The most popular girl in the Northeast Corridor

Good evening! I sent a condensed issue last week due to my exhaustion and promised a bit of a travel diary to make up for it. I spent Labor Day weekend in New Hampshire, a midweek night in the DMV for work, and my weekend on the Jersey Shore. I am truly a Northeast Corridor mastermind…except that none of these trips happened on a train.

I’m feeling like a Victorian-era royal or a current Park Avenue “philanthropist” lately with how much I’ve packed my social calendar and need to take a break from just hanging out. Work lately feels like nothing I do lessens my workload, so I’m adderalling in the day and galavanting at night like a Bushwick robot.

I’ve tried to not overbook myself this coming week (failed), but next week’s calendar is empty (aside from plans to watch the season premiere of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City). I’m not making any plans and will try to reach more of an equilibrium. I haven’t been to the gym in weeks and am hoping to crank this entry out fast enough that I can go grocery shopping later. My workout will be carrying grocery bags around the L train.

I saw a Twitter thread yesterday/today that made me laugh so much and reminded me of my newsletter. First, one user makes fun of a Substack poster complaining about his latest entry taking awhile but he’s doing it because he owes his subscribers quality content. The content in question includes things like the fascist avant-garde and the potential for a socially progressive ronald reagan. The replies to this Tweet are fantastic, too. I love the commentary on these losery writers lamenting on nothing (that I fall under, too). But I also loved this quote tweet screenshotting a post from 2022 making fun of these exhausted writers. I love making fun of these people and also being this person.

Without further ado, time to lament on nothing!

My two years living in New Hampshire were spent waiting to not live there anymore. Now, I get to be in New Hampshire in the way yuppies like myself were meant to: as a visitor. I get all of the benefits of being in NH (the nature I barely enter, some of the best friends you’ll ever make, beers rarely costing over $10) without any of the negatives (Libertarians, everything closing early, cars everywhere).

I wanted to start our trip in Portsmouth. If you’re unfamiliar with New Hampshire, the state has a super tiny coastline, and this idyllic New England “city” has adorable stores, ancient buildings, and plenty of places to stare out at the water. I also assumed it would be a bit frustrating to get to.

So much of my New Hampshire experience was set on buses, usually going to and from Boston (and maybe to the rest of the world from there). I became very familiar with New Englands various charter bus networks and always had a lot of feelings on them. I assumed I would have to do a New York to Boston bus then another one to Portsmouth.

However, some of these buses have random trips to New York City. I was so excited to find C&J bus go from NYC to Portsmouth (with only one stop beforehand — the town right down the road from Portsmouth). It was $89, which is more than I’ve ever paid for a bus ticket. But I have a lot of trust and faith in these New England regional buses. It’s decidedly better than Greyhound.

Meera and I got up early with enough time to get to Port Authority, but not enough time to enjoy its spoils. The signs did not say where this specific gate would be, and we had to do a lot of exploring which only yielded enough time to buy a Powerade for me and a pack of gum for Meera. Thankfully, the bus was almost too spacious, boasting more than enough legroom, working chargers, and a sizable tray on the back of the seat.

I got some almost-sleep after watching the bus traverse through a lot of the Upper West Side, Harlem, and the Bronx. It was fun to watch the city wake up as I got sleepier. I was in that in-between place where I’m not asleep but definitely having strange, groggy thoughts you don’t remember once you’re out of them.

The 5-and-a-half hour drive wasn’t too oppressive, and we were excited to get off of the bus at a station a bit further from the city center. We ended up using Portsmouth’s local COAST bus system, which we luckily didn’t have to wait for. The “bus” was a glorified van and played country music. This was actually my first time taking public transit in New Hampshire.

The bus stopped at a grocery store (Hannafords, for those interested), and a woman with a bunch of bags was struggling to enter the bus. Another woman asked her if she needed help, and she said No! I used to be a CNA, I’ve certainly carried much more. I don’t need any help! An old woman next to us rolled her eyes and groaned quietly, as if this isn’t her first time hearing this story. The woman then said Now I’m a homeless loser. A completely separate old woman said You’re not a loser. The homeless lady sat down with all of her bags, including a pet carrier with a cat that loudly meowed every 30 seconds. This whole interaction would never happen in New York.

The bus drops us off in “downtown” Portsmouth, and we walk down a few winding roads to settle on a place to eat, a sort of food hall all from the same vendor, with lots of seating. We sat in a semicircle booth and got some work done while Meera ate a sandwich, and I ate what I thought would be a calzone but ended up being half of a pizza folded in half.

The hotel room ended up being ready earlier than expected, so we walked a few blocks over to an inn that’s just a single floor, perched above a local theater. I spent a lot of money on it because I wanted to be right in the thick of Portsmouth instead of needing to rely on a car that we don’t have. The room was small, but the bed was cozy. We worked for a few more hours.

Meera and I were a few days from celebrating our anniversary, so we wanted this first night to be like a pre-celebration just the two of us. Our dinner reservation was a bit late, so we walked around looking for a bar on the water. Before finding one, we heard the most New England thing ever: a bagpipe player at a busier intersection playing “Shipping Off to Boston” for all to hear. We eventually sat at a bar on the water and got very strong margaritas served to us by a girl that was probably not old enough to drink them. The bar was next to a bunch of old, ornate boats as we watched other ships pass by while the sun set. Portsmouth is across the water from Maine, with formidable, unique bridges connecting both states.

—

Wow, I set myself up for way too much writing. I am in misanthrope mode today, so I’m just gonna make this shorter.

Meera and I got a great buzz at this bar then went to The Wilder, one of my favorite restaurants in New Hampshire and a longtime special occasion spot (where we also spent our 2nd anniversary). We ordered way too much (amazing) food that we boxed up half of. We walked around, got cannolis, and ended up at another sports-ish, dance-ish bar full of young people while we drank more and debated about public schools for an hour. We went home, ate the cannolis and leftovers, and watched Emily in Paris. Perfect night!

We woke up the next day, checked out, and went to Elephantine Bakery. The line was longer than the last time I went. I got a mug a few years ago there that’s still in our apartment, but it was Meera’s first time. We shared these crazy croissants.

After our bakery adventure, our friends Deviroux and David picked us up for our next leg of the trip, staying at their house in a small-ish town called Raymond. It was my first time seeing the place, and I was in awe. The house needed a ton of work when they got it, and they’ve made a lot of progress. It’s got a lot of character, is right by a river, and is the perfect space for their two cats and bearded dragon.

We played video games and gushed over the cats, one of whom is maybe a month old and is super tiny. Dev got me Zyrtec so I could enjoy them fully. I was in awe at the little world they’re building and it made me think Wow, I want a cool kitchen sink and a backyard.

My friend Cam joined us, and we eventually went to restaurant that’s in the same building as a pool bar and a bowling alley (all separate). Our server said Shalom to greet us, which was sufficiently bizarre. Fried food is awesome. We then bowled and got 5 glasses out of a $15 beer pitcher. I am so bad at bowling but am happy just to be there.

We got home and watched some Death Note as we all fell asleep on the couch. Meera and I eventually went to the guest bed, which was cozier than the hotel bed we slept on the night before. The next morning, Cam returned with beautiful tattoo artist Mickey, and it was my first time meeting her…immediate bestie. We got breakfast at the town diner where David’s family happened to already be eating. Our server looked like present-day Pamela Anderson, and there’s a MAGA-dressed Santa when you enter.

Cam and Mickey took Meera and I to the next leg in our former home city of Manchester. People call it Manchvegas because it’s where the “fun” nightlife is in the city. Racists call it Manchganistan because of the “crime.”

We stayed in a DoubleTree hotel that I used to walk by maybe every day but never stayed in, and it was actually super nice. They gave us each a cookie when we walked in, and it was surprisingly warm and delicious. We plopped our stuff in our room, checked out the pool and gym, and sat on their outside deck for a while before starting our drinking at the hotel bar. I chose a Hennessy mixed drink, which I think shows how the rest of my night went.

We did a real Manch crawl…because all of the destinations we wanted to hit were closed. After the hotel bar, we got a drink at City Hall Pub, which always has two people there. We sipped espresso martinis before dinner at Buba Noodle Bar where I ate bao buns and dumplings while they played reggaeton over the speakers. We then met our friends Chris and Richard at one of the city’s two gay bars, The Stoned Wall (FKA Doogie’s), and scandalized the 100% male crowd.

We ended the night at Strange Brew, the bar I used to frequent with my coworkers on Sundays after work since it was the only bar that was open late. My fondness for Strange Brew only grows since I’ve left because every “dive” in New York is a poor imitation of it. My friend Sean and I used to really bring the party here, so he did me one incredible solid by coaxing out many of my former coworkers to hang out here. I was so happy and got way too drunk.

I got home and threw up, then threw up some more in the morning. It was maybe the most hungover I’ve been in my life, and I was sitting around shivering and not forming coherent sentences during breakfast at Common Man, one of my fave NH spots. I felt like I was being way too annoying for my friends and was at peace with my upcoming departure.

Cam and Mickey drove us to the bus stop at 4 Symmes Drive (read that address aloud and have a laugh), and I just enjoyed the ride to Boston. We never bought return tickets, so Meera found some cheap ones that left a little later than we were intending to, and it was from a further address than South Station. We had to go from South Station to around the Prudential Center, so we took the extra time as an opportunity to walk there.

We walked through Chinatown (three blocks), Boston Common, and Newbury Street. It was Labor Day, such a sunny, beautiful, packed day. I never realized how narrow the sidewalks are. So many hopeful students. I’m happy we had this time to enjoy touristy Boston. We got coffee at Pavement (IYKYK) and got on what would be a sweaty ride. I watched the boy across the aisle eat chicken wings and watch Fortnite streams.

I eventually got home and repacked part of my suitcase. The next morning, I’d be driving down to DC with my boss for a conference that would be the following day. I felt like I was making a mistake doing too much travel, but I’ll take whatever opportunity to see my peeps.

We didn’t stop once and talked the whole time before he dropped me off at my hotel, a few blocks from where everyone else was staying. Coincidentally, I was in another DoubleTree and got another cookie (not warm this time). I Doordashed Chipotle and ate half of a burrito. I was staying in Crystal City, which is a “neighborhood” in Arlington, VA that’s really new and corporate.

I got dinner with an old coworker and another one who’s turned in his notice, and we ate burgers and shakes at a restaurant on the ground floor of what I saw was a Deloitte building. The food was great and the conversation was better. My former coworker is out of news and living her best life as a government employee, realizing the mental health perks of no longer being a journalist. With my other friend leaving, all of the youngins I started out with at this part of the company will no longer be working with me.

They both had to go home, so I was proud of myself for not having a wild night. I walked home in the corporate expanse past Volo beach volleyballers, conversations about jobs sending people abroad, and (soon) empty sidewalks. The most happening spot seemed to be a restaurant playing loud music that was situated on the lawn across from my Deloitte building — right in front of Lockheed Martin offices.

I had these big dreams of using the hotel Peloton, but the milkshake made me too sick so I just showered and went to sleep.

I spent the next day at the convention, which was basically a bunch of journalists leading panels. I thought I would be needed for some sort of help, but I just had a normal workday hiding in the room my colleagues were. We all got some food after, and I lost one of my favorite earrings that fell out of my ear.

On the drive home, we stopped at a seafood/fried chicken/Nigerian place and I tried efo riro, which is this really incredible spicy spinach stew. We listened to podcasts for the rest of the way home, and I immediately fell asleep after getting home.

Thursday was Meera and I’s four-year anniversary! I’ve been saying We’ve almost been dating for four years for about 6 months, but now it does feel different. It’s wild that we started dating our senior year of college and are still together. A week or two prior, we looked through a bunch of available reservations and narrowed down to what the most fun restaurant would be. We chose Leitao, a nice Portuguese restaurant in the West Village.

We ate so much and had a ton of leftovers. We then stopped by a bar near the L and sipped Modelos while doing NYT games. To end the night, we got froyo at 16 Handles. While we were eating, some drunk/drugged guy shattered a hanging light. One of the workers kicked him and his two young, alternative-looking friends out. They stayed outside but wouldn’t leave the area, so she came out and yelled at them. One of the friends went back in and used the Karen-est voice to ask her for her name. Bizarre. The froyo was yummy.

Friday was the end of what felt like a long week. After work, I caught up with my friend Maura at Huda, a Middle Eastern restaurant in Williamsburg. The bartender was impressed with me for ordering Arak, the Lebanese liquor I’ve had with Meera. When he asked how I like my Arak, I said that I had no idea. So. Then the impressed vibe went away.

Maura and I haven’t had a one-on-one in a while, and she always knows how to tell a great story. We shared a few small, seafood-y plates and gushed over all of them. Afterwards, we shared a cannoli at the fluorescent-lit Fortunato Bros. dessert shop.

We took the L into Manhattan, and I got off at 3rd Ave. I had a “scenic” walk to Murray Hill for my friend Ally’s birthday. I passed by a ton of bars during an Eagles game, and one guy came out and screamed and flexed during a touchdown. The straight world is so different than the one I live in. Being there and in New Hampshire reminded me once again of my weird, gay bubble and the difficulty of living anywhere outside of it after knowing that the gay bubble exists.

I peed at a Shake Shack and walked a few more blocks to find Beatboxes, which are basically mixed drink cartons. I bought two in case one person needed it. As soon as I left the place, I ran into my friend, Aseem, who was entering the party empty-handed. I was honored to give him my Beatbox.

We hung out at Ally’s for a while, and I learned that there’s a whole contingency of straight women that do fantasy football and genuinely want to know how it works. Eventually, we all Ubered to Williamsburg, which was super convenient for my eventual journey home.

I love Ally and agree with her taste on most things. I also had a great night dancing and laughing with some fantastic friends. That being said, this was probably one of my least favorite bars I’ve been to in Brooklyn. Desert 5 Spot is a country bar that already has an LA outpost and just opened in Williamsburg. It’s a Manhattan-y bar: long lines, predatory men, Mr. Brightside playing, and tons of straight people.

We waited in this huge line, and a camp friend I haven’t seen since I was 16 but feel like I still know because we follow each other on Instagram saw me in line and said hi. The long line was actually a good opportunity to get to know some of the party guests I’d never met. Once we were inside this sprawling space, some people were immediately interested in the mechanical bull. This bull didn’t even rock up and down, just spun side-to-side. One of our friends got in a minor verbal altercation with another patron who claimed she was the last bullrider of the night. All of this was hilarious.

We danced to hits good (“Before He Cheats”) and bad (“Chicken Fried”). We walked by a table with an unclaimed bottle of Jack, which I passed around to others and eventually fled the scene like a baby when the server appeared. The bar had two girls line dancing at the very front, who were skinny, Bushwicky girls wearing cowboy hats. The bar closed early and we all hugged goodbye after a successful night in a bar where a lot of people were not having one. I got to the L, but the next train was coming in 25 minutes. I Ubered home, packed my backpack, and went to sleep.

Up and at ‘em on a Saturday morning. Meera and I are back at Port Authority to take a Greyhound to Atlantic City, a town over from my friend Gabby’s grandma’s beach house in Brigantine, NJ. Friend Matias also journeyed with us, regaling us with tales about his multiple new jobs I’ll hope to hear many more stories about.

The Greyhound was certainly not like the bus I took to Portsmouth, with barely any legroom and tons of sweat — plus a 30-minute delay. At least our bus driver was interesting, illustrating an allegedly real tale of 2010s Philadelphia bus driver killings. On our way to Jersey, I listened to music and a Fresh Air ep on The Sopranos. I gotta watch that new docuseries on HBO. The show premiered two weeks before I was born.

Now in the right Jersey mood, we arrived at some casino to what I think is one of the saddest cities in America. To this day, I don’t understand the appeal of gambling. Most of the people I saw around were older, anyway. The new, cool way to gamble is through sports betting, something I have no desire to do. At least Vegas has some sort of cache and wordliness. AC is a run-down, sad place where dreams go to die. Everything smells like cigarettes. I was excited to be there for this small moment.

Gabby and her sister Kelsey had already been at the house for a night — plus 5 of Kelsey’s friends. The Gabby delegation was my cohort plus Zoey, who was taking the train in from Philly. Gabby very sweetly made us ham and/or turkey sandwiches for our arrival, but we knew our appetite was even bigger. We schemed with Zoey’s arrival to then Uber to an allegedly amazing sandwich place called Tony Boloney’s. As Gabby texted us saying her and the girls were going for a run on the beach, we Ubered to Tony Boloney’s. What a scene.

They had these obscene cheesesteaks and pizzas. We all noshed and ascended. I would go back to Atlantic City just for this sandwich. We Ubered over the bridge to Brigantine, a smaller, sleepier beach town. Gabby’s grandma’s house is one of the last remaining OG one-story Jersey Shore beach houses in a town now overrun with massive new builds. We slightly changed and walked over to the beach where we met all of these new girls. We walked along the shoreline and dipped our toes in the cold water. I ate my turkey sandwich.

Our groups slowly started meshing and properly mixed once stormy skies above rolled in. My first connection was with Noa, who I immediately bonded with about Jewish camp. I also started talking to another Sydney, who has similar protocols on what to call herself as I do (introduces as Sydney, happy with either Syd or Sydney). Some of us were afraid of the rain and left, while others stayed on the beach to experience this natural phenomenon. I obviously left.

The shower rotations began, and it is so nice to take a shower in a lived-in house. A portion of the evening we weren’t aware of beforehand was that the girls wanted to go out that night in Atlantic City. I only brought two outfits, and neither of them were cute. We all shifted throughout the night in opinions on if we should stay in or go out. I was the staunchest supporter of staying in, mostly because it was fun to have a strong opinion.

These girls are all seniors at Georgetown and are total packages: kind, curious, funny, and in search of new experiences. Despite these commonalities, they all had very different personalities and whims to learn about for this one night we spent with them. I almost immediately felt close to them and comfortable. It was just such a giggly group. I’m not surprised that the Cadahia sisters would curate such a wholesome crew, and it was funny to watch Kelsey’s friends joke with her the same way I joke with Gabby.

We ordered food from a nearby place called Kook Burger, which sounds weird to say out loud. They had a burger called the “truffle me sideways” we kept making fun of enough to order. We frantically ordered online around 6:15 after realizing the place closed at 7 (a dinner place!), but only some of our orders made it through before the online portal shut down. Half of us (me included) got in, half were shut out. Another Gaby in the group called the restaurant, and when they asked her what she ordered, she said in her customer service voice, I got the truffle me sideways. We all burst out laughing and fell over like dominoes over the absurdity of the situation. Other girls got on the phone after and kept getting the truffle me sideways, so much so that they probably thought we were pranking them.

The unlucky ones drove over to pay in person, while four of us victors stayed and got started on beers. I kindly grilled this girl Logan about her dreams while she tried convincing me that DC is an amazing city. Matias convinced us that absorbing a language via media/listening is just as effective, if not more, than real study. We were already in such a cozy mood, which continued when the Kook Burgerers returned. We all ate outside and did the Enneagram test, which is Gabby’s favorite personality test thing ever. I used to be a 3, but now I’m apparently a 4. I found my results to be a bit of a read, but “having problems with self-indulgence” feels pretty accurate right now.

The other 4 of the group was Sandy, who went toe-to-toe with me in a song lyric guessing game we all played, but the two of us were the real stars. We even sat out multiple rounds because other people deserved a chance to shine. We then played this drinking game where two people had to stand back to back and answer “Most Likely To” type questions. They matched Sandy and I up and the compatibility clearly continued. It was funny to hear questions for other people; other Sydney asked the trip’s sisters, Who’s loved more by your parents? but my favorite question was from Logan: Who’s more likely to get into a car accident? It was such a dumb, silly question that was timed properly enough to make me cry laughing.

Sydney was definitely the leader of Team Going Out, and the rest of us eventually conceded. The littles all looked super cute, but us bigs were not fully equipped to dress for the occasion. Maybe that was better, because we got to the Hard Rock Casino and the littles got carded often enough that they were given special bracelets. Gabby kept talking about how we would go to these casinos and watch the bands play, which we all made fun of because…what is she talking about? She was right; each casino we went to had a band playing with tons of horny, drunk olds dancing. It was fascinating. We stayed in the casino for a little bit but no one played anything.

We left and walked down the boardwalk for a while and ended up across from Bally’s casino to their boardwalk bar, which had huge, strong drinks and an actually good DJ. We danced for a while, and this made going out very, very worth it as an experience you wouldn’t have anywhere else. Time stopped because the DJ kept saying We close in 20 minutes maybe every 20 minutes. Multiple girls kept referencing the Lotus Hotel from Percy Jackson.

Once the 20 minutes was actually up, we went to Caesars in this huge warehouse-y space with a ton of fake Wild West buildings, almost like a trashier version of Barbara Streisand’s basement. I spent 10 minutes in the bathroom because I wanted to sit down, and I came out to all of the girls taking turns on a real (rocking) mechanical bull. We eventually went home, and everyone fell asleep to Dicks: The Movie, a very gay comedy Zoey was evangelizing.

We wake up at 11:30. I’m so surprised none of us are hungover, until we see Matias sleeping on the couch under pillows, taking the burden of hungoverness for the group. Sydney and Sandy make a fantastic breakfast while the rest of us sit outside and read. I started reading the NY Mag profile on Charli XCX aloud at the request of others, and Gaby (British) reads Charli’s dialogue instead of me butchering the accent. It was such a fun thing to read and take apart together because Charli comes off as so annoying, as does the writer.

The girls eventually pack their car and we all hug each other goodbye like we’ve known each other forever before they head back to DC. Gabby stays back for when her grandma returns, and us three bigs bid her farewell and thank her for an incredible weekend.

We Uber Zoey to the train station and have a fabulous conversation about slang and accents with our Philly-based driver. He tells us that people are now saying choppin’ in regards to the temperature. Have you heard this? Anyway, we had such a fun time that even our driver, Devin, said so. We bid Zoey farewell and began our trek to a very important place that Matias had somehow never been to.

We walked past the Sheraton that the Miss America pageant used to happen in and eventually down AC’s main shopping drag. Matias noticed a bush smoking, and Meera poured water on it after the flames increased a smidge. Local heroes.

Our final destination of Atlantic City was the Rainforest Cafe. We were seated at a big, semicircle table in the back in front of an animatronic gorilla. Matias was obviously transfixed. We enjoyed a rainstorm, as well. Meera and I shared this appetizer platter monstrosity with mozz sticks, chicken tenders, chips, artichoke dip, and these Chilis-esque inauthentic egg rolls.

We asked for the check as soon as we got our food, ate quickly, then got to our bus stop at the perfect time. I stared out the window the whole time and watched the sun set. That Jersey Shore smell and those specific highway trees make me nostalgic since I’ve been smelling and seeing it since I was super tiny. The trees occasionally part for an endless road after an exit. These were great to see the sun from, too.

Meera and I crankily got home and got our respective juices to get in bed and watch that new Mormon reality show on Hulu. I have felt so burnt out from all of this fun and was cranky for most of today, but we went to Trader Joe’s tonight and I feel more like a person.

Morals of the story: multiple Jersey Shore restaurants think that truffle is THE thing; it’s fun to watch your friends succeed after not seeing them in a while; I need someone to show me real places in DC that are cool; and I need to get better at carving out alone time. If I ask you to hang out with me next week, tell me to STAY HOME so I can come off of my high horse and be NORMAL!

This ended up being long again. Sorry. LOL