcases, all filled with clothes. One box of belts and shoes. One box of bath and bed linens.

How much does a person really need to live? Air, and water. Enough food to eat. We are collectors, and collect stuff. Collect things. Feelings and memories. All the luggage we drag around with us, to be unloaded when we die.

Sometimes I wish I was still in college and could move everything I needed in the back of a Jeep Cherokee. Now I have to call a moving company because I am too physically and emotionally exhausted to move for the second time in less than six weeks.

I should have known that the tiny space allocated to me would not be enough for me. I should have known that there was no room for me here. Why did I do it? I don't know exactly. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I wanted to improve the relationship and not have a psuedo-long-distance relationship. I wanted to live cheaper and closer to The Huntington Library, which is my favorite place in greater Los Angeles. Sacrifice almost everything in the name of Love and saving money but not time. It's an almost romantic concept.

I should have known my efforts wouldn't be appreciated and that I wouldn't be welcome. Now I know.

In a few months I will probably want a boyfriend again. Men (and boys) are already chasing me. It's too exhausting to fight them off and yet some of them are utterly repulsive to me as potential partners. You want to take me out to dinner? Fine. A movie? Great. I don't want to sleep with you. Or you or you. I want to go home and sleep by myself. It's more comfortable that way. Really. I don't even want to just share a bed with you. I know that you'll charm me until you take advantage of me and leave me in the dust, and I know that you are a coward. I'm totally not interested, and I'm unamused by the pick-up techniques you learned on the internet. And all this stuff I carry, I carry on my own. I don't need your help to add to it.

Spoiled

It was just a comment.
I said something about how I must be spoiled because I prefer the quieter, cleaner art-house theaters over the multiplexes these days, and cited my experience when I went to The Soloist at Del Amo Fashion Center.
"Spoiled?! Oh, Diane wouldn't be spoiled, would she?"
He used to tease me with that phrase when I was a child and would cry when I didn't get what I wanted.
What. The. Hell. I thought we were supposed to be adults. Just a few nights ago he told me I needed to have more self-confidence.

Webster 4th definition of "spoiled" states: to impair the disposition or character of by overindulgence or excessive praise; to pamper excessively; coddle.

If I allowed my mother to, she definitely would coddle me, and it irritates me to no end. But I don't see how I could have ever been overindulged or praised excessively; there was no money with which to do that with. I was not one of the kids who were bribed for good grades by their parents. I didn't get to even apply to my first or second choice for college. I kept myself from trying out for the drill team (dance squad) in high school because if I made the team there would not be the money to buy uniforms with and pay for travel expenses.

I support myself and can afford to live on my own. I'm grateful for what I have.

These are not attributes that would cause me to relate the 4th definition of "spoiled" to me.

Maybe I should have been born a son. Or maybe he was not of the disposition to raise children. Maybe he resents that I took time and money away from whatever he would have preferred doing with that time and money.

Maybe he really meant the 3rd definition: to damage seriously; to impair the quality or effect of.

My mother taught me how to be taken advantage of in relationships and my father taught me how to loathe myself. Thanks, folks. You spoiled me.

Now I have the rest of my life to fix all that and hopefully not perpetuate it.

Wet Laundry

I'm moving in a week, and this morning I woke up early so I could do laundry and really get most of my packing done. At my current apartment complex they use card-operated laundry machines; washing machines cost $1.25, and the dryers $1.00. It takes 38 minutes to wash a load of laundry, and the dryers give you 60 minutes even though they run hot and it probably takes only 45 minutes to dry clothes. The dryers also have the neat feature that if you stop the cycle part way, the clock still ticks down even though the dryer isn't drying anything.

I had a lot of laundry to do and I decided to not be greedy and take up the whole bank of washers and dryers. I only used two washers and one dryer the whole morning.

For my last load I had bed and kitchen linens to wash and dry. There was only 20 minutes left on the dryer when I loaded the linens, so I put the last dollar from my laundry card on the dryer to add another hour.

When I returned 45 minutes later, someone had pulled my laundry out and dumped it on the dryer next to the one I was using. They didn't even have the courtesy to make sure nothing ended up on the floor. Then they put their own laundry into the machine I paid for and restarted it.

Normally I would have only been slightly peeved that some anonymous impatient person would move my laundry (especially if the dryer was still on cycle), but my linens were still damp! Arg!

What bad karma did I do to bring this on?

So I stopped the dryer. I figure I paid for the time, I should get to see how it's spent.

Aha!

A couple years ago, when I was lonelier than I am now, I went to a website. . . .

I found the URL on a yard sign in the median of a city street. I went to the website, filled out the form, and a couple days later got a phone call. A woman asked me some questions and set up an appointment to meet with them (and get videotaped? WTF?) in Westwood.

I flaked on the interview.

Today, on Slashdot, someone has figured out who runs that operation.

I thought it was fascinating.

Fortune

I ate at a Chinese fast-food place for lunch a few days ago.

My fortune said, "You will make a name for yourself."

I sure hope so.

Lying to Little Kids

Time Traveller wrote about deception and it reminded me of something that happened over the weekend.

My sweetheart and I were at the Huntington, and after wandering around the Art Gallery (formerly the residence of the Huntingtons) we took a walk by the Library. There's a lawn with Romanesque statues and a fountain at the end. There isn't water running through the fountain, but in the pond there were koi fish and gold fish swimming around.

We watched the fish for a bit, and then before we left a man and his two young sons came up. The boys were saying, "Look! Look! There's a fish in there!"

The man said, "No, I don't think there's any fish in there." By then he had noticed us and I said, "Oh, but there is!"

He seemed a little disgusted, then mouthed, "I know" before saying "Thanks." As in, "Thanks, but no thanks."

I don't know what the point of lying to little kids would be.

Hey, Dude On The Blue Line!

I took the Metro from Pasadena to work this morning as an experiment to see how viable it actually is.

It's really not bad. I was able to transfer to each of my trains without missing one or much confusion. Timewise it's maybe 15 or 20 minutes longer than driving, and I'm definitely not missing sitting in traffic. Maybe once the novelty wears off I'll want to reclaim my time.

When I got on the Blue Line today there was a fellow who gave up an extra seat he was occupying so that I could sit down. I did thank him, but forgot to tell him to have a nice day when I got off the train for my next connection.

So if you're the fellow who was getting off at Pacific Coast Hwy and let me sit down next to you on the train, thanks again! I hope you had a nice day.