I ride the train, I crave beef... a daredevil indeed!

Do you ever overhear conversations and feel yourself legitimately losing brain cells the longer you pay attention? If you have not had the pleasure, I invite you to take public transportation. The train is nothing, if not the source of entertaining and stimulating conversations.

It is also a germalicious hotbed in which I'm sure one could contract a most fatal disease upon direct contact with the hand-pole, but why go there, right?

I digress. My daily commute consists of leaving our place around 7:20, stopping for coffee and Brian dropping me off at my train stop by 8, where I take the fashionable Red Line one stop and transfer to a shuttle that brings me all safe and cozy (in my own cushioned seat thankyouverymuch) to the front door of my building by 8:30... and then I do it all over again at the end of the day, only in reverse.

I hate commuting. Truly. Hate is a strong word, and I was raised to not use it in even the most dire situations, but again-- if you are not privy to public transportation, I invite you to commute with me for a day and oh, the horrors you will see. Frighteningly enough, I no longer look twice at the man who has obviously visited half the bars in Boston and is just now heading home as I head into work, although the infamous Red Line breakdancer never ceases to make my day:

(I've seen him. He's seriously so good, although it is terrifying when you're on the train and someone starts shouting about needing everyone's attention. I'm not gonna lie-- my instinct is to avert my eyes and duck.)

There are some days when riding the T is tolerable, and some days when I think I just might lose it if one more person enters my personal bubble space. This morning was definitely an "I might freak out today" kind of thing.

After waiting for 15 minutes as two jam-packed trains passed through my stop, I finally squeezed into one of the cars, only to have the pleasure of balancing my coffee, my lunch bag and my purse while holding my phone and keeping my balance by grasping a bar (multitasking at its finest, my friends) next to two late-teenish girls clutching binders and carrying on the following riveting conversation:

Blondie: And I was like "ohmygod, hi Mark!" only I wasn't really because, like, he was in his car and his windows were up. So like, I didn't really say anything at all because he couldn't hear me, but I totally thought it.

Gothy (dressed in black from head to toe): Mark is the best guy but I felt so bad for not inviting him when we went out. I was going to invite him, but then I'd have to invite Janelle and her friend Kristine and I don't think I like Mark enough for having to deal with that.

Blondie: I know Janelle- she's the best.

Gothy: Yea, I guess... but then I felt so bad because their friend Chris wanted me to highlight his hair...

Blondie: I know Chris- he's the best.

Gothy: Yea, totally, but like, I feel so bad because I totally just didn't want to. I mean, I felt really bad, but I don't even really know him, so why should I highlight his hair for him? He did say he just needed his roots touched up, and doing hair is obviously my thing, and I do feel really bad... but I'm not going to do it.

Blondie: Yea, but like... Chris is known for his highlights. You should totally do it. He might bring his friend James- he's the best.

CUT MY EARS OFF, PEOPLE. I usually keep to myself and just zone out into a book or checking FB on the iPhone, but when a conversation is as loud as these girls were making it, and as mind-numbingly dull as it was... there's no other option but to stand next to the jumbling words and take it. If anything, bless these girls for seeing THE BEST in people and for havin' the heart to FEEL REALLY BAD about something, even though you don't want to do it in the first place.

Other than this, today is just your average Tuesday. I'm trying a new concoction for lunch today:

I present you with black beans (cooked with jalapenos and diced tomatoes) and frozen corn kernels on a bed of broccoli slaw, with a side of tomatillo dressing (hello, tomatillo salsa and fat free sour cream). Riveting, right? Delish and enticing.

Have I mentioned that I gave up meat for Lent? Have I mentioned that I'd give my left foot for beef right now? I took a nap on Saturday and apparently woke up mumbling "steak taco". I actually woke myself up from my mouth saying the words, so I know it really happened. Brian died laughing and I, instead of being embarrassed, made a vow to swing by Taco Bell on the Easter Sunday for my own little post-Lent treat:

I don't know what's more pathetic-- that I'm dreaming about meat, or that the most satisfying thing I can think of to curb that craving is a stop at Fake Meat Central.

Have a fabulous rest of your Tuesday! If you're out and about and chitter-chattering, make your words worthwhile :)

'Til later, my lovelies!!