Super effin' full moon

So anyway, beautiful moon. Bella Luna. Amazing. But full moons do weird things to people, and SUPER full moons really do a number on things. Tina and I went to NY yesterday for a quick overnight trip to see the Hopper exhibit at the Whitney, and experienced the longest run of errors I've experienced since the 2009 Hatteras trip. That was decidedly, much worse, but this has cozied up to an easy second.

I booked everything, which I'm ashamed to admit, considering how everything turned out.

We didn't catch the train in Wilmington until 4:56 - well, that was when we were supposed to catch it, but the train was 90 minutes late. That doesn't sound all that bad, but when you're sitting there, watching that stupid electronic board change from ON TIME to 15 MINUTES LATE to 18 MINUTES LATE to....well, you get the idea. They kept updating the "late" time in 3-5 minute increments. It quickly became something between a game and a cruel game of torture to glance up at the board. When it finally said BOARDING, we went up to the platform, and stood there. The train was nowhere in sight, so not sure if it was boarding in a parallel universe or what. After about another 10 minutes, it arrived, chugging along slowly like it was embarassed.

And then the fun began.

When we got to Penn Station, we were going to get on the subway. Now, I have to back up a bit to embarassingly admit that I have never been to the Whitney before. However, I assumed it was in Manhattan or the general area, where most of the museums are. Somehow in my (screwed up) research online, I was directed to BROOKLYN. Don't ask me how, or why....but that's what happened. So what do I do? And this is where it really gets weird. I found a hotel (in Brooklyn) that claimed to be .2 miles from the Whitney. Uh huh, yes, that's what it said. Knowing what I know now, boy do I feel stupid. Here's how the next couple hours went:

Penn Station. Find the six train. Oh, you have to get on the Times Square line and then go to Grand Central. Trying to get on the Times Square train, Tina can't get on in time. Door closes, I'm on, she's not. Off we go, with my face against the glass saying, TINA!

Uh. Ok, so. No phone service in the subway. Do I wait at Times Square or go on? She knows where we are headed. No texting, no ability to call. I go on. Go to the bus terminal as directed by a lovely subway person, and take the shuttle to Grand Central. God, I can't even type all this, it was so convoluted. Another subway person directs me to go back the way I came, away from the bus terminal - meanwhile Tina gets through on my phone and is pissed off that I didn't "stay still" and wait for her. While we're arguing, we lose signal again. Fast forward probably another 40 minutes, a lot of bad words, increasing hunger, sore feet and general anger at myself for a botched up itinerary and we both decide to hail a cab and meet at the hotel. In Brooklyn. A $20 cab ride, across town. And when I say we both decided - we were in separate cabs because we never did find each other.

Holiday Inn Express, Brooklyn. Check in. BASEMENT room. Basement?? I turned on a light switch and a small light by the door came on. Went to a lamp to turn it on, nothing. At this moment I looked up at the window and realized I was looking up at the sidewalk and remembered Laverne and Shirley's apartment. Went to another lamp....nothing. So I looked up under the lamp shade. No lightbulbs. Went back to the first lamp and looked under. No light bulbs. Went to big lamp #3 and looked before I tried the switch. No lightbulbs. Tina arrives, makes a comment about the basement and I tell her about the bulbs. I try to call the front desk, but can't see the directions on the phone well enough (because it's so friggin' dark) to know what to dial. We go back to the front desk.

"There are no light bulbs in our room."
Blank stare
"No really, there are NO light bulbs in any of the lamps. Do you have another room?"
"Um....no, I don't think so."
"Well, the maintenance guy just told us there's a room on the 7th floor."
"No."
"No?"
"uh uh."
"Okay."
"All I have is a smoking room."
Tina and I look at each other, like of COURSE all he has is a smoking room.
"That's fine, we'll take it."
It's now 10 p.m.
As we go to the room, we walk down a hallway that absolutely reeks of smoke and we say bad things. Then we hear the couple in the next room - the man is yelling "GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING MONEY!"
Oh Lord.
Fortunately the room is not really smoky smelling. We are starving by this point - no dinner as of yet, and are directed a block and a half away to a restaurant/BAR.
This is fine - nothing to see here.
Back to the hotel, getting ready for bed. Exhausted. Room next door is having some kind of party. Lots of door slamming, lots of loud talking, laughing, music, tv,  you name it. Why do hotel doors make so much noise when they close? And how many people went in and out of this cursed room between midnight and 4 a.m.?? At some point between 2:30 and 4:00 a.m., we hear music that sounds like someone is standing in our doorway. And it's not going anywhere. I got up and went to the door, opened it (duh....in Brooklyn, in the middle of the night....opening it to the room next door where the lovely man was yelling those choice words earlier.) But instead of a scary man, I see a pretty unsavory woman sliding down the wall, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, playing music on her cell phone. I must have looked pretty pissed when I threw the door open, because she immediately said, "sorry....I'll cut it off." She meant the music, I was thinking of cutting off her head or any other body part at that moment.

The fun continued. Tina yelled "TURN THAT SHIT DOWN!" when they decided to watch a decidedly not-mellow movie (sounded like horror, with a great deal of screaming) at somewhere in the 3 a.m. area. No response. Call the front desk. No answer. Really, no answer. We were both very grateful when the heater would click on. The white noise would actually drown them out. I fell asleep around 3:30, Tina was not so lucky.

We slept till 9. Got up, went to the front desk. Told manager we had a bad night. He said he would offer us 50% off if we were back in the area again. My response, "I'm not coming back here." Can we get breakfast? "Oh sorry, breakfast ended at ten." Of COURSE it did.

"Can you tell us how to get to the Whitney?"
"The what?"
"The Whitney. Museum."
"That's in Manhattan."
"It's what?"
"Manhattan."
"It's not .2 miles from here as it says online?"
"Nope, probably a 20 minute cab ride."
Okay, so it's getting comical.
"How about if I pay for your cab ride to make up for your bad night?"
"Fantastic, we're going to go get a bagel and be back."
To the bagel shop, take the bagels back to Hotel Hell. Unwrap muffin in cab. Muffin could double as a door stop. Hard as a rock, completely inedible.
Of course it is.

From here on out, all good. (Not counting the cab ride, which is always a death defying feat in NYC.) Mr. Hopper broke the curse, and the exhibit was achingly beautiful. I only wish I could go back alone...all alone in the museum and spend hours and hours just studying and staring.

Ok, that's enough. Exhausting just to relive it.  Night!