Doesn’t It Just Figure?

So I was riding the J-Church on Friday to my chiropractor’s office and there was an empty seat next to mine. I was listening to something on my iPod — heavy metal probably — at some incredibly loud volume, as I am wont to do.

A family got on, and their son, who I’m guessing was about 10-12, sat down next to me. He turned toward me and I figured he was just looking out the window. But then I realized he had opened his mouth.

I pulled out my earbuds and said, “Sorry, what?”

“Hello!” he said. He was adorable — blond, blue-eyed, pint-sized glasses, dressed casually.

“Hi,” I said, in a genuinely friendly way, and then went back to my introspective rocking out.

About two seconds later, I thought to myself: Doesn’t it just figure, the first time a cute boy says hello to me on the train, he’s prepubescent?

And then he got up and went to sit somewhere else. Hmph.

— Beth W.

Beth loves the J-Church, hates being hit on by strangers, and yet secretly wonders why it never happens to her.

Pissin’ in the Wind out in the Avenues

Thank god sometimes for NextBus.

This morning, I was out in the upper 20s on the north side of the park, and was passively relying on the 31-Balboa, which typically arrives shortly after 9 a.m. I usually check NextBus around 8:50 or so, and this morning, it’s a damned good thing I did. Here’s what I saw:

There was no way I could make that seven-minute bus. I’m not sure the world is ready to see me ride Muni in my boxers. That, and I still had to get the dog ready.

But note the parenthetical around that 22-minutes-away bus: Masonic & Turk????

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‘Love’ on the F Train

It was a majestic morning in Diamond Heights and my sweetheart was going to ride Muni to downtown with me. We walked holding hands to Castro and Market and decided to take the F because it was, well, more romantic. It would be ten times slower than hoping on underground, but this way we could stay together a little longer on those charming, rickety old wooden seats. We’d able to see the sun and watch the world go by. Obviously we had forgotten all about Civic Center and what riding Muni really means.

Therefore, innocently and blissfully we got on at the start of the F line and headed to the very back of the train. Little did we know that our lovebird strategy placed us in the best seats in the house to witness a spectacle of alcoholic love so deeply poetic and profound it changed the way we thought about love forever.

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Muni service delayed on N-Judah and J-Church — How was it for you?

SFGate.com reports that Muni service delayed on N-Judah and J-Church:

Muni bus shuttles will be used to try to ease delays on the light rail N-Judah and J-Church lines throughout the morning commute today, according to a Muni spokesman.

How did the delay affect your day today? Did you spring the cash to take a cab? Walk to your destination to burn a couple of calories? Have more time to chat with the hottie next to you at the bus stop about yet another Muni mishap? Drop us a comment at Muni Diaries and let us know!

Gross Spotting #1: 22 between Mission and Valencia

The other day, Rob posted about people’s habit of clipping fingernails on Muni. Yeah. Gross, right?! Well, the other day I spotted an attractive, athletic man flossing his teeth on Muni! But here’s the kicker, when he was done flossing, he single-handedly rolled the thread in a little ball, extended his arm out, and released it onto the floor. What’s next? No, please don’t answer that.

What happens when the 47 doesn’t come…

It was Friday night and I was trying to get myself from my quiet neighborhood to a hoppin’ joint in SOMA. But being that I am not the kind of girl with the cash money to cab around town (hence this blog), I waited for the 47 in our freezing cold July weather. Minutes turned into half an hour (as usual), so I decided to start walking down Van Ness, you know, to get a little exercise and see where the bus would catch up with me.

I walked and walked and of course, by now you can guess, the 47 is nowhere to be found. As I approached a red light at Van Ness and Geary, a nice silver Jetta rolls up and stops right in front of me. I noticed that the car is packed with four young men dressed in button-down shirts and fancy jeans — the typical outfit one might say is the douchebag uniform here.

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