I’m going all random here and starting the NYC weekend at the end. The bitter, cramped, Chinatown NYC to Chinatown BOS end. And the cellphones. Fucking Christ, the cellphones.

I was tired, hungover and headachey, waiting for us to get underway so I could tuck into my fifth of Smirnoff. The bus was crammed, and things quickly turned from slightly chilly to clammy and humid; the collective co2 emitted from the bodies of fifty strangers. I was attempting the use of meditation to ward off the throbbing pain that comes from alcohol consumption and caffiene withdrawal when some bitch three rows behind me got on her cellphone. Worse? She was speaking English.

I have always liked the sound of foreign languages – When I was in high school I would always ask my Indian friend to “talk in Hindu”, which was meant to flatter, but usually just offended, what with Hindu being a religion and not a language. So if the cellphone conversation had been conducted in Mandarin, I would have been happy as a pig in shit. But no. The conversation droned on in the vapid, lilting tones of an upper class American girl. You know the kind, the kind who is all “yah, chrissay, I like, so wish you would wait for me to go out to dinnahr. you’re, like, so MEAN!! oh what? WHAT? yah, bobbay-darrin-and-michael are all in town, yah.. yah… no, i havent spoken to them yet…” and so on and etcetera. I swear, it’s lucky for her that I was in a weakened state, or else there would have been a smackdown of religious proportions.

Instead, I tried to get drunk and read fashion magazines. All subsequent phone conversations were, happily, conducted in any number of foreign tongues and accents. We rode on through the dark, stopped at a Roy Rogers (ps- FIXIN’S BAR = BRILLIANT), and finally, four hours and two sore asscheeks later, we arrived in Boston. When suddenly, like a bolt from the blue,

THIS ASIAN GIRL STARTS SCREAMING INTO HER CELLPHONE. And i don’t mean like, a small exclamation. I mean like the screaming that comes when a chick hears that her fiancee lost the pickup slip for his tux on the morning of the wedding. The screaming that comes when some egregious and unforgivable error has been committed. The kind of screaming that you JUST DO NOT DO on a crowded bus.

I have never been so glad in my life to be tired. otherwise, there would have been homicide.