Christmas 2022

The one with the nut in the cookie

Friday was a weird day.

It had a high in the mid 50s but then a low of 7 degrees. It was so cold that we contemplated closing the gym but decided to just keep it open.

Speaking of gyms, the kid was great all week – he got another stripe on his BJJ belt to boot – that I relented when he asked if I could get him a Happy Meal before we went to the gym.

Damn, that company knows how to work kids.

In any case, it was good that we kept the gym open because it was 19 degrees outside that night but inside was pretty comfortable.

I had these ideas to improve the R-values of our insulation and it was nice to see that what we implemented did the trick.

Me: Considering that we’re all not wearing shirts, I’d say this was a success.
Him: Or, we’re right by the showers.
Me: Don’t take this from me. It’s the holidays.

Speaking of the holidays, I’d been meaning to spend time with my mom but I didn’t like the thought of Alison’s parents spending it with just the two of them, so we made the trek out there.

It was so cold, not even the pidgins wanted to be outside.

Son: Will you stay overnight?
Me: Do you really want me to stay?
Him: Of course! You’re my papa.

Usually, we have a pretty nice meat dish – like a prime rib or something – but this year we had homemade meatballs and baked ziti.

I wasn’t complaining.

Plus, when my MIL picked me up from the station, she brought this:

Me: God, you know me so well. Thanks!
Her: If it’s ok, I wouldn’t mind having a chicken breast.
Me: I’ll consider it.

Although, the kid’s dessert had more iron than we were expecting.

Me: I think it’s a nut – and not the kind you eat!
Her: How did that get in there?
Me: You’re asking me?

Luckily, the kid was fine and didn’t break a tooth like I did on that olive pit all those years ago.

There were a buncha things I’d been meaning to read/watch, including this one documentary called Fish & Men, which I found interesting.

Read the kid a book that my sister-in-law bought us years ago with a single dad and his son. Gotta say, it almost made me cry.

But I was surprised when the boy started to cry.

Me: Why are you crying?
Him: I don’t know…I miss mommy.
Me: (nodding) We can stop. How about a hug?
Him: (nodding)
Me: Sweeeeeet, cm’ere you…

I woulda stayed over longer but the heat stopped in my building and I’m the only one that understands how to work the boiler.

Me: OK, with the data you now know: There’s no heat in the downstairs units, but heat in the upstairs units, what can you conclude from this data, kid?
Him: (thinking) The heat is stuck on the top and can’t come down.
Me: (laughing) That’s not bad, actually. It’s something like that.

It’s weird, up until a month ago, the kid and I were the only males in the building; a fella just moved into one of the units but the rest of the building is all X-chromosomes who were decidedly cold.

So, I left a lot earlier than I planned because (a) I didn’t want them freezing in the single digits but (b) I also didn’t want my pipes freezing.

Because heat and pressure are closely linked, I had to increase the temp of everything to increase the pressure enough to force all the accumulated cold water in the radiators down the pipes but not so much that the whole thing…explodes.

Dying wasn’t high on my list of to-dos this holiday season (this time) so I kept a pretty close eye on the pressure gagues.

In the end, managed to fix it in just a couple of hours, so that was good and rewarded myself with some Korean soju that I had in the house.

All-in-all, it was a pretty nice Xmas, as my Xmases go.

Hopefully yours involved less fixing boilers and metal shards in your food and more time with your loved ones.

Him: I wish you could stay.
Me: People need me to help them. We always try to help if we can, right?
Him: I guess.
Me: I’ll see you again before you know it, kid.

Location: earlier in the boiler room, with a portable speaker, a glass of soju, and a rubber mallet. I didn’t use one of those things.
Mood: frigid
Music: I can live off of your body heat, yeah baby (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Logan607 – Important message

Let it burn

Spent the week cleaning out alla my tech. Earlier, I was getting several hundred emails a day about new logins and signups to things I never signed up for. As the days went on, this got fewer and fewer.

Even had time to hit up the gym where I ran into these fellas…

By last night, I thought I was in the clear so I just tried to get some sleep.

But then my phone dinged and I checked. I’d gotten about six emails, all with the same header:

Logan607 – Important message

The thing is the body of the email was…all my passwords.

Like, ALL of them.

400+ passwords, plus a screenshot of my computer, plus a ransom demand.


Here’s the kicker: They not only emailed it to all my email addresses – past and present, they emailed them to Alison’s email address, several of my relatives, my ex-girlfriend, my business partner, my brother, AND a girl I went on a single date with months ago.

Her: I don’t think we’re right for each other.
Me: Shame. Well, pleasure meeting you. Good luck on that dissertation, Janet.
Her: It’s Jane.
Me: (nodding) Yes.

It’s madness. I was pretty freaked out, I gotta say.

BUT, I had already taken something to help me sleep and it was kicking in hard for better or worse.

When I woke up the next day, I scrambled to get the kid to class and get back home to deal with the issue. Nothing made sense.

If they were gonna blackmail me, why blow out my Facebook and IG immediately? Why ask for a money demand in the same email where they blasted every single password I possessed to some 50+ people?

It seems less and less that it’s really about the money and more to make my life miserable – which, they accomplished. In spades.

So, the only question is how they gained access to everything.

There are only three people who have had regular access to my apartment since COVID and two are not on speaking terms with me and the third is…missing.

But, to be fair, (at least with one of the three) it seems less likely that it was something purposeful and more likely that someone may have social engineered information out of them.

In the end, though, the damage is done.

Spent six hours today, re-doing 400+ passwords and wiping two more computers – bringing the total number of systems I’ve wiped in my tiny apartment to a whopping 11 computers.

Why I have 11 computers for myself and a child is whole ‘nother matter….

Him: There’s a positive to all of this, you know.
Me: And what’s that?
Him: You’re even more prepared than you were last year.
Me: Great. It’s cold comfort.
Him: It’s cold comfort now. It’ll warm up the next time this happens.
Me: Jesus Christ…why does there have to be a next time?
Him: (shrugging) Because, you’re Logan. Shit happens to you because you’re involved in the world.
Me: That was my first mistake. Fuck the world. Let it burn.

Location: my bedroom desk, surrounded by computer parts, equipment, and weapons
Mood: pissed and exhausted
Music: Who the fuck are you? (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Two Pizza Joints, an Indian Restaurant, and a Park – Pt 2

The Girl Before Alison

Used to take the PATH all the time to see the ex before Alison.

You know, I started this blog 16 years ago because of that ex. How silly it all seems now.

After all these years, I never gave her a name so let’s call her the Girl Before Alison.

Anywho, I used to go to the GBA’s house alla time. Like every weekend, she’d head over to mine or I’d head over to hers. For years.

But walking up the stairs out of the Jersey City Grove Street Station, I didn’t remember a single time I did it to see her. Not a one.

Then again, I didn’t remember heading there in 2013 with Alison and I desperately wished I did.

This time around, I walked down the streets to meet up with Blond Banker, marveling at all the buildings but remembering none of them.

It’s like I peeked into someone else’s life, not my own.

Arriving at Barcade, I saw Blond Banker and immediately started chatting with her and some other people there.

Woman there: Here’s a [blank] name tag for you to write your name.
Me: Do I have to put my real name?
Her: …no?

Two women I met that night both lived within two blocks of my pad on the UWS; one lived some 300 feet from my pad.

Me: NO WAY!
Her: I’m serious. I used to live XXX.
Me: Wait, next door is where I took kali for 17 years.
Her: Really!?

Everyone was very nice but I was too in my head. After a while, Blond Banker and I were hungry so we decided to get something to eat.

We were headed to a Thai joint when she asked if I wanted to eat at the rooftop bar at Porta so in we went.

Honestly, while John’s of Times Square is cool, Porta was gorgeous and looked better than John’s. That’s something.

We ordered a plate of meatballs…

…and a pizza.

Her: You’ve never had an arugula pizza?
Me: They just put a salad on top of a pizza? (shrugging) Actually, it’s fine. I’ll eat it.

It ended up being pretty good. She only had a slice or so and half a meatball so I ate almost everything and was still hungry afterward. Of course.

We chatted about life in general and dating in the city.

Me: Honestly, as an attractive blond woman, I feel you could have your pick of men.
Her: (rolls eyes) I hate the apps.

There’s more but I’m trying to keep things to my story alone, where possible.

She called an Uber after a bit and  we sat on a bench looking at yet another pizza restaurant and chatting while we waited.

It was late when she hopped into the car to head home.

I was right at the entrance for the Grove street station to head back to my world when something compelled me to walk down the street I used to walk with the GBA.

Y’know…I don’t remember what the GBA looks like anymore. I don’t think I’ve seen a picture of her in well over a decade. I do remember her voice though.


I’d been drinking so it was a bit like sleepwalking, but I started walking down Grove Street past the station and found myself in 2002 again; two decades ago, when I was a much younger man

I wasn’t yet the story that people whisper to each other, “Oh, did you hear about what happened to Logan?!”

But I’ll tell you about that tomorrow because this is getting long again.

Location: last night, Astoria, celebrating a buddy’s 30th birthday at a beirgarten until late
Mood: so tired
Music: I wish I could hit rewind (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Memorial Day Weekend 3: PSA – Recognizing a drowning victim

Drowning doesn’t look like drowning

Mentioned before that the kid “graduated” his swimming class recently – which means he can do some basic floating and kicking.

Well, when we first got to my buddy’s pad and the boy saw the pool, he was so excited that he cannonballed right into the deep end of the pool.

Luckily for both of us, I had already emptied out my pockets and taken off my shirt so I immediately dived in after him and hauled him out.

He was SUPER upset and wanted to get outta the pool but after a few minutes, calmed down and was back in the pool for a bit.

I’d gotten dressed and was chilling with my friends but kept an eye on him for the remainder of the day.

After a while, we both relaxed and I proceeded to absolutely crush whatever food was offered.

While I was doing this, the kid had climbed on top of a clear banana float. Almost as soon as he got on, he slipped off in the middle of the pool, which was still over his head.

I saw him go under and he exhibited all the classic drowning signs – which, if you don’t know, look nuthin like in the movies.

Here they are, for your edification, alla which the kid displayed perfectly.

        1. Mouth at water level, bobbing in and out of the water
        2. Arms out to the side.
        3. Head tilted back.
        4. Vertical body
        5. Gasping for breath.
        6. NO SOUND!

When someone is drowning, they’re desperately trying to breathe so there’s no chance to yell out, “Help.”

But as soon as I saw that he exhibited all six signs, I dove in after him, fully dressed.

This is what we looked like a few minutes later.

The whole process – my assessment and then going in after him – took less than two seconds but it felt like an eternity.

I pulled him out, sputtering, for the second time that day but this time there were no tears or crying.

He simply looked at me and said, “I’m sorry you had to get your shirt wet to save me.”

I wanted to cry. Partly because I’m always terrified of something happening to him, and partly because – goddamn, what a sweet little kid.

He almost drowns for the second time with me and is worried about me messing up a $20 tee-shirt. This is kid is gold.

Me: It’s fine. This my job. I’m here to take care of you.
Him: OK, papa. Thank you.
Me: I love you, kid. Let’s not scare papa like that again, ok?

Think that one of the hallmarks of good friends is that they try their best to make life annoying for you.

Case in point, there was a twisty slide that you can see in the above photo that the kid loved going down.

But, because it was at the deep end of the pool, I had to literally catch him and carry him all Lion-King-like to the shallow end of the pool.

Rick: (to my son) Do you want to go down the slide? Your daddy will catch you.
Me: What? No!
Him: Yay! Slide!
Me: (to Rick) God, I hate you.
Rick: (to son) It’s fun right!?

I did that half a dozen times before Gar’s wife, Wynn, gave him a life vest and I could go back to day-drinking.

He literally spent the next three hours climbing up the ladder, counting down 5-4-3-2-1, and then going down the slide.

When I was a very little kid, I remember my mom in either a pink or white dress and her suddenly jumping into a pool while we were on vacation somewhere.

Turns out that it was my kid sister drowning and my mom sprang into action. There’s nothing quite like a parent’s love for their child, which makes the recent national events in Texas all the more gutting.

In any case, all these years and decades later, and I still remember well when my mom saved my sister.

I suspect this past weekend will join it as one of my fondest memories.

Him: Do we have to go?
Me: All good things come to an end at some point. But we’ll do this again.
Him: Promise?
Me: (nodding) Absolutely.
Him: I’m sorry about your shirt.
Me: Don’t be. As long as you’re ok, I’m ok. OK?
Him: (nodding) OK.

Location: tonight, a party in midtown with PT Steve
Mood: grateful
Music: why you gotta be so in between loving me and leaving (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

My silly little blog

I’m Home

Her: OK, here’s the deal. You can have your silly little blog, just don’t mention me. And if you do want to mention me, just…don’t.
Me: (nodding) My silly little blog and I appreciate the accommodation.

It feels weird writing about my silly little life in the face of truly jaw-dropping world events.

Don’t recall being glued to the news as much as I have recently, outside of when 9/11 happened.

Things feel the same. I suppose that’s a post for the future but I just wanna wrap up a few loose ends from my last few posts.

I’ve had some version of this blog since 2005, with 2006.09.17 being my first entry here.

In that time, I’ve had a handful of people mad at me for something I wrote about them but that would happen like once a year, if that. Alison got mad at me for maybe one or two entries, total.

But in the past two weeks, I’ve had no less than four people mad about something I wrote. Even when I use pseudonyms and don’t post identifiable pictures, they’re still upset.

So, unless I get clear OKs to write about someone, I’m just not going to mention other people at all.

Him: Yeah, I’d appreciate that.
Me: Hokay.

Part of the reason I went out to California was to try and track down a friend that disappeared after COVID went down.

He’s pretty wealthy and well-connected, but intensely private, and just *poof* disappeared one day.

I’ve tried all my regular means of reaching him to no avail so I ended up heading out to LA to try and meet up with a woman I know he orbited around once. That didn’t go well.

Me: I’m in LA, if you’re free.
Her: Good for you. I’m not. You should have thought this out better.
Me: Evidently. Look, I just wanna know if he’s alive.
Her: How would I know, Logan? Let it go.
Me: This is going well.

On the flip side, a fella I knew from NYC was also in LA, purely by happenstance.

Me: What are you doing here? I thought you were in Nicaragua.
Him: My buddy called and said the house next to his was on the market so I bought it.
Me: Man, it must be good to have that kinda scratch. You free for lunch on Monday?
Him: Sure, let’s do it.

We ended up meeting around my brother’s pad. He’d never been to that part of the town so we met up and ordered a plate of food called “The Family Table” that was supposed to feed a family of four.

Me: This is not gonna be enough food.

We ended up ordered The Family Table, two large specialty rolls, and two other dishes.

 

He’s a guy that sold several companies to Google and Facebook but studied a lotta philosophy.

We spent the entire time arguing about the ethics of having children.

It was one of the more interesting and enlightening conversations I’ve had in my life but, in light of everyone that got mad at me for writing about them in my blog, I’ll just leave it at that.

Was still hungry afterward and ended up buying some pastries before heading back to my brother’s.

Spent the rest of the time eating and working on some things that’ve been percolating in my brain for a while.

I just needed to get somewhere else to figure it all out.

The morning I was going back, I order $40 worth of food at Lucky Boy, including a foot-long chili dog with chili and onions, another large bag of onion rings, a breakfast burrito with carne asada and a fish burrito for my brother.

This was my brekkie; those yellow logs are like 10 inches long.

It was the first time in ages – ages – that I couldn’t finish everything.

Also, I realized that I was gonna be in a tube for the next six hours and eating all that food was probably not the best idea.

Me: I have made a terrible miscalculation here.

BUT the trip back ended up being uneventful. I wrote my mother-in-law that I had a cast-iron stomach.

Even I couldn’t believe I didn’t have a gastronomic accident in the air.

Ended up hopping the LIRR back and was home in less than an hour.

Me: I’m home! (sighing) I’m home.

Location: earlier today, playing tag with the boy
Mood: gutted
Music: I just thought I would have you all my life (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

The Golden Mean

A last-minute weekend trip out to LA

Me: I have to go away for a few days.
Her: Why?
Me: I need to quiet my head. And see about a friend.
Her: You’re going to travel across the country for that? Are you insane?
Me: (shrugging) Depends on who you ask.

Before meeting Alison, I spent several years working on the Golden Mean, which is a philosophical pursuit where you try and cut out the highs and lows from your life.

Lisa Simpson summed it up best:

Obviously, you understand why one would want to cut out the lows but cutting out the highs is also necessary because, well, what goes up, must come down.

Man, that crash is rough when it happens. And it always happens.

Anywho, after meeting Alison, the Golden Mean was all but impossible because our lows were so very low. The past six or seven years have been a rollercoaster of emotions.

It’s time to get off.

Too much was happening in NYC: I just got injured (again), several people were mad at me (again), and I was dealing with too much emotion (again).

So, I rang my brother, hoping to reset.

Me: Can I crash with you for a few days?
Him: Sure.
Me: OK. I’ll catch the next flight to you.

A few hours later, I was up at 5AM. The night before, I spoke to a friend.

Her: You’re going to take a cab to the airport, right?
Me: Well…
Her: Logan, you’re not taking the subway to JFK that early. You read the papers. Take a cab.

Of course, I took the subway at 5:30 AM.

But, because of track-work, it turns out that the train I needed wasn’t running. At all.

So, I transferred to another train, and then another one, and then another one.

Finally, because of my latest injury, I gave up and hopped out somewhere in Queens and a cab was literally right outside the station when I came out – not another soul about.

It was kismet.

Him: Where to?
Me: (hopping in) JFK.
Him: Oh, where are you going?
Me: To see my brother, maybe find an old friend of mine, and see the California sun.

Made it to the airport and past the insanely long security check with just ten minutes to spare.

That’s not entirely true; my flight was delayed.

Which is fine because my ankle was very unhappy with me. Eventually, I boarded and sat next to a pretty lady and we chatted for a bit.

Her: What do you do?
Me: Drink and daydream about my possible pasts. You?

Six hours later, I arrived in LA. My brother picked me up.

Him: How was your trip?
Me: (hopping in) Not the best. But I’m glad to be here.
Him: Wanna pick up some Lucky Boy? Onion rings?
Me: Sure. Get the large onions rings.
Him: That’s waaayy too many onion rings.
Me: It’ll be fine.

It was waaayy too many onion rings.

That white bag is fulla huge onion rings. Huge.

Location: earlier today, trying to pass a guard in Union Square
Mood: in the Golden Mean
Music: LA – I’ll stay long enough to say I tried (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

One car ride, five trains…

…and one short walk

After we finished dinner and cleaned up, I gave the boy a bath and helped him get to bed. He wanted me to stay but I told him I couldn’t.

I understand how hard it is for a parent to tell a child no for something they both want.

Well, now I do, I mean. It’s something I don’t think I ever fully appreciated before.

Her mom drove me to the train station to head home. We talked in the car.

Earlier that night, I imitated Alison’s voice and some of her mannerisms and her mom laughed because I got it right. That’s a nice memory for me to have. Alison woulda laughed too.

We all miss her terribly.

At the train station, there were three girls trying to figure out how to get to the other side of the tracks because the train was arriving in five minutes. I suddenly realized that I didn’t know where my phone was.

After four minutes of frantic searching, I had my mother-in-law call it and found I had dropped it when I stepped out of the car. We could hear the train approaching.

Her: Grab it and go, I’ll stay in case you miss it.
Me: OK, thanks!

I ran breathlessly to the other side of the train tracks where the three girls from earlier looked at me quizzically.

They must’ve wondered why I waited until the very last minute to get there.

The first leg of the trip was quiet, as my trips go. A guy was trying to pick up a girlie but otherwise, the train was empty.  It’s always empty when I travel these days.

But Mouse kept me company via messages, though.

I was still thinking of Alison and everything when I got out at Newark Penn Station to transfer to the other train when I noticed two signs.

The first said that the train to Penn Station was cancelled; the next one was in 22 minutes.

The second sign said that there was a PATH train leaving in two minutes. Made a snap  judgement, took out my Metrocard, and caught the PATH train just as the doors were closing.

Unfortunately, it was headed to the World Trade Center, way south of my pad. So, when I got to Jersey City, I transferred to a second PATH train to Hoboken, Alison’s old town.

I took that to 33rd Street and transferred to the N train.

Got off that and transferred to the red line. Then I walked to my pad.

One car ride, five trains, and one short walk later I was home.

Harold. I’m back,” I said.

He didn’t answer me. He never does.

Just need to make it past New Year’s and I’m good for five months.

Easy.

Location: my empty home
Mood: bad again
Music: got a ticket to ride but she don’t care (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs

A fall day in the burbs

Confusing me

Her: I think we’re confusing everyone by hanging out all the time.
Me: You’re confusing me by us hanging out all the time!

Mouse told me to keep a day open for her this weekend because she wanted to bring me somewhere.

Her: And make sure to bring your camera.

So, early on Saturday, she picked me up and off we went to, what ended up being just eight minutes from my mom and sister’s house: The Fall Escape at Queens County Farm Museum.

It was just a thing for us to walk around and take pictures.

While there, we met two young ladies and we offered to take pictures of them if they took pictures of us.

The pictures they took weren’t great, but – like the waitress – they were very nice and tried their best.

Having said that, it was nice being out in the burbs with Mouse early on a fall weekend.

Me: I wish the boy was here with us.
Her: We’ll come back with him; now that we know how to get here, we can come anytime.

Afterward, I wanted to stop by to see my family but, as luck would have it, it was one of the few times I’ve ever left home without my phone so, when I stopped by to see them afterward, no one was there and I couldn’t reach them.

I really wanted to see my mom and was disappointed that I didn’t.

But by then we were starving and headed off to the same all-you-can-eat place that we’d been to a few times previously.

Walking out, I took the pic below and told Mouse, “If this is still here in 60 years, I’m coming here at 107 with you and Chad and we’re gonna make them regret this.”

Later that night, I called my mom.

Mom: We talked for over an hour!
Me: I know. I missed you.
Her: I miss you too.

Location: home, trying – and failing at – an arm-triangle
Mood: hard-to-say
Music: I know I’m someone to you (Spotify)

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs

In the gutter

My little human needs me

For reasons we don’t need to get into, I had to head to midtown just before 8PM the other night.

So, I hopped onto my scooter and zipped down 9th Avenue to the Penn Station area. I did what I had to do and then headed home.

Was going down West 33rd Street when there was a slight dip in the road, which I hit it perfectly.

And by perfectly, I mean that I went flying through the air – I was literally weightless for a moment. I crashed down into the street gutter, right next to a cop car.

I swear the two cops in the car both looked at me as if I had just messed up their drink order. It was a combination of puzzlement and wonder. They never left the car, and instead just turned away from me and waited for the light to change.

I got up and did a quick visual and mental check of myself. Most of my left side stung; nothing insanely painful but still pain.

I put myself back together again and started to head home as the cops slowly pulled away. I’m guessing they figured I woulda motioned to them in some manner if I was hurt?

It was late enough that I didn’t have to worry too much about a car hitting me. If it was before COVID, I woulda had to worry about a second impact.

When I got home, I realized that my bag was ripped, a chunk of my thigh was scraped open, as were my shoulder, and a solid part of my left palm (click here if you wanna see my hand – which is how my leg looked as well). The rest of my body looked like my elbow, above.

I think nuthin really bad happened because I was wearing a helmet and managed to breakfall correctly.

The thing that bothered me the most was thinking that if I got hurt, the kid would be left alone in the world. That, and my stinging palm, kept me up for a while.

Need to be more mindful of things. My little human needs me.

Podcast Version
Location: at Verdi Square, ranting to a man of God
Mood: still ouch
Music: Maybe it’s in the gutter? (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Rolling in Brook

Holy guacamole

Chad: If you’re biking there, I can meet you at the Brooklyn Bridge and we can head over there together.
Me: Can we hold hands while we do it?
Him: (scoffing) How else were we gonna do it?

I’ve been working 10-15 hours day on this big project as well as things with Scenic Fights.

Holy guacamole, in 11 days, the video that I mentioned to you earlier got over one million views!

One. Million. Views. In 11 days.

That means that somewhere out there, there are a million people that don’t know me as a writer, or as a lawyer, or as Alison’s husband, or the kid’s father, but rather as a guy that plays around with knives in his free time.

Which I do, but that’s neither here nor there.

Dunno how I feel about that.

I wonder how many of those views are from my mom? I should call my mom.

Since we’re talking about violence, I went to roll with Chad and some friends at another friend’s place. It was the very first time I’d rolled since the last time I told you about it. And it showed.

I was gassed after only the second roll.

Me: (lying on floor)
Him: Who’s free to roll?
Me: (lifting up arm) I am. But, I am not moving. You gotta come to me.
Him: (walking over) That’s just gonna make me mad, Logan.
Me: Goddammit.

The crazy thing is that I biked from my apartment in the UWS, ten miles to the place in Brooklyn, rolled for two hours, and then did the ten mile bike ride back.

Now, to be fair, part of that was with the electric bike turned on. But, most of it was with it off. And I somehow managed to lose a mask, my fave pair of sunglasses, and mess up my bike seat on the ride back.

My legs – and body – were jelly when I got home. Mouse and I had plans later that day, which was dumb. Because I was in no shape to do anything or see anyone.

Her: Are you ok?
Me: Everything hurts.
Her: Do you want me to walk on your back?
Me: God, yes.

There’s more, but I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier today, making beef ribs for a girlie
Mood: busy, busy, busy
Music: already flying through the free fall (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

%d bloggers like this: