Travelogue II
There's not a lot to say, other than that I've been missing out on all the fun because I can't sleep for shit. The Missus keeps waking me up in the middle of the night (no, not for that, we're staying at the In-laws, remember?) and then the heat keeps me awake. Not to mention I don't have the sounds of traffic, sirens, bums pushing shopping carts full of bottles and cans (and just clap your hands, Beck), drunken UCSF students, and the occasional Harley to lull me to sleep.
It's all crickets in this one horse town. Actually to borrow from one of my screenplays, it's not even a one horse town. They have to go to the next town over to borrow a donkey, just to call it a one horse town. They jacked the property taxes up all the way around, then the township permits only one cell phone tower for the entire area.
This means no wireless Internet for my computer unless I go up to the Starbucks at the train station. Mind you, this Starbucks is so small that it would give an ant, claustrophobia and carrying the laptop up there would give my neck a righteous ache.
Yesterday I found out the hard way that I didn't pack enough underwear. Okay, adapt to your surroundings, Procrastinator. The Mother-in-law took Procrastinator Jr. to the pool over in the next township, so I had no ride. I tried to find a men's clothing store, but they don't have any within walking distance on the North Shore.
I found a J.C. Penny's five townships over in the Yellow Pages and then I tried to call for a cab...
"We don't have any cabs in town, at the moment," claimed the only cab company listed in this town...twice. When the Mother-in-law got back, she said my best bet was the Stop And Shop some four blocks away. I get there and all they have is "tighty whities."
Tighty whities...ladies and gentlemen, contrary to what you learned in the history books, the Communists have won. When you don't have a choice in underwear and democracy is supposed to be all about choices...instead of tighty whities sticking to your backside in the NY heat. The Commies got the last laugh.
Then when I check out, it's a self-checkout. This goes against my roots as a checker and my union roots. I wanted to sabotage this abomination to man, but I didn't want to hold up the next person who didn't ask for that. Then, because it's an automated machine, I got carded because I was buying a hard ice tea that was mixed with hard lemonade.
The one person they have running the front, looks at my California driver's license. Then she flips it over. Then she flips it over again. She looks at it from just about every angle while flipping it. Now, I'm over forty and I look about thirty-two on a good day, but mind you, I haven't had any sleep. So I am looking my age, and then some.
Her flipping my license wasn't going to change the state of the license itself, geographically or metaphysically. That's right, one more half-turn and it will turn into a New York driver's license. But be careful because if you do a full turn, it will turn into a rabid, morbidly obese goat.
She gave it back after six revolutions, but the picture of me on the license was undoubtedly sea-sick by then...I was merely annoyed. The hard ice tea was just bad and it took three bottles to get the buzz of one Smirnoff Ice...once again, the Commies have won if you need three malt beverages to get the effect of one.
Now it's off to the NYC with three hours of sleep, but I should fit because everybody there is crabby like they've had three hours and five minutes of sleep.
It's all crickets in this one horse town. Actually to borrow from one of my screenplays, it's not even a one horse town. They have to go to the next town over to borrow a donkey, just to call it a one horse town. They jacked the property taxes up all the way around, then the township permits only one cell phone tower for the entire area.
This means no wireless Internet for my computer unless I go up to the Starbucks at the train station. Mind you, this Starbucks is so small that it would give an ant, claustrophobia and carrying the laptop up there would give my neck a righteous ache.
Yesterday I found out the hard way that I didn't pack enough underwear. Okay, adapt to your surroundings, Procrastinator. The Mother-in-law took Procrastinator Jr. to the pool over in the next township, so I had no ride. I tried to find a men's clothing store, but they don't have any within walking distance on the North Shore.
I found a J.C. Penny's five townships over in the Yellow Pages and then I tried to call for a cab...
"We don't have any cabs in town, at the moment," claimed the only cab company listed in this town...twice. When the Mother-in-law got back, she said my best bet was the Stop And Shop some four blocks away. I get there and all they have is "tighty whities."
Tighty whities...ladies and gentlemen, contrary to what you learned in the history books, the Communists have won. When you don't have a choice in underwear and democracy is supposed to be all about choices...instead of tighty whities sticking to your backside in the NY heat. The Commies got the last laugh.
Then when I check out, it's a self-checkout. This goes against my roots as a checker and my union roots. I wanted to sabotage this abomination to man, but I didn't want to hold up the next person who didn't ask for that. Then, because it's an automated machine, I got carded because I was buying a hard ice tea that was mixed with hard lemonade.
The one person they have running the front, looks at my California driver's license. Then she flips it over. Then she flips it over again. She looks at it from just about every angle while flipping it. Now, I'm over forty and I look about thirty-two on a good day, but mind you, I haven't had any sleep. So I am looking my age, and then some.
Her flipping my license wasn't going to change the state of the license itself, geographically or metaphysically. That's right, one more half-turn and it will turn into a New York driver's license. But be careful because if you do a full turn, it will turn into a rabid, morbidly obese goat.
She gave it back after six revolutions, but the picture of me on the license was undoubtedly sea-sick by then...I was merely annoyed. The hard ice tea was just bad and it took three bottles to get the buzz of one Smirnoff Ice...once again, the Commies have won if you need three malt beverages to get the effect of one.
Now it's off to the NYC with three hours of sleep, but I should fit because everybody there is crabby like they've had three hours and five minutes of sleep.
Labels: The In-laws, Travel, Travelogue
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 5:20 AM
7 Comments:
Any Starbucks and wifi is better than no wifi, even with a neck ache. Get tough. The world's a mean place. (Tighty-whities!)
I haven't been sleeping well lately either. It must be since I've been off the percocet. I'm expected to fall asleep naturally?? HA!
Pooks,
"Any Starbucks and wifi is better than no wifi, even with a neck ache."
Heh-heh-heh, a Texan through and through. I wish it was question of "cowboyin' up." I am the luggage carrier for this trip and I have exactly one sick day left in the work bank, so to speak.
Disability doesn't pay night differential and we need the cash when we get back, so I can't afford a pinched neck nerve. I just use the In-laws computer to the point that it drives them nuts.
"Get tough. The world's a mean place. (Tighty-whities!)"
That ain't the point, we won the Cold War and I shouldn't have to sing soprano.
Becka,
"I haven't been sleeping well lately either. It must be since I've been off the percocet."
That will do that. The body rebels when it's off the hard medication.
"I'm expected to fall asleep naturally?? HA!"
Dr. Procrastinator recommends two Jessica Simpson albums back-to-back. If that doesn't put you to sleep, nothing will.
"Dr. Procrastinator recommends two Jessica Simpson albums back-to-back. If that doesn't put you to sleep, nothing will."
I want to sleep, not slit my wrists!
"She didn't ask to lose IQ points Pro."
"I want to sleep, not slit my wrists!"
Hey, hey! What do you want?? My degree in medicine is the home study course from PCDI.
Ugh. No sleep in the 'burbs. Frightening, isn't it? Who can sleep without sound? When I used to stay at my parents' 'burbed house -- and I swear this is true -- I could hear the newspaper hitting the ground, my brain being that starved for sound.
Oh, and I would have selected commado over tighty whities ...
"I swear this is true -- I could hear the newspaper hitting the ground, my brain being that starved for sound."
No, you're absolutely right. I lived in the 'burbs for a five years altogether, and I can affirm that you did hear that newspaper. As well as the neighbor sneezing two doors down and those Godforsaken birds with their chirping! They never stop! All damn day...where was I?
"Oh, and I would have selected commado over tighty whities."
The nieces and nephew were coming over. I had that to consider as well as I didn't want this to become a subplot of that "Friends" episode where one of the gals was dating that dude that was popping out of his shorts.
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