Monday, August 11, 2014

MegaBus Madness

 
I had the extreme displeasure of riding the Megabus this weekend to visit some friends in Philadelphia. For anyone who has ever been subject to public transportation, specifically Megabus or Greyhound, you know that the only way to mentally trick yourself into enjoying the ride is to go into it assuming that the bus will explode and you will be burned alive. That way, when you do survive, it will probably be the only positive experience of the trip...



Itinerary Details: 
Depart Pittsburgh at 6:50am
Arrive Philadelphia at 2:00pm
Cost - My sanity. And $2.45 for a bag of Cheetos. 

On Friday morning I arrived at the David Lawrence Convention Center to begin my seven-hour journey from hell. For anyone who knows me, I am in no way shape or form a "morning person," so the fact that I somehow managed to put on clothes and get to the station by 6:30 in the morning was a miracle. I knew it was too good to be true. You can't buy a round trip ticket for under $100, have the bus arrive AND depart on time, and NOT have something go horribly wrong. You just can't.

I went to the upper level of the bus and found a seat towards the rear of the bus. It didn't seem as though we were going to be jam packed, but nevertheless I made the mistake of assuming I would have a seat all to myself.

You know what happens when you assume, right? You "make an ass out of u and me" and you get stuck next to an oversized travel companion with rainbow hair and what I can only assume was a toe infection that she sported in her Hello Kitty flip flops...

I'm not sure why I was "The Chosen One."

EVERY other person on the top level of the bus had an empty seat next to them, but somehow I managed to communicate a friendly and inviting vibe in my black yoga pants, black sweatshirt, and brown combat boots (Clearly I was dressed to impress).


The temperature on the bus was subzero and my sweatshirt proved useless. There is no way to describe the bone chilling, teeth chattering temperature other than to imagine yourself rapidly eating ice pops in the dead of winter in Antarctica.

In order to deal with the harshness of the conditions, Rainbow Brite unzipped her fluorescent backpack and two new friends emerged: A moose stuffed animal and an anime character pillow. If she and her travel companions had not smelled like Ramen noodles, I would have welcomed the body heat.

I said goodbye to Rainbow when we arrived at State College. I scanned the bus full of new boarders and it was mostly filled with college students. It was still freezing on the bus, and I was seriously considering snuggling with the cute guy in the aisle next to me. We made eye contact and I thought it was a go until I realized the only reason he was looking at me was because I looked like the Unabomber...


We arrived at our rest stop and I couldn't have jogged faster into the convenience store to buy an XXXL Coffee and Cheetos. I looked like a total murderer but I was in full survival mode and needed to warm up and eat my feelings. I realized that perhaps other passengers were texting their friends about ME. For example,

"Ew there's this girl dressed in all black on the bus and I'm pretty sure she would bomb it if she wasn't too busy shoving a whole family-sized bag of Cheetos in her mouth..."

(I actually searched "Megabus" and "Cheetos" on Twitter to see if any fellow passengers were tweeting about me).

After realizing that we still had 3 hours to go, I came to the conclusion that an XXXL Coffee was in my Top 10 worst decisions I've ever made. I tried to hold it in, I really did, but I wasn't going to punish my bladder for my own selfish French Vanilla indulgence. The size of the bathroom on the bus was actually smaller than one you would use on plane. Of course you're holding on to the rails for dear life as you squat over this miniature pee stained pot so as not to make any physical contact. The turbulence experienced in those mere 2-3 minutes was exceptional. I'm convinced the bus driver saw me enter the "bathroom" and then decided to pick up the pace and play Mario Kart with the other Turnpike trolls. If I didn't have the thigh strength of a trapeze artist, I likely would have lost my balance and peed on myself. 

Although burning alive in a Megabus seems like a heroic way to go, I was able to successfully complete the 7 Hour Odyssey to Philadelphia. The return trip home to Pittsburgh was not as eventful, except that my parents knew I would have a 5-10 minute stop in Harrisburg and they drove out to see me briefly. 


Mom always keeps me grounded.


They brought me snacks and something more which I didn't realize until I was already seated on the bus. Mary and Kevin went to Neato Burrito and got me a Cowboy Crunch to enjoy on the ride home. For anyone that really, REALLY knows me (or Central PA's fine dining) this is my definition of true love and heaven on earth.

Translation: I love you, too.
For the rest of the trip I was able to sleep in tolerable conditions (i.e. Spread eagle with an empty Neato Burrito wrapper on my chest), but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say "never again" to Megabus. The price you don't pay for an expensive ticket is the price you do pay for the PTSD therapy you need for years to follow. You can help accelerate my recovery by donating money to my Kickstarter Campaign, "Meg On The Megabus," or by mailing me Neato Burrito gift cards. Message me privately for my address.

M

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Dear Mom, Sorry I'm the Worst

I have this looming fear that a day will come in which I will have a lot to answer for. Whether it is in front of God, Allah, or John Stamos, I will be reminded and likely reprimanded for:

  1. Sampling/Stealing candy with my brother when we were younger and went to the grocery store (Sorry, Mom). 
  2. Faking sick every First Friday in grade school so that I wouldn't have to go to Mass (Check the attendance books people. Check the books). 
  3. Blaming children for pooping their pants when really I had just farted. 
  4. World hunger. No...really. I literally just ate a large pizza by myself in less than 24 hours. 
But mostly what I will need to answer for is keeping my mother in a constant state of anxiety.

Many of you can identify with having a mom that calls and texts you incessantly (because they care, of course) and that stays up until the early hours of the morning waiting for you when you insist on staying out late with friends. When people, strangers even, tell me to "Leave your poor mother alone," I know I'm doing something right. 

Mary really is a saint. I knew this for certain the day that she baked me a cake in the shape of a tooth and iced it with white frosting after I had lost my first tooth. 

How do I repay her, you ask? 

Pranks. Public Humiliation. Inappropriate jokes. 

I do it because I care.

The "poor woman" has had to put up with a lot, I do admit. She accepts it though because nearly 25 years ago she decided to have a little girl and now she has to deal with the consequences.

BE THAT AS IT MAY...I have decided to write an open apology letter to my mother so that when the day comes, I will have a clear conscience and you may all bear witness to the fact that I have repented. So without further ado...

Dear Mom,

Sorry I'm the Worst. I am sorry for constantly pranking and humiliating you at random. Specifically, I am sorry for repeatedly jumping onto your back in public and demanding in a lisp that you give me "horsey rides." I am even more sorry that this happened as recently as this year.

I am sorry for being a child con artist who tried to trick you into giving me more Tooth Fairy money by placing a white pebble under my pillow.

I am sorry for making you think I was lost in Harlem at nighttime and that I was either in a gang or a drug neighborhood because there were shoes dangling from the power lines.



**NOTE FOR READERS -- My mom seriously did not talk to me for two weeks after this joke. 

I am somewhat sorry for uploading embarrassing pictures and/or videos of you on social media, but we gotta get dem LIKES, girl!!

I am sorry for that New Year's Eve where I damaged everything on the first floor of our house (Nolan, Patrick, and Caitlin had nothing to do with it).

I am sorry for making you come to my cheerleading competitions because.....cheerleading.

And I am sorry for calling you Judas after you refused to take me to Taco Bell.

However, in my defense, I would label some of these as "acts of retribution."

Mary isn't sugar and spice and everything nice, you know. For instance, when I was a child she used tactics similar to the Vietcong in order to pry information from me. She had threatened to call the mother of the boy whom I had a crush on and tell her AND him that I had a crush on him if I did not tell the truth about a "certain event." I thought she was bluffing until she brought the phone and the school directory into my room. When I held my ground, she proceeded to dial the boy's mother (AKA push the power button on and off). She went so far as giving a fake salutation before I screamed, "OKAY OKAY. I DID IT!! I ATE ICE CREAM TWICE TODAY."

I cried and she was satisfied.
I think that says a lot about my mother, me, and my love for ice cream.

But I know in my heart that when the day of judgement arrives, she and I will be welcomed into the pearly gates of Heaven and/or Pizza Planet because who could deny a duo as good looking as this:

I was told moments later that I was adopted.



M