Christmas Tramp
As part of my wandering holiday to find my missing Christmas spirit, I left Connecticut on Christmas morning and took a train to JennyJenny8675309'se parents' house in New Jersey for family dinner.
No, we are not a lesbian couple disguised as roommates, though all of my co-workers think that. She's not my type, but I would gladly get it on with her Mom's scalloped potatoes.
And actually, I took several trains to get there. My pretties, can I just say that I am pleased as punch with myself that I navigated a switch from Grand Central Station to Penn Station using the very foreign, kinda scary subway system? The one that has mystery puddles and smelly people flopped out on the floor everywhere and college kids playing bongos, for Pete's sake.
Some of you natives, including Adelka Ann and Justin P., may shout, "Why the eff didn't you just take a cab from Grand Central to Penn Station, numbskull?"
That is because I might have a small, slightly irrational fear of cabs, thanks to the movie The Bone Collector. Plus, they usually smell like armpits. So, I braved the subway. All by myself. Now, haters will say, "123Valerie, it was two stops. Big hoo ha. "
True, but to that I will retort: Shut up.
Let me have my moment to revel in self-sufficiency, superior navigational skills and the supreme ability to read signs and ask people for directions. I hopped from train to train like a hobo. A hobo with clean underpants who doesn't really like baked beans from a tin, but I think ya'll can still see the parallel. Right?
After successfully journeying to New Jersey, I have a new-found goal to use more trains. I like trains. They make flying seem so mundane by comparison, though Double A did score me a $32 flight from DCA to LaGuardia as a Christmas gift. It brought back lots of old memories, my pretties, of wearing navy blue pantyhose, drinking from little bottles filched from the airplane and pointing with two fingers, not one, because that's rude. But alas ...
Mist1 knows people who get her hard-to-come-by electronics, and I know pilots who get me cheap tickets. She and I could take over the world. We just might.
The only thing I don't understand is why the porters have to punch so many damn holes in the tickets. Work smarter, not harder, dude--get a bigger punch. But, maybe some things are best left as a mystery. Unless, I mean, one of you kids wants to tell me why. That'd be cool.
In the Comments section, tell me why the porters have to punch so many damn holes in the tickets. Thank you, and mind the gap.
No, we are not a lesbian couple disguised as roommates, though all of my co-workers think that. She's not my type, but I would gladly get it on with her Mom's scalloped potatoes.
And actually, I took several trains to get there. My pretties, can I just say that I am pleased as punch with myself that I navigated a switch from Grand Central Station to Penn Station using the very foreign, kinda scary subway system? The one that has mystery puddles and smelly people flopped out on the floor everywhere and college kids playing bongos, for Pete's sake.
Some of you natives, including Adelka Ann and Justin P., may shout, "Why the eff didn't you just take a cab from Grand Central to Penn Station, numbskull?"
That is because I might have a small, slightly irrational fear of cabs, thanks to the movie The Bone Collector. Plus, they usually smell like armpits. So, I braved the subway. All by myself. Now, haters will say, "123Valerie, it was two stops. Big hoo ha. "
True, but to that I will retort: Shut up.
Let me have my moment to revel in self-sufficiency, superior navigational skills and the supreme ability to read signs and ask people for directions. I hopped from train to train like a hobo. A hobo with clean underpants who doesn't really like baked beans from a tin, but I think ya'll can still see the parallel. Right?
After successfully journeying to New Jersey, I have a new-found goal to use more trains. I like trains. They make flying seem so mundane by comparison, though Double A did score me a $32 flight from DCA to LaGuardia as a Christmas gift. It brought back lots of old memories, my pretties, of wearing navy blue pantyhose, drinking from little bottles filched from the airplane and pointing with two fingers, not one, because that's rude. But alas ...
Mist1 knows people who get her hard-to-come-by electronics, and I know pilots who get me cheap tickets. She and I could take over the world. We just might.
The only thing I don't understand is why the porters have to punch so many damn holes in the tickets. Work smarter, not harder, dude--get a bigger punch. But, maybe some things are best left as a mystery. Unless, I mean, one of you kids wants to tell me why. That'd be cool.
In the Comments section, tell me why the porters have to punch so many damn holes in the tickets. Thank you, and mind the gap.
Labels: Christmas dinner, Double A coming through, ham salad, is that puddle pee? I think it is pee, Sky Girl, trains
posted by 123Valerie @ Tuesday, December 26, 2006
4 Comments:
At 5:21 PM ,
Emily Maple said...
Congrats on the train stuff.
They actually, every morning, learn a new secret design that is done by punching small holes into cards. No, really. The porters are actually highly trained thick-paper artists.
At 8:26 PM ,
Kristin said...
Merry Christmas, kiddo. I, too, ended up on a train. Kind of fun.
At 10:04 PM ,
123Valerie said...
Em, I should have known they were probably making cutouts for their scrap books. Duh, Val.
FC&F, it's okay. I'm not sure either. I wish someone were navigating through my love tunnel. Yes!
K, honey, was it a Love Train (Love Train) by chance? That would have been cool.
At 12:23 PM ,
M@ said...
The porters punch so many holes to the keep the beat in that song you're just not listening to. It's not that you can't HEAR the train song, Valerie, it's that you don't want to.
Chugachugachug... punch punch.... wooowooooo!
(And a glass of vodka will set you right up for the day as well!)
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