June 26, 2005.
We left Charlottesville, VA on a Sunday afternoon. Checkout was at noon, and of course, we were waiting for Cruella. With not a moment to spare, we vacated our room and took (the typical) slew of baggage downstairs to the van.
It was going to be a long drive back to Boston (we’d figured about 9 hours, I think). Thankfully, we didn’t have any shows planned that night.
On our way to 95, we stopped in a podunk town in VA to get some Chinese lunch buffet. I wasn’t in the mood for Chinese, but it was the only place that was open on a Sunday afternoon at this time. I ended up enjoying the food and I also left them a goodie in their men’s room. Why stop the trend now, right?
When we left the restaurant, Cruella found it fit to affix a sticker to someone’s car — apparently just because this person had a few of those obnoxious “support our troups” magnetic ribbons on their car. Personally, no matter how retarded I think mass consumption items (like “Baby on Board” signs, waving hands on suction cups, and “support our troops” magnetic ribbons) are, I think you should leave other peoples’ property alone. I tried to suggest to Cruella that she keep her sticker to herself, but no, it ended up attached to the person’s trunk. First shoplifting and then vandalism. Great.
We got in the van and headed north. Traffic wasn’t bad and we zipped right through VA, DC and MD. During the drive, we listened to what I call the “robot voice” CD. In it are lyrics that speak of “idiot flus” and “potatoes with chocolate sauce”. This CD played while I was trying to nap. I kept waking up and laughing, so having this CD on in the background wasn’t much of a help.
We stopped for a Starbucks in South Jersey and yet again, I consumed food/beverage like I was a vacuum cleaner. I was starting to feel a buzz. Wow. Cruella refused to use the public restroom, so she’d decided to pee in public — in back of the rest stop and in plain view of the truckers. With Cruella, she’d habitually urinated outside. Whether we were in DC, NYC, at a fast food restaurant or a highway rest stop, she’d drop her drawers in the middle of everything … and urinate, even in broad daylight! What a classy chick! Apparently, she had a phobia with using public restrooms because they were unhygenic. That’s true. Of course, she never really bathed, so why was hygiene suddenly an issue?
We hit the road again. The drive was smooth until we hit New Jersey. South Jersey strikes again, but this time with copious amounts of traffic.
For about 20 miles, we edged along the New Jersey Turnpike. Since the weather had been great that weekend, apparently all the denizens of downstate NY and NJ had descended on the Jersey shores. Now they were all returning home. This made for an awful volume of traffic. And of course, since the air conditioner in the van was only working sporadically, we definitely had no shortage of odors from Cruella.
About halfway into Jersey, a car full of Hispanics pulled up alongside the van and gave Cruella dirty looks. While I found Cruella to be repulsive, these people didn’t know her and were thus reacting to her “unusual” fashion sense. Therefore, these people could suck it as far as I was concerned. Cruella decided that her only recourse was to moon them.
So, the next time we pulled up alongside J.Lo.Rider, Cruella gave them the full treatment. At first, they paid no attention to her. Then, they smiled and waved and pointed. Then, they gave us all the finger. This was kind of a fruitless act on their part because at least half of us was behind tinted windows.
Problem with the mooning? By shifting her clothing from its normal position, Cruella had found a way to emit new and even more horrible odors from her body. These became trapped with us in the backseat of the van. Kerry and I were dying.
Traffic began to ease up again.
Only four hours to go! Only four hours to go!
Then we hit the last Jersey exits before NYC. Oops! Traffic stopped!
Five hours later (it should’ve taken 45minutes — tops to get from last exits in NJ to CBE in NYC), we’d crossed NYC and had to find fuel. Our only option was to find a gas station in the Bronx off 95. If you’ve ever seen the Bronx off 95, it’s unpretty. I could not be much worse. James found a station, and I got out and pumped. We were surrounded by pimp cars, and at least two people tried to panhandle from me. I used the international gesture to usher them away; I gave them a stern look, snapped my fingers, and pointed to the distance. This meant: “get the fuck away from me”.
Works every time!
Of course, we couldn’t find the exact way back to 95N, so we had to go south until we found an exit that had a clear 95N re-entrance.
By 2am, we were getting near Connecticut where we’d decided to stop for coffee and such.
Thing is, for the whole trip only Martin and James could drive the van, which belonged to their parents. Nobody else in the band was on the insurance, and from a safety standpoint, would you really have wanted Cruella driving your vehicle? Exactly. So, Martin and James were both super-heroic when it came to all this driving. At this point, they were both looking exhausted.
I stayed up for the night and made sure that James was awake. Cruella was of no use for this purpose. James had begun to drift, so Martin took the last leg of the trip.
By 5am on June 27, 2005, we’d dropped Cruella off at her friend’s apartment in Beacon Hill. By 6am, we were back at Martin’s place. We left the gear in the van, since we had a show that night. Kerry and Martin crashed in their respective rooms. I crashed on Martin’s couch. James drove the van home.
