Transit Strike: Live!

Ah, City Life. As you may know by now, the Transit Strike is underway in New York, meaning no subways, no buses, and millions of freezing, bitchy assholes stranded. Here is my story.

Last night, 12:15 am, The Dove on Thompson: Me, under the weather, drinking with my friend Lang. "Is there a transit strike?" I asked the bartender. "No, I don't think so." "You know what that means?" The entire bar in unison: "Another round!"

Cab, 1:30 am: Why, God? Also, I have a cold.

7:45 am: Pitter-patter of roomate feet in the hallway. "How are you getting to work?" one asks. A kettle goes off, the microwave beeps, a rooster crows: It's morning.

7:47 am: I turn on NY1. Oh dear god, the strike is on. It's mothafuckin on!

7:48 am: My lungs desperately want to pull air in through my nostrils, but it just is not an option this morning. I'm all congested, much like the traffic in the city, and my mind feels cloudy, like a 5th grade simile. I continue watching the news.

7:53 am: Fuck. This.

7:54 am: Call in sick to work.

8:02 am: I see my roomates off and wish them luck.

8:33 am: I fall back asleep feeling stressed for my fellow New Yorkers.

11:15 am: Oh no! I've already missed 15 minutes of the Price Is Right! Great. Now I've got to figure out which California state school the current players are from. Groan!

11:17 am: Oh shit, the strike. I turn to the news. Man, it looks cold outside. Do I have anything to eat in the house? I think I have some Akmak crackers. Sigh. My stomach hurts. I wonder what I'd be doing at work right now? Probably live blogging the strike. This transit strike is really exhausting. Nevertheless, New Yorkers forge ahead -- nothing can get in our way of accomplishment!



12:05 pm: MoPo is on (Maury Povich). Today's topic: "I am a prostitute our baby may not be yours".

12:29 pm: Transit strike update: Trains still not running, 25 degrees outside. Oooh, it is kind of chilly! I turn my space heather all the way up, and pour some water on the coals by the foot of the bed. Better.

12:59 pm: I don't want to give any Maury plot points away... but: Not the father, father, father, not the father. I just saved you an hour.

1:04 pm: Oh my god, I just saw a commercial for CHIA CAT GRASS. GRASS. YOU GROW. FOR CATS! Oh, a-ha. A-ha ha ha. Love it.



1:30 pm: You know what would probably piss a lot of people off? Liveblogging the strike FROM BED.

2:10 pm: Strikes still on. Sigh.

2:32 pm: Bloomberg's on. He looks pretty good. Sounds like someone's preeeetty pissed at the Transit Worker's Union. I'm kinda into this new, pissy Bloomberg. I'm gonna go drink some Theraflu and think quietly. More mayhem to follow.