Adventure on the Red Line

We're off to see Sinatra

When you think of the me, the SJG, as I hope you do daily, every 15 minutes or so, I'm sure what comes to mind is this:  "Oh, that SJG, she's always up for adventure."  Followed by, "Gee, I wonder which Harley she's taking out for a ride today."  What's that?  These are not the things that come to mind?  Well, I'm a little hurt.  I am too up for adventure!  Take yesterday.  Yesterday, I took the Metro for the first time.  Can I get a woo-hoo?  Of course, I took along my bodyguards.  I'm not crazy.  The lovely Nadine, Joan and Carrie, dear friends from dance class, stood by me every step of the way, shielding me from harm, guiding me through the purchase of my ticket, showing me where to wait for the Red Line, telling me when to get on -- "Wait till the doors open!  Good girl!" -- and when to get off.  It was all so helpful.  The ride to Hollywood and Vine was incident-free, just the way the SJG likes it.  We brunched, we saw "Come Fly Away," at the Pantages and it was all fabulous.  Then we crossed the street and went back down to the Metro and got followed by a whacked-out guy dressed in black.  As we bought our tickets, he stood near by, mumbling creepy stuff, like, "Hey, you like Sinatra?  I can sing better than Sinatra.  You want me to sing for you?  It's a dollar."  We did our best to ignore him, but someone, I think it was me, said, "Uh, no thanks."  Then he started swearing at us, and saying rude things and left.  We got back on the Red Line and that was enough adventure for the SJG.  I can now cross taking the Metro off my bucket list.