A long time ago, my Bro and I created a character for my Momma;  the crazy bus driver.  We decided that she should change careers to; screeching harpie of a bus driver woman, with curlers in her hair, staring into the oversized rearview mirror; threatening to "Drive this death-trap off a cliff, if you little SOBs don't settle down!".  A charming hybrid of Pee Wee's Large Marge and Chris Farley from Billy Madison.  Come to think of it, it wasn't so long ago... Sadly, my Momma never became that bus driver, though yesterday's ride to work could've used her.

  My new commute takes me up Dufferin, a reasonably safe route during daylight hours (after dark is anybody's game).  Heading to work at 10:30am on a Tuesday, I never expected to find myself in an all-ladies- fight club, but that's where I was.  Having perched myself in a prime spectator seat, I witnessed the following unfold:

1. The bus is full of the typical rag-tag group of business men and women, uniformed kids late for school, old ladies with push carts and me.

2. A beautiful Spanish looking 27ish year old; stands with her boyfriend, casually chatting.  She's wearing a blazer with black jeans and camel coloured heels, hair tied up in a loose and romantic bun.  She looks confident and collected. Hereafter referred to as Conchita.

3. In a stream of new riders, there is a woman- short, grey long stringy hair, acid wash-parachute pants, skin like a brown leather bag filled with cottage cheese. Hereafter referred to as the Crazy.

4. The Crazy is slinking towards the back of the bus, starring through the stringy hair hanging in front of her face, she zeroes in on Conchita.  Within 2 stops of the Crazy getting on the bus; she is now standing next to Conchita; who is oblivious to being watched.

5. The PUNCH heard around the bus.  The Crazy has launched a hay-maker which connects to the lower left jaw of the smiling Conchita- effectively shattering her social bubble and ruining her lipstick.

6. A stunned Conchita spins on her heels- scans the Crazy up and down, then flies into a blinding-white-hot Spanish rage!  Flailing at the Crazy, driving her back into the arms of the 2 Sumo wrestler looking men seated behind her.  Conchita, grabbing the Crazy by the collar of her dirty shirt, lands 3 solid closed fisted, skull rattling, lip splitting punches.  Conchita's boyfried wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her up and back, which in effect frees all four extremities for retaliation.  Arms and legs flying through the air, grasping at the Crazy with all her might.

7.  The Crazy surprised by Conchita's passionate and tactical reaction; begins screaming over the bally-hoo; "She punched me in the face, that B*%$H punched my Effing face!" (expletives removed to protect my Momma's sensitive eyes) Conchita responding with; "Eff that! That Crazy B*%$H punched me first!" 

8.  Enter the frenzy-The Hipster with a b/w checkered shirt and white rimmed sun glasses; "Yo! She (pointing to the Crazy) did punch first! I got it all on tape."  Holding up his smartphone triumphantly! (Ha, tape- a true hipster:))

9.  The 2 Sumo wrestlers are now holding up the Crazy by the armpits- carrying her off the bus, her unlaced shoes barely touching on the floor.  To which the bus driver asks dazedly; "Hey, what's going on?"

10.  At the next stop the Crazy is thrown from the bus (like Momma from the train) and the cosmos that is the Dufferin blue line breathes a sigh of relief, while Conchita and her man watch the Hipster's video and re-tell the story.  

  Now, I am no stranger to street fights, or bus fights, or really just fighting... I don't fight of course, I am a flighter, but they seem to be attracted to me.  So much so, that I have been honing my gift for the detailed re-telling, in case I am called upon as a witness. If my Momma were driving that bus, she would have snapped those two ladies into line real fast, but she would have punished the whole bus; that's how she rolls.  If you can't play nice, then you can't play at all, it wasn't me though- That crazy B*%$H punched first, Hipster can prove it.  So, I called my Papa to tell him, he loves a good story.
 
  I work in the film industry, where it's typical to receive "compliments" like; "You're actually a pretty girl."(said with an air of surprise) and "Does anyone ever tell you you look like Reece Witherspoon?".  Both are compliments, but today's blog is about the latter.  Looking like someone, but not being that person is not totally awesome. 

   Consensus* says I am pretty, not a 10 but a solid 7.5; 8 if I'm wearing mascara.  It's not a unique or exotic beauty it's a "does anybody ever tell you, you look like Reece Witherspoon" beauty. If you have a similar look, people will act like you're just as pretty, but I am nowhere near the level of Reese Witherspoon.  Obviously.  Being measured against someone who has a personal trainer, regimented diet plan and movie contracts, when I don't is a slightly stacked deck.  I am clearly not Reece Witherspoon. I look like her...? And Jenny McCarthy sort of. And if my complimentor is lazy they'll just grasp at names of famous blondes.  But what does that do for me? I mean, really?

  Do you know the saying if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck- she's a Toronto actress (probably not, as I just made it up). When a producer is cheap, they hire the stand-in, the person who looks the part, but only from a certain angle, with a certain lighting. The girl looks like the actress the producer wanted but at 1/8 the cost.  And they will use you until they have the money to get the Reese they always wanted.  So, I am currently standing in; waiting for someone to notice how wicked I am. In my brain it's happening.  Well, it isn't really- but if enough people believe it, it might come true! So everybody out there clap your hands and say; "I believe that looking like someone famous, can help you become famous.".  Now, I don't mean FAMOUS-famous, I mean Canadian famous.  The famous where everyone thinks they went to high school with you.  Cast in the glorious role of waitress or concerned nurse or episode victim.  Maybe a few commercials every year? Nothing too fancy, I do like going out without make-up and would hate to have paparazzi following my every move posting photos of my "Worst beach body".

  Though I have realized that looking like someone famous isn't all bad.  You get put on the top of the party invite list, you get pampered by the crew and craft services will make you that super complex douche bag drink you love so much.  I guess there are benefits to being close, but no cigar- except when there's a smoker in the room.


* Consensus made up of my Momma, Papa, Hubby, Bro, BFF and 1 work colleague.