Wednesday evening found me on a train headed downtown. In a bizarre bit of strange luck, I found myself about to go speak to a writing class about blogging, which had filled me with all kinds of ennui. Especially since I didn’t have any black turtlenecks OR Woody Allen Glasses.

I figure that’s what a Liberal Arts Degree teaches: how to properly dress as a “writer.”

(well, that and how to excel at Ultimate Frisbee)

I spent minutes agonizing over how to properly dress before I threw on something I’d found under my bed and called it “good enough.” I figure I write in cat-hair coated Happy Pants and a t-shirt, so really, anything was a step up from that. We all know looking the part is half the battle.

I used to take the train to and from school and I’d completely forgotten how much I love to people-watch at the train station.

I stood near someone I deemed a “Real Housewife of Chicago,” based upon her spray tan and knee high boots coupled with a gigantic fur coat.

It was while talking to her that I saw him: he was The God of Luscious Mustaches everywhere and I was betwixt. Dressed head to toe in Spandex, listening to an iPod, and wearing the thick-rimmed glasses I so desperately required for that class. Certainly, I could have crushed his twiggy body for the glasses, but once I saw the mustache, I knew I could never harm him.

It was too perfect.

Perhaps I could get a PICTURE of his ‘stache. I contemplated how to do that (The Twitter had the best idea: pretend to be Canadian and ask for a picture with him) and couldn’t figure it out before he was lost in the breeze; on a different train car. The chance of a lifetime, and I’d wasted it.

I spent the rest of the train ride mourning all of the things that might have been; me and his mustache.

Somehow, I’ve managed to get on with my life. But the image of his mustache, carefully playing on the top of his lips, will haunt me forever.

(an artist’s representation of the mustache)(the part of the host will be played by Moby).

my-mustache

Did I mention he was a ginger with a Hitler Mustache?

It was truly a work of art.

Or something.

 

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

20 Responses to They’re The People That You (Don’t) Meet

  • No Good says:

    Thank you, Aunt Becky! Just what I asked for, but so much better than I could have imagined!

  • That picture? Priceless! Congrats on the whole speaking about blogging gig! Awesome!

  • Rebecca says:

    You’re like a famous rock star and I want to marry you…wanna meet me at Westminster Abbey? You can be the princess and I can be the princess and we’ll draw those red mustaches on everyone who comes to see us.

  • Rebecca says:

    And….thanks to you (I give you credit for all my success these days) I wrote this blog post about how I think Apria sucks and then I e-mailed a link to Apria. Things are changing at Apria (totally changing!) and I might be getting what I need for Joey. I’m excited to be getting what I need for Joey to be more independent in his wheelchair but what excites me a bit more is that it seems they have changed a bit by means of customer service. That’s a win for everyone who has to deal with Apria!

    Here is the post if you’re interested
    http://landlock-mo.blogspot.com/2011/04/dear-apria-healthcare.html

  • Em says:

    Ahhhh AB…. people watching on the train. It simply doesn’t get better than that. I commuted into the city for a year and started a blog, primarily of people asleep on the train. Check it:

    http://trainspotters.wordpress.com/

    Then I moved and my trainspotting days were over. But it’s good stuff, that’s for sure. Hope the “lecture” went well! Cat hair pants and all.

  • Dr. Cynicism says:

    You gotta be quick with those spandex people. They are naturally faster to escape due to being so aerodynamic. Better luck next time!

  • Kim says:

    This is what I miss about taking trains all the time. Great moustaches.

  • Kelly says:

    There is a kid that works at one of our offices that the mustache with the curly Q’ed edges. Perfect circles of mustache wax. It’s insane.

    Whenever I see him, I am always staring. He can’t be older then 24 or so. Just crazy.

    • Michelle says:

      One of my staff has that same one, it’s perfection.
      He’s maybe 30? If that. It’s always waxed up in a curly Q.

  • Quite possibly the most amazing mustache known to man. How do you not adore mustaches? They’re the quintessential part to knowing when a man is a real man!
    Ava

  • Kristin
    Twitter: dragondream
    says:

    I can think of one ‘stache that beats that one out. My dad, back when his hair was still black, decided to grow a mustache. Since he was in the Air Force, he had to keep it trimmed short. When his ‘stache came in brick read, he was briefly sporting a thin, red sorta Hitlerish ‘stache to go along with his short black hair.

  • Pam says:

    Are you seriously saying that you didn’t just go up to him and ask to take a picture of him? Dang girl. I’m surprised. LOL

    Congrats on the talk giving–how’d it go?

  • I am simply speechless. I might have wept tears of joy had I seen him.

  • Moby with a Hitler stache. Just what I needed this Friday.

  • Alexis
    Twitter: theangelalexistwitter.com
    says:

    Your ginger Hitler wannabe looks suspiciously like more than half of my dad’s relatives. I’ll have to find out if any of them live near Chicago. If so, that’s one more greater metropolitan area that is plagued with a truly crazy person who happens to be relateed to me. Everyone in my dad’s family except my dad and my Uncle Steve is missing more marbles than can be counted.

  • Alexis
    Twitter: theangelalexistwitter.com
    says:

    No, I’m not a robot, in case you actually expected a reply to your question. If the same question appears at the end of this post, I’ll understand that it was rhetorical.

  • janelle says:

    so…recently found your blog. through, i dunno. whatever. good stuff. but back to the topic at hand: Facial Hair.

    The man to whom I am married (I could say ‘the man I’m married to,’ but that’s grammatically incorrect. or I could say ‘my husband’ but that’s a little uninteresting.). Anyway, the grown male inhabiting my house and [occasionally when he’s lucky] bed has a facial hair issue. Namely there’s just so fucking much of it. He has one of those giant hipster beards though he’s not at all a hipster (although he does have a fedora and forearm tattoos) _ (OMG I’m Married to a fucking hipster.)deep breath. But hipster or not, he also has a crazy ass mustache and the result of this whole facial hair situation is that dudes stop us in the street ALL THE TIME to compliment him on it. On the fur. It’s really quite odd. But I see now that there are women who are also impressed by a good mustache. And I gotta say, I’m impressed. I believe that makes you something of a bad ass. By the way, i once met a dude in a bar named MYQ (pronounced “m” “y,” “Q” – each letter separately) who shaved his facial hair in various configurations, took pictures of it and compiled them into a coffee table book. Huh.
    yeah. I couldn’t make that shit up. I think I need to blog about good ‘ol MYQ.
    AnywayCheers. Good blog. I shall return.

  • linlah says:

    Moby’s new mustache is nice. Good job Aunt Becky.

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