Tag: family

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personal

So Boring

Dealing with the aftermath

It’s been a strange few weeks. On the one hand, I’ve been more social than I’ve been in ages. On the other hand, I forgot how sad being social can be.

To wit, I had three women cry with me recently. One was professional – and super strange – the other two were personal. It was all quite…sad and puzzling. I suppose I’ll sort that all out and tell you about it at some point.

If I manage to sort it all out.

I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the accident. I suppose I should get my noggin checked out because, while I do want to forget things, I’m shocked at how much I’m forgetting these days. Then again, I suppose some things I wanna forget.

On that note, I met up with a physical therapist. You see, the other day, my kali coach felt I was good enough to do some stickwork with my right hand and I though I was good enough to roll with people that weren’t on my safe list.

We were both wrong.

PT Steve: Your neck is essentially fused together at two vertebrae, and almost totally straight. Your wrist’s tendons are either totally snapped off or really stretched out. And your left shoulder is completely locked. You’re going to be pretty messed up when you’re in your forties.
Me: I’m 48! And I was just in a pretty bad accident.
Him: You’re 48?! In that case, you’re actually not that bad. But yeah, you need to stop doing what you’re doing at the gym for a while.

Goddammit.

Me: Are you sure you want to go to the Haunted House by yourself?
Him: It’s fine, papa. I’m not scared.

The boy’s been incredibly social too. I recall going to two birthday parties as a kid. This kid has an event every single week and it’s exhausting.

Case in point, just this past week, he had three play dates, two birthday parties, one fall event, two late night dinners out with my friends, and brekkie with Pez and Chad just today.

And this is him being chased around by a princess.

Man, I hope he doesn’t peak at grade school.

Speaking of peaking, this UFC fighting, movie-producing, partner at a large law firm named Titus came by the gym the other day and then came by my pad for some drinks.

We met years ago at Paul’s wedding. He’s not really on social media so he only just heard about Alison recently when he stopped by.

Him: It feels like yesterday.
Me: (nodding) Alison didn’t come [to the wedding] because she was pregnant. We lost that kid, anyway. We kept losing fucking kids and then she got cancer and died. It’s all fucking bullshit. Our entire life since the day [you and I] met has been a shitshow.

Me: …and that’s what happened.
Titus: Dude, I feel like crying myself.
Me: It’s weird. It’s like I look at that past version of me and I feel sorry for him and Alison. I don’t feel like me anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing. I gotta be ok for this kid.

Paul, his wife, and his kid stopped by afterward and we all ended up going to one of my favourite local joints for a super-late midweek dinner with the kiddo.

Like I said, super social.

Titus had never seen Scenic Fights either.

Him: This is great! I’m actually buddies with the choreographer of Captain American: Winter Solider and I worked with the guys that did John Wick and Nobody.
Me: (laughing) Show them our work but tell them that we’re not jerks.

We had another Scenic Fights shoot today today, hence the early brekkie with Chad and Pez. But I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow or something.

Son: (after another late night dinner with an unexpected guest) That was fun! So many people come to see us! Will we her again?
Me: Probably not.
Him: Awwwww, why? She was so nice and pretty.
Me: I just need you, kiddo. You and me.
Him: That’d be SO BORING!
Me: (laughing) Not for me, kid. Not for me.

Location: earlier in Brooklyn, being told to say it again
Mood: rough
Music: All I need is room for you (Spotify)
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The Imposter

Hold my girl

Him: Dude, get an MRI.
Me: I can’t do it, man. I can’t go back to another fucking hospital.
Him: You gotta get checked out.

Chad’s worried about me. Diving headfirst into a concrete divider – even with a helmet – can’t possibly be good. My insomnia is back with a vengeance and I feel cloudy in my head again.

Plus my neck and wrist aren’t getting any better. Everything about me feels…off.

Was walking to the gym the other day when this song came on and it gutted me.

Dunno if it’s the season, the lack of sleep, or the accident but I don’t feel exactly like myself anymore.

I walked into my first kali class, with my then girlfriend, 17 years ago. Even know the exact date: Tuesday, February 17, 2004.

A major reason why I never really told anyone about my doing kali was such a strong sense of imposter syndrome. For example, the Scenic Fights guys asked me to do their series but I turned them down for over a year before we shot our first episode.

Turned them down mainly because I was taking care of Alison. And then I was busy drinking and womanizing. But also because I didn’t feel I was the right man for the job.

Yet for some reason, they kept asking me so I finally gave in. I tell them all that I’m touched that they thought I was worth waiting for.

Yet, even now, I still feel like an imposter. Like, What am I doing teaching this stuff?

So much of my life – being a lawyer, being a teacher, being a network analyst, being a writer, working the clubs – I felt like an imposter.

Still feel that but that’s taken a back seat to my newest imposter neurosis:

I’m a father? I’m it? He’s got no mother, no brothers, no sisters. I’m it?

This has all gottta be some cosmic joke.

Shit, I can barely take care of Harold. And yet, I’m all this kid has. We can’t even go to Alison’s family’s this coming holiday because COVID’s still not under control.

And, again, this whole time was supposed to be bonus. Instead, it’s just shit.

When I thought I was dying of COVID,  when I went sailing through the air, headfirst into a concrete divider, all I thought was:

I’m all he’s got.

Like I said, I was walking to the gym and this song came on. And it gutted me.

I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry, I’m all you got. You deserve a real family.

But, FWIW, I love you like a fat kid loves cake. I love you more than all the gold in the world.

Hopefully, that’s enough. I suppose it’s gotta be.

Location: earlier at the gym, telling him that I’ll be ok
Mood: cloudy
Music: I’ve been dreaming ’bout us (Spotify)
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It is what it is

Some bright spots

Her: What do you mean, “You’re good at it?” How is one good at dating?
Me: There’re steps to dating: Meeting someone, building enough comfort with them that they’ll meet you again, and then want to see you again. Etc. I think I’m pretty good at each step.
Her: (dismissively) You mean like everyone in NY.
Me: If you say so, darling.

It’s been a rough week. Been in my head a ton, which is why I’ve been trying to go the gym as much as possible, despite my injuries.

RE Mike sent me an invite to yet another one of his ridonk parties and I was going to go but I feel like I’m being too social these days instead of focusing on the boy.

Plus, it’s a lot more exhausting than it was back in the day. Besides, the last one left a decidedly bad taste in my mouth for a variety of reasons, unrelated to him.

Man, RE Mike never slows down. Dunno how he does it.

As for me, heading to the gym instead was the right choice, despite my injuries. Been really careful with whom I decide to work with so I’ve managed not to make anything worse.

But I think it’s more the emotional turmoil that’s keeping me up. Well, no less than the whiplash and messed up knee and wrists.

Note to self: Slamming sticks together several times a week with an injured wrist is probably not a good idea.

Maybe that’s why I’m not that guy anymore. It was never easy to cut someone loose, but it’s even harder now.

But there are some bright spots here and there, with some old and dear friends.

Professor: I remember your dad and his cooking up a storm. A huge plate of tofu and giant prawns.
Me: Thanks. (sighing) It’s sweet that so many people remember him fondly.
Him: To be honest I’d rather trade places with you in terms of dads – then and now – poignant memories of a loving deceased dad is far better than miserable memories of a distant alive dad who I’ve heard nothing from for years. On the other hand there are dads way worse than mine, so there’s that.
Me: Yeah.
Him: Whatever – we’re almost 50 and theoretically should be past this kinda stuff – but emotions are what they are. Is what it is.

Yeah, it is what it is. Just wish it wasn’t so shitty.

Location: Earlier today, 14th and 6th, looking for carbs with my favourite tiny human
Mood: pensive
Music: been dreaming of you to come wake me up (Spotify)
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He would have been 83

More than all the gold in the world

Saw a buncha kids around my son the other day cause he was telling them a story.

Laughed to myself as I approached them because I find him so amusingly social.

But then I heard him what he was saying.

Him: She died when I was a baby. I was only a few days old.
Boy: Were you sad?
Him: (nods)
Girl: How did she die?

That’s when I had to turn back. This is not how it’s supposed to fucking be. Shit. Piss. Fuck.

He’s in fucking first grade. This is not what a first grader should be talking about.

Speaking of painful, my dad woulda been 83 this week.

It hurts that my son will never know him. That he’ll never know Alison.

My dad took us back to Taiwan when his dad, my grandfather, died. I was the same age as the kid in the photo above, about two?

So, I have no recollection. Suppose I turned out fine but I realize how much this must have hurt my dad because I feel the loss myself now.

Whenever we would talk, he would want to cook me something. I suppose that was his love language: Food.

When I was doing keto/Atkins, he made it a point to keep steaks in the freezer so he could make me a steak with broccoli on the side. I eventually got tired of steak – a wild thing to say, I realize – but I never said anything because I knew he bought an army’s worth of steak for me to have.

If you have both parents and all grandparents, consider yourself very lucky in that regard. I never knew my dad’s dad, just like my son won’t know his dad’s dad.

Him: You miss your daddy? Because he died?
Me: (slowly) Yes. I miss my daddy.
Him: I’m sorry, papa.
Me: Thanks, kiddo. You’re my favourite, you know?
Him: Even mommy?
Me: (thinking) We both loved you more than anything else in the world.
Him: More than anything?
Me: (nodding) More than anything. More than all the gold in the world.

Location: this fucking place
Mood: heartbroken
Music: the beautiful thing You’re doing is making new things out of ruins (Spotify)
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A night on the Virgin Revvel

Alesya Yelisow Alesya Yelisowa

Not the wurst night

RE Mike invited me out to a party on a ship – which is vastly different from a party on a boat – and comped me two extra tix.

I’d always thought that my SIL and Mouse would get along so I invited both of them expecting that one, or both, would demur. Surprisingly, they both said yes and the three of us had a great night.

We were supposed to link up with RE Mike and my buddy from around the way but we only saw them briefly because (a) we got there much earlier than them and (b) there was some scheduling issues.

It was the first time we were hanging out since April of 2019.

But it ended up being fine. We headed first to the restaurant.

Her: We should leave a tip.
Me: It’s all taken care of.
Her: We don’t leave a tip?!
Me: It’s all taken care of. Trust me on this.

Again, I don’t think I ever taken out my wallet a single time for anything that RE Mike’s ever invited me in all these years.

RE Mike and our buddy around the way both showed up to say hi during dinner and they accidentally took my jacket, which led to me hunting them down all night – a harder task when there’s an open bar involved.

Speaking of which, afterward we went to the bar…

…then a club…

…then a show…

…then more bars…

…before ending the night at a diner on the ship.

Her: God, that was the worst sausage ever.
Me: It was definitely the wurst. (no one thought that was funny, but I still entertain myself, no end)

I was thrilled to hang out with both my SIL and Mouse at the same time. It made me think of all my possible pasts – for better or worse – all night.

Told Mouse to be herself that night because of her last entry in her blog.

Always hated when people were cruel to Mouse, although I’m sure she’ll point out that we were cruel to each other.

The last face she makes in the video below is essentially how she looks at me whenever we’re fighting.

Later on at home that night, I had a dream. In it, a woman that I didn’t know called me and told me that an old friend of mine was looking for me.

Me: Why doesn’t he call me himself?
Her: You know him. He said you’d understand and that he needed your help.
Me: (thinking) No, he didn’t.
Her: What do you mean?
Me: Because, he would never say that. Demons in the night know their own.

Location: my childhood home for dinner
Mood: confused
Music: Wasting time and stuck inside a broken dream (Spotify)
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Trying to be better

The kid is in first grade

It’s weird having the kid back in school again. I feel as if no time has passed this summer but so much has.

And yet, here we are, in a new grade, with new classmates and teachers. Picking him up the first day, I met his teacher for the first time.

Me: So how did he do?
Her: Well, you obviously know how social he is. He made a lot of new friends pretty quickly.
Me: Yup, that sounds like him.

He does have some social anxiety when we first show up to anything, but I encourage him to feel whatever he feels.

Him: I’m sorry I’m scared, Papa.
Me: (shaking head) No. Don’t ever apologize for your honest feelings. You’re always entitled to your true feelings, kid, and no one – not even me – is allowed to tell you that you can or cannot feel something that you honestly feel.

This actress named Charlotte Cushman once said, To try to be better is to be better.

Suppose I tell the kid these kinda things in the hopes that he’ll try to be ok and, maybe, that will be enough to make him ok.

I just want him to be ok.

Alla that sounds very sensible but the truth is that I question my own feelings about any number of things.

And yet, I try my best to not get down on myself for feeling what I feel.

And what I don’t feel.

Her: Why?
Me: I don’t know. I just know I’m not your guy.
Her: Well, thanks for telling me, I guess. (later) I didn’t even want dessert.

It’s still a work in progress. I’m trying.

Looking back at women I’ve dated, there are at least three women that I know that married the very next guy they dated after me.

That’s just off the top of my head.

Suppose, after me, it became very clear what they did and didn’t want in their life, for better or worse.

Writing that made me laugh. Perhaps I’m just so awful that some people needed to marry the very next person to get me outta their systems.

Maybe trying to be better isn’t enough after all.

Someone just rang my doorbell from my building. He found a crowbar on the floor in the hallway and it’s pretty clear, someone was trying to break into one of the units here.

I should really move to the burbs.

Location: in my apartment building
Mood: exhausted
Music: been feeling lazy, I’ve been going crazy (Spotify)
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Rooting for you

I could get used to this

Between the normal work I have to do and trying to get the gym off the ground, it’s been an insanely busy month but I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Mouse came by one night where she did us a huge favor (and also got injured) so I took her out to eat.

It was nice and familiar. She told me about her dating life:

      • It’s awful to be single and male in NYC.
      • It’s awful to be single and female in NYC.
      • It’s awful to be single in NYC.
      • It’s awful to be single.

We hadn’t really spoken in ages so it was nice to catch up.

That’s not entirely true. We occasionally video chat, but that usually involves her scaring the bejeezus outta me with alla the filters she has.

My son also came back today for school. I missed him terribly.

We immediately went to a friend’s birthday party…

…and then another party, where he sat with a girl he’s known since he was 18 months old.

Her mom, Emely, has always been super sweet to me, for completely undeserved reasons.

Her: I saw your latest video with the ice knife. And you opened a gym too?!
Me: I get how crazy a lotta what I say is.
Her: (laughing) There are a lot of people that are rooting for you, Logan.

…and then went for a long bike ride down Manhattan’s Hudson River Greenway, before heading out for dinner.

There’s a small cafe around me that has been at least a half-dozen iterations of cafes since I moved into the hood decades ago.

This was the latest one, which is a combo cafe and bodega. I got a salad and some sweet potato fries. He got a pizza burger. We sat down to eat surrounded by kitty litter and cat food.

Him: Liver cat food…gross.
Me: I think if you were a cat, you’d rather like that.
Him: Yuck!

One of the first things, however, that we did alone together was that we played our favourite songs for each other. I played for him Shotgun by George Ezra, as covered by Us the Duo.

Him?

I’ll let you listen for yourself. I’m not the best parent – not the worst, either – but, yeah, not the best.

Location: home
Mood: happy
Music: If you need me you know where I’ll be (Spotify)
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When $5 is more than $5

Cleaning things out

This is my last week without the boy for a while. Once school starts, he’ll be with me until December, because of the stupid Delta variant.

So, I’ve been working on getting my life on track the past month, like cleaning up his room so that it’s more functional for a young boy and not a baby.

It also includes cleaning out the last bits of Alison’s things.

It’s hard getting rid of things. Everything matters to me in some manner or another.

But the flooding was a good push for me to do what I knew I had to do.

Alison was never overly sentimental; she would rather have a clean and functional home than one packed to the rafters with unused things.

Her daily driver for outerwear was a simple black puffer coat. Of course, I don’t have a single fucking picture of her wearing it.

I gave it away yesterday to someone special, but I went through the pockets of it first. There were exactly two things there: A very neatly folded five-dollar bill and a Metrocard that expired November 30, 2015.

It was the first time I cried in 2021, I think.

I put them both away. It’s weird, I deal with value on a regular basis.

There’s a tenuous connection between value and emotions/nostalgia. Consider a cheap $0.25 pen. Now imagine it was your favourite actor that used that pen for years and then finally tossed it. Is it worth $0.25?

Or far more, because he used it? Or far less because it’s broken?

I always found that whole thing silly and amusing.

Until lately, I guess. Now, $5 is worth a lot more than $5, as is a used, expired Metrocard. At least to me.

Ah, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?

On a funnier note, I had the ABFF’s cleaner come by to give the pad a solid clean – usually it’s just me, I’m the people –  but, before she came, I wanted to give things a once-over, because I’m weird like that.

On top of one of my cabinets, I found yet another knife. That made me laugh.

I have issues.

I will say that I’ve enjoyed being able to meet up with people willy-nilly and whenever I wanted these past few weeks.

Me: Are you in the mood for wings?
Her: Depends.
Me: Goodness, on what? Even bad wings are still ok wings.

Me: Do you want to get a drink?
Her: Sure.

Her: I could go for some pie.
Me: I was just telling someone that pies are superior to cake.
Her: Let’s not go that far.

Him: I got shots. Tequila and pickle-juice.
Me: I’m pre-emptively throwing up inside.

Location: my disaster of an apartment
Mood: busy!
Music: No more waiting, I’m taking the chance (Spotify)
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Hanging with Ida and Steve, Pt 2

Dealing with the loss

I literally chugged the negroni I ordered, grabbed my stuff from coat check, and walked out to … just, a whirlwind of rain.

I’d literally never seen rain like this before. It was almost as if I was in a shower going full blast.

This is a video I made on the way to the concert. The rain on the way outta the concert was significantly worse. Significantly.

Made it to the yellow line station in Koreatown where I got onto a train that crawled into Time Square.

What normally would be a two-minute ride took closer to 15.

And when I left the train to transfer to my regular line, the signs were all flashing “delayed.”

Looking down onto the tracks, there was just a sea of humanity waiting for the next train.

I made a game-time decision to leave the station and try to get a taxi or Uber. Turns out that it was good that I did because RE Mike later told me that he ended up having to walk home in the rain from 38th to the village. Nuts.

As for my Uber, it was a whopping $59 for an uber ride that normally costs $15 but I grabbed it.

Presently, an older fella picked me up. Man, he was driving insanely slow. The buses and trucks around us were moving faster.

Me: Could you drive a little faster?
Him: (pointing out the window) There’s a rainstorm.
Me: I am aware.

He finally started moving a bit faster but it still took 20 minutes to get home, for what is typically a five minute ride.

As soon as I saw my building, I dashed out the door of the whip and went to the basement. A tenant was already bailing water when I arrived.

There wasn’t much else to do but start doing the same.

So, very drunk, for the next two hours, I was bailing water and tossing yet more of the kid and Alison’s stuff.

What I got rid of is mostly stuff that is personal to me and not worth discussing. Except for my Xmas tree.

I told you when Alison and I bought the tree almost a decade ago. I have such fond memories of it. It gutted me to get rid of it. It was a good little plastic Xmas tree.

Because it was our first year, we didn’t have any ornaments for it yet.

Below’s a picture of our first Xmas dinner together. The tree would be on your left if you’re reading this. I made Coq au Vin, and she made a salad of goat cheese and pears.

Shit, fuck me.

For a moment, I was trying to think of a way of salvaging it when I realized that Alison woulda just tossed it versus allowing something that might make the kiddo sick into the house. So I did. But it was difficult.

The next day, I took inventory of everything I lost from this latest round of flooding. Speaking to my therapist, we discussed it.

Her: You talk a lot about loss and losing things. That seems to be a theme in your life.
Me: Not by choice, doc. Definitely, not by choice. Nothing gold ever stays.

Location: my damp apartment
Mood: exhausted
Music: You’ve got to know that you are good as gold (Spotify)
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Wishing for horses

Wins and shady secrets

My father died exactly four years ago. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago.

I talk a lot with older male friends about what it’s like being a father, I think – in part – because I can’t talk to my dad.

It’s less than ideal.

If wishes were horses…

The boy’s been away for a few weeks and will be for a few weeks more.

While I miss him terribly, it’s good because I’ve been coming home at midnight most nights because Chad and I are setting up this new gym.

I’ll tell you more about it once it’s all set up.

Last Saturday, NYC had the most rain it’s ever had in a single hour and I’m happy to say that my apartment did NOT flood, although it came pretty close a few times there.

It was super stressful, but now I know that the things I did to help the situation worked.

I’ll take any win I can get

I’ve become a shady secret again, this time to four different women – not all of them romantic interests, but all have their own reasons for wanting me not to mention them.

Which is a shame because some of the stuff they say is truly amusing. Here are some rando convos, completely out of context.

Her: (to waiter) Do you have something like a Corona Light?
Me: (to her, after) Wait, why didn’t you just ask for a Corona Light?
Her: I’ve been disappointed too many times in the past.

Her: How’s the gym going?
Me: We’re moving at lightning speed so I’m exhausted.
Her: You’re the knife instructor?
Me: Technically, I’m the backup knife instructor.
Her: Oh, you should tell people that you’re a substitute knife instructor.

Me: How’s online dating going?
Her: I like to think of it as, Meeting-strangers-online-to-waste-three-weeks-of-my-life-with-at-a-time.
Me: Accurate.

Remember when I told you that the Heiress had the same type of cancer as Alison? Welp, I was just introduced to yet another woman with this fucking cancer.

She’s asking me for help/advice and – while I don’t want to relive the past – I have to help, I feel. And so, I do.

Again, this type of cancer mainly affect older, white, males. This woman is the third young white female I’ve met that had it.

It’s madness.

Then again, I’m finding that either madness tends to find me, or I tend to find it. Not sure which one is which.

Had lunch with a business associate of mine as well as dinner with another friend of mine.

They each offered me a job in two radically different fields of work. One was a high six-figure a year job, the other a very low five-figure a year job.

Both jobs have their charms.

Him: What are you gonna do?
Me: (shrugging) Not sure. In the end, I suppose all I really want is to raise my son and have a family.
Him: You can’t have it all?
Me: Have it all? (sighing) Clearly, not. If wishes were horses…
Him: …beggars would ride.
Me: (nodding)

Location: not Union Square, lemme tell ya that
Mood: busy, busy, busy
Music: I lost my mind trying to fix broken things (Spotify)
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