Out of Kitchen

I will be hosting a bridal shower at the Shore this weekend and won't be able to post anything for a few days. I'll be back next week with a detailed description of the cupcakes and cake that I am preparing for the party.

To make my journey, I will be riding the often travelled but rarely discussed Casino Bus. For $30 round trip I receive about 1/2 of a seat on a dirty bus to Atlantic City. The bus-o-fun departs from the lovely Port Authority Bus Terminal, which makes me think of a third world country. Upon arrival the passengers are given vouchers for the destination casino which are usually valued at $20. If you go into the casino, you can turn in the vouchers and receive a crisp $20 bill or gamble the entire thing away. Now, I love a bargain, and since the entire trip costs $10 the dirty bus is worth it in most situations.

The problem is riding the bus alone. First, I have a history with mass transit. While I have been hit on exactly once while out and about in NYC (and I decided to stick with him), I am the queen of Amtrak. THE QUEEN. I am a bus/train/plane supermodel. I once was bombarded with date requests from a banker who I sat next to on Amtrak. The guy had boarded after me and gotten off before. When we finally met for a drink in the city, I stood up when he walked in and he looked at me in horror. The reason? Because in my 3 inch heels I was a full 7 inches above his head. That's right, he was 5 ft 3 inches and I was a massive giant. Needless to say, we did not go out again. Another time, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a really fly 19 year old enlisted marine who at one point leaned over and told me he totally goes for older women. Super, I am a 27 year old cougar.

The bus is even more of an extreme experience. While I have always thought that I won the prize for the person who fits in the least, last summer a fellow in critter shorts sat next to me and stole that prize away. This 24 year old Lehman fellow really rocked my world by telling me about how he is a trader and all that jazz and followed this broad statement up by asking me what RMBS stands for. I sure hope he was given a job at Barclays! To be fair to critter shorts, at least he was clean and did not drift over onto my side of the seat. This is a strong contrast to my most memorable bus ride. Yes, lady luck was on my side when an elderly man boarded the bus carrying a grease soaked bag and took the open seat next to me. For the next 3 hours he proceeded to eat a sausage, onion and pepper sandwich (he took breaks). This smell combined incredibly well with the musty BO smell that he was already sharing with the bus. To top it off, he turns to me, pops a piece of Dentyne Ice out of the plastic and tries to hand it to me. When I refused he told me with a heavy accent that I needed it. Shockingly, despite this truly grand gesture of chivalry, I refused again. Then he got mad. Oh, memories.

Maybe tonight I will get to sit next to a crying child. At least then there is no risk of getting hit on...