How to Lose a Guy in Ten States
Warning: This blog post may be somewhat raunchier than the others. If you are extremely religious or you are one/both of my parents, I advise you to stop reading now.
So Terry and I got this opportunity to go to New York City to interview a Holocaust survivor with an amazing story of escape to the U.S. As my publisher/camera guy/boyfriend, it didn’t take much coaxing to get him to accompany me on a 12-hour road trip up north, especially since my dad let us take his sweet van with lots of bells and whistles.
I knew he would annoy me with his incessant toying of the van’s gadgetry and marveling over all the things the van could do, while studying the van’s owner’s manual and gushing. (“It even has a DVD player!”) So I decided to annoy him first. You know, head it off at the pass.
Here’s the list of things I came up with that will surely annoy any publisher/camera guy/boyfriend to a girlfriend’s delight on a road trip:
Declare yourself President of the car as soon as you pull out of the driveway.
Carry with you a toy pen in the shape of a finger, that makes a fart noise when you pull it. Pull it constantly.
As President of the car, feel free to play with your boyfriend’s cute little curly hair while he’s driving.
Bring your mixed CD of 80’s metal and sing along with Judas Priest in your best Beavis voice. (Breakin’ the law! Breakin’ the law!)
Scream Wooooooooo! through every mountain tunnel in West Virginia.
As you read the biography of Susan B. Anthony, turn the music down every few pages and say, “Wow, listen to this…” and read a random fact from the book. After all, you are president of the car. You can do that.
Say, “Huh?” after each and every thing he says.
Forget the toy finger. Actual farting is much more annoying.
Play Punch Buggie and Cadillac Whack at every opportunity.
Oh, I’m forgetting the best part. You know that game where you say “in bed” after reading the fortune from a fortune cookie? The game my roommate and I invented, “in my vagina,” is much funnier. For example, when he asks you if you’d like to stop for some coffee, you respond, “Sure, honey, I’d love some coffee. In my vagina.”
(Here’s another gem: “I like this John Mayer mix better than the Judas Priest,” he says. “Me too!” I say. “I love John Mayer. In my vagina.” This was approximately when he became very tired of this game.)
By the time we got to Niagara Falls, our first destination, we had been in the car about fourteen hours and he had a slight eye twitch. After some white wine and no more mention of vaginas, he was a pretty happy fellow, and the next day we walked all around the Falls and even up into Canada. We met some interesting historical actors at the Falls, Encounter Niagara Tours, and they were kind enough to personally take us on a short tour of Three Sisters Island and totally stayed in character the entire time. I was impressed. I would’ve snickered a time or two had I been pretending to be someone from the 19th century. (I guess that explains why they are professional actors and I am not.)
The following day, we went to Rochester to see the Susan B. Anthony house. Terry was riveted! After all he’d heard about her on the drive up to New York, he was well-versed in the history of woman’s suffrage and was thrilled to go on a tour of the house as well as Mount Hope Cemetery where she is buried. It was surely the highlight of his trip. He couldn’t stop talking about the incredible woman she was.
On to Seneca Falls to the Elizabeth Cady Stanton House (more women’s history! Yay for Terry!) and then to Syracuse to see some old friends. Then on to NYC, where we didn’t see anything related to women’s history (Terry was so disappointed) but had a good time anyway, especially when we went to the Brooklyn Bridge to recreate the scene in the first Sex and the City movie when Miranda and Steve get back together. That’s Terry’s favorite show!
We had the good fortune to be taken on a tour of the city by a native, the granddaughter of Omi, the Holocaust survivor about whom I’m writing the biography, and stay with our “Jewish family” in Long Island. I almost puked on the subway and then had a Cosmopolitan in Times Square, so I feel like an honorary New Yorker, despite the fact that we were driving a minivan with South Carolina plates and holding cameras and maps the entire time. Oh, and for youse guys who gave me some suggestions about where to go eat, we settled on Jimmy’s Pizza in Long Island. We’ll hit Grimaldi’s next time.
All in all it was an outstanding trip. I am now officially writing a biography about this amazing woman (a serious book!) and am honored that she asked me, a small-time comedy writer from the south, to write it. I did my interviews, got to know the city, and had some bangin’ pizza and authentic New York cheesecake. I’d say it was the greatest trip ever.
In my vagina.