TGiving 2K5

If you already sorta hate people like me, riding the Greyhound bus really confirms your convictions. The smell of sanitizer in the morning, pre-7AM that is, was really the least of my qualms, even though I had a front row (or, more accurately, very back row) seat for that. Are you, my fellow-riders, really incapable of holding it for more than 55 minutes? Then there's the ticket counter clerk who informs you you'll have to pay a fee (interestingly cash only) to change your orginally discounted ticket. So after a mad dash to three different ATMs to find one that will actually dispense cash (since your bus "leaves" in 7 minutes), you get back in line to wait, only to subsequently be told you're not actually in line and when you finally do get to the clerk with 2 minutes to spare you're told you can board without changing your ticket at all.

Another sprint to the gate and we make it! Just in time to wait in the swealtering bus for 23 minutes. Which in an of iteslf wouldn't be so bad. But honestly people, its 9PM. Our family ate pretty early at 3pm and I definitely am not in the mood for leftovers yet, so why, oh why, must you unpack an entire Thanksgiving feast version 2.0 featuring turkey, sides, and drinks, and stink up the whole bus? We all dealt with the same smell all day and at this point it has changed markedly from mouth-watering to hurl-inducing.

Why Greyhoung, why? Was my $40 roundtrip ticket not enough to warrant some semblance of service? Must you toy with me just to assert your all-powerful role in this situation? Because yes, I need you. I can't afford the train. Or the plane. Or to entirely shirk familial responsibilities for another year. I guess the best thing I can do then is just make sure I don't get the seat next to the bathroom next time.

*****

When I wasn't busy hating people, being a bitch to my family, or stuffing my face, I was having a pretty enjoyable--well, the stuffing of face part was admittedly pretty good too. The most blog-worthy portion of our whirlwind trip was the part where we walked from the Port Authority to Grand Central and somehow forgot to remember that whole Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade thing that was blocking our own route. But that was a-ok because unlike the marvelors who stood out in the cold six-deep for hours to catch a glimpse of Joey Lawrence, we got front row spots as we waited to cross the parade path, even if it was only for about 2 minutes.

I thought the Crocodile Hunter was gonna be on this float (not sure how a girl holding a banner in front of it that read "Steve Irwin The Crocodile Hunter" gave me that idea), but he wasn't. Instead there was some man? woman? that looked like a mix between The Count from Sesame Street and Charlie from the Chocolate Factory up there and that was decidely less thrilling.

This was obviously the highlight of some band geek's year.

Some pink elephant.

Some pink elephant that's about to eat one cop and step on another.