A Vacation. A Vacation From Ourselves.

XXXIV. Another year around the sun. Another 75,000 dollars or so. Another American road trip in a Hyundai Elantra sedan. Another chapter in ‘If You Like Coffee, You’ll Love Cocaine’. Another vacation. But still, a vacation. A vacation from ourselves.

Currently, I actually feel like a very busy porn star, but that’s neither here nor there…

My Accountant and My Electrician picked me up at 5AM in Burlington, somewhere near Mapleview Mall. I was on no sleep, no sleep! (2 hours sleep actually) after a particularly wild office karaoke party (and another flawless rendition Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, by me). Getting into the car, My Accountant was heard to remark,

“It’s 5AM, you’re drunk, and carrying a half eaten pizza. Absolutely nothing about this pickup is a surprise”

It’s good to know I don’t disappoint.

 

We ripped through Niagara, Upstate New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and into Manhattan in record time. I managed to not piss away all my money at the first Wawa I saw, and opted for the usual cauldron of coffee and a pack of American Spirits. Oh, and mozzarella sticks. Can’t forget those mozzarella sticks.

“Oh you went to a Wawa? Wow, congratulations on going to a fucking convenience store” – Me, a loser, on the Bam Margera message board, circa 2002.

 

Beyond all that, and despite the fact that I almost poutine’d in my shorts coming out of The Lincoln Tunnel, The Ramblin’ Boys of Pleasure made it to the East Village, relatively unscathed.

(I don’t know why we insist on doing this pose)

Then proceeded to get to the task at hand.

Obviously $1 slices were a larger part of the intended tasks at hand, but no one needs to read about how I’m getting fatter and slowly killing myself with bread, sauce, and cheese. But I drank a bottle or two of Kombucha, so you know, #balance.

 

In my continuing/never ending quest to live out episodes of Seinfeld in real-life, I convinced My Accountant and My Electrician to do The Real Kramer reality tour.

The Real K-Man did not understand my ‘Van Buren Boys’ reference…

Unlike last time, I actually ate something from The Soup Nazi without the feeling that I was about to die. The turkey chili – 11/10. The tour itself? Basically $37.50 for a bus ride around Manhattan and a 3 Musketeers, but also 11/10.

 

Waiting in line for a another trip to The Comedy Cellar, we got stuck in line behind some delightful NYU grads, who now work in finance. They and their leader, Chad, spent a lot of time shitting on some girl named Teresa, who actually sounded like a delightful, fun person. Who cares if Teresa was booty poppin’ in front of the LaCroix display at the back of a Safeway in Florida on spring break. Maybe she just didn’t want to go into details about the farm she currently works on because she doesn’t want to get any shit from you, Chad. Fuck you Chad.

Do girls know how pretty they are? I saw Chloë Sevigny walking through Tompkins. In my head I asked her to marry me, she said yes, and we ran away to live out our lives in Connecticut. But actually, I just swooned, likely spit up my whole wheat everything bagel w/ lox, and gawked at her, likely making her very uncomfortable.

Happy Birthday.

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