Once you hit a certain station in life, in my case, the bus station, you are forced to face certain incontrovertible facts of life. Or continue deluding yourself.

I choose the latter.

For example, below is my inner monologue, to the best of my recollection, which occurred mere minutes ago.

I'm going to New York City, baby!

Yes, I sometimes call myself "baby"

When I'm talking to myself

Not out loud

Okay, sometimes out loud

And damn it, I don't mind taking the bus!

It's not that bad

It could be worse

This gives me more time to READ and experience NEW things!

And smells

For five-plus hours

Stuck in uncomfortable, awkward positions

For anyone over 5 feet tall

I'm 6'2"

In socks

And unskilled in the contortionist arts

But at least I have a book

Which I'll finish the first hour

But the bus has wireless Internet

And I have a yellow note...pad

And pens which keep going dry

At least we'll stop at Burger King

But I stopped eating fast food 93 hours ago

It's New York City!

Maybe I'll get some sleep on the way

If I'm lucky

Unlike last time

And every other time I've taken the bus

D'oh!

So what does this inner monologue mean, besides a long-ass bus ride for me to New York City and a disturbing inside look into a man finding a way to whine about what will surely be an amazing visit to the greatest city in the world?

Uh, hmmm, okay, there has to be something to be learned here. Not about life. That would be too easy and largely useless. Instead I'd like to share some lessons I've learned from years spent taking one last trip on a bus.

This hot chick did not drive my bus. Or yours.

So here's my advice for YOUR next bus trip, if you ever find yourself in a downward spiral, which seems almost certain given the state of the economy, and recent studies correlating financial success with the blogs we read.

1. It's all about preparation. Bring a pillow, a couple drinks -- sodas, water, vodka, preferably all three -- and a novel, preferably a page-turner that requires as little thinking, if any, as possible.

2. Get there early and hustle for an aisle seat. This is crucial. Don't hesitate or feel even slightly guilty or you will be screwed for many hours to come.

3. Immediately spread out over both seats. Throw all your junk on the window seat AND stretch yourself out as widely, awkwardly and annoyingly as humanly possible.

4. Pretend to sleep. Snore if you have to. This is the secret weapon that will upgrade your trip to first class, baby.

5. Hope for the best. Cross your fingers. I ain't gonna lie. The odds are stacked against you. But this plan has worked for me in the past. It's your only hope.

In conclusion, despite the indignities and discomfort of bus transporation, New York is my favorite city to visit and, when not if I get my shit together -- hey, sue me, I'm giving optimism a try -- the place I want to live. I'll report back on whatever crazy shit happens while I'm in the Big Apple.

And if things work out my way, and I am due, okay, overdue, then yours truly will be getting lots of stage time in the very near future. Wish me luck. Or better yet, buy me a drink. Living this large ain't cheap.