Things I Learned in the Rain or on the Train?

Today, it rained. It rained some yesterday too. With the rain comes lessons. Ha, I just made that up, but doesn't it sound like somehting Oprah said? Don't hate- I am really deep, especially when by accident. Anyway, here are the things I learned in the rain, and I learned most of them on the train.

First, you know you are some place you are not supposed to be when the subway goes outside. I took the F to Brooklyn yesterday and could have died when the subway went outside. I was like wait, what just happened? Second, the subway can be an Athropological goldmine. Everything changes from line to line, car to car, and time to time. I myself do not like trains that go from Brooklyn to Queens or to the Bronx (why does the Bronx get a "the" before it? It's unnatural. The Brooklyn? The Chicago? The Ghetto?***<--those are dings) . These are the people on the 2/3 especially. I can get on the thing at the first stop in Manhattan and it will be packed. I can ride it to the UWS and when I get off it is still packed. Who the hell is travelling from Brooklyn to Bronx? Why would you do that? Unnatural.

At 8:30 am on the V you are with the suits. The thin, well dressed folk, who take their jobs and their labels very seriously. At 10am on the V you get the business casual folk with hangovers, ipods, and shades. 5pm on the V is hoi polloi time. These are the folk with hard day all over their face and body. You just knothey are ready to return to Queens and ignore their badass kids. It's no fashion shoot either. It's thighs, butts, and guts galore.

Crossing the border on the subway has it's good, bad, ugly, and fugly. The good is that once you reach the other side you know you are safe from a terrorist attack. The bad is that I always feel like I am suffocating when the train is between burroughs, and it's always the longest time between stops as if it's an inter-galactical trip. The ugly is the amount of lesbians in the burroughs. The fugly is that it gets real hood real quick. I mean you have to shove your murse under you seat, uncross your legs, and put on an entirely different fierce stare- goodbye Tyra, hello Roy Jones Jr. I mean, lest you get bashed.

I apparently, have been on the subway waay too much the past couple of days. Clearly. I have been running all around the city. I move it like a cat. It's very key to live in the center of things in the city. I swear I live at the center of the city, the gay world, and pretty much the universe. Everything goes through my apt, which allows me to change clothes more than any person you know. You know how keen I am on the wardrobe change, so whenever I migrate I change clothes because rarely might you be going to two places in the perfect outfit and if you are you need to diversify. Anywho, I have worn like 7 things in the past 3 days.

Oh, and today I came across the perfect wig for me. It's a seminol moment in a gay man's or any person's life really when you find that wig that you know was made only for you. Unsurprisingly, it involved bangs, layers, and curls in the back. It's really true that the best way to find what you are looking for is to stop looking. (Consequently, I am no longer looking to be thin and am ceasing all diets stat.) I just happen to be walking down the street when I saw this wig in a window. A window I must have walked past a thousand times before and then bam- Jake's wig. It was screaming at me. I did stop and stare, and then I said girl please, stop playin and took my arse home.

The lesson is this: keep your eyes open and pay attention because you never know when the perfect wig is staring you in the face. Oh, and be careful on those trains.