Journeys To and From New York, Or If Connecticut Seceded I Wouldn't Be Sad

Friday night after work I began my three and a half hour trek from Massachusetts to New York. It was pretty uneventful, I must say. It did remind me, however, as it always does, why Connecticut is my least favorite state.

I suppose that isn't totally fair since I haven't actually been to every other state for comparison, but I'm fairly confident in my assessment. I've heard New Jersey referred to as "The Armpit of America" before, but I really must disagree. It's clearly Connecticut. Anyone who thinks differently hasn't traveled between Massachusetts and New York before. It's endless. It is perhaps the longest drive of one's life. For such a small state it certainly feels like you're driving in the Bermuda Triangle.

The worst part is that there is absolutely nothing there. What does Connecticut have? I mean, besides trees? And highway? And some rich people? I beg you to find something worthwhile about Connecticut. I would be thrilled to change my opinion. Then the drive between MA and NY might not be so painful (emphasis on "might"). I even take the "scenic" route on the Merritt Parkway, but I still always feel like I'm caught in a never ending time loop. I mean, at least Jersey has beaches, gave us Bruce Springsteen, and...well, I'm sure they've given us other things too, but even if not that's two over Connecticut.

Still, despite their terrible drivers, I powered through. I made it to NY and in one piece! I had had my doubts since the previous day's events had me worried. I succeeded the night before in completely decimating my lap top.

I want to say upfront that I am generally a smart girl. I just somehow manage to do incredibly stupid things that never cease to amaze me, or those around me. In a fit of NCIS addicted haze, I tried to scour the interwebs for an episode no longer up on CBS.com, and managed to download a video playing program which was, apparently, a nasty virus. Nothing on my computer would open. It crashed. I turned it on, tried to open something, anything! and BAM. Crashed again. Now I turn my computer on and am immediately met with a blue screen of death.

Only slightly less painful than driving through Connecticut.

I then managed to mangle my eyebrows by accidentally trimming the thickest part, so now there was very little hair there. Almost a bald patch.

I was winning at life.

The theme continued on Sunday whilst driving home. I was exhausted. I am not built to stay out past midnight, and certainly can't handle doing so more than one night in a row like I did both Friday and Saturday night. You can tell because on my way home, before I made it to the highway, I realized I needed gas. On my first sweep I accidentally passed the gas station. As I was turning around, I actually thought "This is good, no one was at the station so I will have no trouble pulling my car right up with the tank on the correct side of the pump! No maneuvering necessary!" Yet I still somehow managed to pull up to the self-serve pump with my gas tank on the opposite side of my car, get out, and proceed to swipe my card and enter my info, all with out noticing my error.

Finally the realization of my mistake dawned on me, and I got back in my car and began the the task of turning it around. The gas station I was at had two pump islands (is that what they're called?). One was self-serve and the other was full serve. I don't know why, but full-serve stations make me panic. Too many questions I need to know the answers to immediately. So whenever given the option, I opt for self-serve. But the thing is, at this point in my journey my brain wasn't functioning enough to make a game plan of how I would need to back my car up to remain at the self-serve pump island. It was physically incapable of forming a simple plan my then beleaguered body could execute.

The Only Solution My Brain Could Conceive:

What The Really Looked Like In My Head:

Why yes, those are Christmas Lights!

All I Really Had To Do:



What I Did Do:

My end solution was still pretty simple, but it failed in that I was now at the full-serve pump. The attendant came over and asked something, but as my already tired brain had just been fried by this "thinking" thing I just had to do, I just shouted over him, "Fill 'er up please!!" while shoving my card out my passenger side window. Fill her up he did. With super. I had forgotten that I actually needed to specify what grade of gas I wanted along with how much. Turns out this guy doesn't read minds and, you know, likes money. So I got super, and not regular, which was what I actually desired. I didn't even realize this until I looked at my receipt upon my arrival home, 3 and a half hours away.

Then, before I'd even left New York, I nearly lost my life on the Tappan Zee. Apparently this one car to the right of me felt it was perfectly acceptable to go 85mph over a structure suspended 138 feet above a body of moving water, and is actually considered structurally unsound.

The Tappan Zee has, I believe 7 lanes of traffic. At the time, 4 were open on my side. I was in the lane third from the right (i.e. the outer edge), when this person comes flying down the lane right next to me. Only problem? There's an 18-wheeler in his way. So as he's sailing past me, he changes into the outermost lane (i.e. the outer edge. AKA the long fall to a watery grave) AT THE SAME TIME as the 18-wheeler. This little car almost doesn't stop in time. He almost careens into this enormous conglomeration of steel, wheels and painy death. My eyes darted around - I would have nowhere to go. Nowhere. I would've been road mush. Nay, bridge mush.

I, however, survived. I did not become bridge mush. Which was really exciting...for a moment. Then I remembered that the only thing awaiting me on the other side of the bridge was Connecticut. Miles and miles of Connecticut.