August 8, 2011

  • The Curse of Pennsylvania.
    Their people are contractually obligated to make me hate their state.

    Preface - The journeys and adventures provided by the great state of Pennsylvania would not have been made possible without me being in the accompaniment of those involved during my previous car incident with the police. When there is a car issue, assume that I am most likely with them. And a special thank you to NAVY SEAL "Team M.J". for rescuing me and allowing me to make this post possible. I was mentally prepared to adjust into a strict, wholesome life without technology amongst the fine Amish folk.

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    The view for the next gazillion miles into Pennsylvania.

    ACT 1 - The beginning of the End

    I love Pennsylvania just as much as I enjoy contracting gonorrhea. It's been almost eight years since I've last paid my favorite state a visit. In fact, I can remember that day vividly, with my friend's rented U-Haul truck getting stuck in the middle of a blizzard, while traversing through roads without GPS and power steering that blew out.

    And as most masochists favor, I went back in for more. This time, Pennsylvania finally had me for a TKO.

    The journey begins with my tastebuds seeking something different. Kangaroo? Wild board? Alligator, perhaps? Yes, please. But where does one find it? In Pennsyl-freakin-vania. I swore to myself I would never go back after so many bad incidents and verbal outbursts toward the heavens while in the state. But I am older, more wise, more knowledgable. Surely I would get the upperhand this time. Right?

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    Nachoes, wild boar sliders, alligator gumbo.

    Fast-forward five hours later.

    "WHY HASN'T OUR TOW TRUCK COME FOR US YET?!"

    Indeed, Pennsylvania would not let us go without a fight. It's like Kim Kardashian being unable to go home without a black man from a NAACP awards show. And both would leave us sore and feeling butthurt the next day.

    Not only did the great state of Pennsylvania send some sort of voodoo at my friend's car engine to literally stop in the middle of driving (is going form 5,5000 RPM to 0 in an instant normal?) just ten minutes away from our destination?

    Is it normal for our car to break down in a town where every mechanic in a 50 mile radius is closed for the weekend?

    Is it normal that a town has no taxis, trains, or buses available at all?

    Is it alarming that I had not seen a single police officer the whole weekend?

    Is it normal having a mosquito bite your knuckles  (WHAT KIND OF MOSQUITO DOES THAT?) leaving a funny looking scar? I'm pretty sure I have a severe case of West Nile.

    Is it normal to mentally prepare yourself to live a long life of being one with the Amish because I feared I'd be stuck here?

    Why, the Keystone state of America would never allow such things! It loves me and I love it too!

    http://x7c.xanga.com/75ce1640d7432278199843/w221601352.jpg
    Lesson learned: never buy a Kia.

    ACT 2 - Funky hotel

    To make matters worse, the closest hotel we were able to locate sounded great on paper, but that was as bright as our trip would get. Since every mechanic in town was busy getting drunk instead of working Saturday or Sunday, we were forced to either sleep in the streets or spend the next 48 hours in a hotel. After my stay at this sleazy hotel, the streets will take precedence if I ever find myself blindfolded, kidnapped, and tossed into the state of Pennsylvania.

    https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/185241_615226499577_57600103_32961883_7983999_n.jpg
    The room.

    https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/223689_615226519537_57600103_32961884_470364_n.jpg
    Looks can be deceiving.

    Our first of three rooms  (yes, three room changes) had a funky smell. It smelled like your grandmother who's been smoking a pack of cigarettes since WWI with a hint of hardcore funk. "Maybe it'll air out or my nose will get used to it," I thought. Neither happened. This lovely room also had a TV that was stuck in a shade of Barney purple. When we asked the hotel management to fix it--and by fix, I mean slap it a few times--they simply moved us to another room. Our second room they changed us to, had the same smell, but with a hint of blue cheese. I suppose this was their "continental breakfast" they prided themselves on at the front desk. This particular room had more character. And by character, I mean it was far more dim with fewer working lights (for a more romantic feel?), the ceiling paneling was clearly falling apart, the telephone wasn't working, the tap water had a pungent taste that made me feel like brushing my teeth after rinsing my mouth with it, and a lovely cockroach the size of my thumb to accompany us and read a bedtime story to forget our troubles.

    The following morning, we requested a room change, which came after their complimentary breakfast of stale bagels and milk that had the expiration dates rubbed off, one look and they couldn't even pay me to touch any of that. The third room, which was their "prime room" had me picturing a marvelous view, comfy leather couches, carpet without cigarette burns, clean bathrooms, unstained bath towels, and no smell. I'm sorry, did I say I wanted the aforementioned? I mean, please, do provide the opposite of that list! I'm asking for too much here, particularly for an establishment that claims to have a "physical fitness room" that features a single treadmill. Given the amount of customers I saw that weekend here, I'd be surprised to ever see two people at the same time within the premise.

    ACT 3 - These thumbs were made for hitchhiking

    24 hours later and after suffering from a bout of cabin fever; the pillow and I got into an argument about the coffee maker constantly leaving a mess for others, I forced myself to go outside in the wonderful 95F heat and humidity. If you aren't familiar, the main export of Pennsylvania is boredom. I made use of my phone and did a search for the closest signs of civilization. It could be anything. A bar, supermarket, even an Arby's. Yes, I was that desperate, don't judge me! I swirled my phone in the air like I was doing a tribal dance to get some sort of signal, and was able to get a few results. "Generic Mexican" 10 miles away.

    "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" I yelled under my breath. A vein permanently popped out from my neck during this process. I was ready to kick that baby possum crossing the road.

    What I did next would forever go down as the stupidest things I've done, or the most brilliant idea ever, depending on how you look at it. Yours truly, hitchhiked his way up the highway. Now, this isn't a scene where I slowly walk up a road exercising my thumbs. I stood at a corner while looking at my phone trying navigating my way to the Mexican restaurant. A gentleman that looked like a hipster Jesus (he read the bible before it was mainstream), asked me if I was lost. I bored him with my stories and he saw how pathetic my situation was.

    What he did next was due to either feeling pity, or had a real rapist wit, but eventually offered me and my friend a ride to our destination. Hell, if I was going to be ball-gagged and chained, at least I'd be with someone else. Plus, I would be able to check off "hitchhiking" from my nonexistent bucket list. If you're worrying about my safety, I only lost both my hands and my right ear. I'm currently typing this with my nose. Don't ask how I ate my burrito when I finally got to the restaurant.

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    Huevos Rancheros from the Mexican place we found in the middle of Pennsylvania. It's as out of place as a White guy dancing really well in Harlem.

    ACT 4 - A rescue mission from the NAVY SEALS

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    The only "real meal" while staying in the hotel. It tasted like the cardboard it was delivered in.

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    A bit of morale booster.

    As another 24 hours pass, I finally get some good news. Since I was providing regular status updates on my Facebook wall, clearly to make others jealous of my wonderful time in Pennsylvania, my friend took note of it and asked if I needed help. Most times, I'd suck it up and tough it out. But it was a Sunday, and with work the next day coupled with meetings, my options were limited. My personal NAVY Seals team zoomed off from NY at sunset--a 3 hour drive each way--to whisk me back home in their caravan. Forever indebted to them and jokingly offering the payment of bending over at their requests, we made it back at 3am.

    They say Pennsylvania is for lovers. Whoever said this either loves eating electrified barbed wire on a hot summer day, or enjoys anal sex. Pennsylvania, you're officially the worst state in the US. In fact, you can be America's other armpit.

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