Tag: troubles

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Travelogue: Bermuda 2024 Pt 2 – Dressing up, Teppanyaki, BRATTY, and the Beach

In Bermuda and my head

Finally emerged on day three still feeling pretty off but less like death warmed over so I ventured out with everyone to brekkie.

Him: Wow.
Me: What?
Him: I’ve never seen you eat so little before. And you never eat this much bread.
Me: Mommy told me that, when your stomach hurts, you have to eat BRATTY foods, which are Bread, Rice, Applesauce, Tea, Toast, and Yoghurt.

And that, my non-nauseated friends, is a list of alla the foods I’d been eating up to that point.

It’s good that I was feeling better because the Firecracker booked us all a table at teppanyaki for dinner, so we went to that.

The chef we got was a nice guy, and the food was delicious, but he was obviously still in training because he messed up the egg tricks three times.

Still, it was good, and the kids were entertained.

And I, for one, was certainly happy to have something other than bread and carbs.

Afterward, the Firecracker and I separated to do our own things.

Now, a guy was supposed to play the Rolling Stones at a bar that the Firecracker and I hit up earlier.

I didn’t have any tequila, mezcal, or anything beyond soda water so my bar experience was pretty different than it usually is.

The kid was super excited to have a small, private concert.

Unfortunately, the guy never showed.

Me: It happens. (shrugging) Whaddyagonna do?
Him: (nodding, shrugging) Yeah, whaddyagonna do?

But there was another band that was playing the Beatles, so we went to that.

The Firecracker was able to join us, so that part was pretty nice.

We also got to dress up all snazzy, like.

The next day, we arrived in Bermuda, but – like I said – there was that new hurricane developing so we were told that we only had from 9AM to 4:45PM to be in Bermuda.

So, we made the most of it and headed to Horseshoe Beach for the pink beaches.

Because the Firecracker and I had been to Bermuda (many times) before, we just hopped the bus to get there.

The last time I’d been on the bus was a decade earlier with Alison.

The last time I was in Bermuda, I was so irritated because I just wanted to remember her, but the idiot driving wouldn’t stop prattling on about nonsense.

It still makes me mad thinking about it.

This time, though, I sat with Alison’s son in the back while the Firecracker sat in another row with her son. So, I finally had my time with my thoughts and our son.

Me: Mommy and I once walked this exact route.
Him: Really?! This far!?
Me: It wasn’t my smartest idea, but mommy was nice enough to support me.

I won’t bring up Alison again in this because it fucks with my head.

In any case, after a spell, we finally arrived at the beach. The boy was underwhelmed but enjoyed being in the water.

Me? I was in and out of my head a lot for a bit.

But I did get to show the kids where I liked to go on the beach – years ago, I saw a tree growing outta rock there and found it again.

It was doing well and, somehow, that made me feel better.

We didn’t get too much time there but that’s fine.

I was just happy to be able to sit and read for a few minutes. And be in my head for a bit.

We made it back to the ship with hours to spare and stopped by the dockyard for a bit before the kid and chilled out on our balcony and had lunch together.

It was a good day, all things considered.

Location: back in the hood
Mood: less gross
Music: Suffer in the morning, but that taste is all I wanted, me and tequila (Spotify)
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Travelogue: Bermuda 2024 Pt 1 – The Grossness

Mezcal is not my friend either

Since both the Firecracker and I like cruising, we were keeping our eyes out for any last-minute trips that worked with our schedule since we didn’t get a chance to bring the kids anywhere over the summer.

Well, we came across the MSC Meraviglia, which left just from Brooklyn.

Interestingly, it was the very same ship we saw when we were on Governors Island, last.

Unfortunately, all the mezcal from the previous night hit me HARD the next morning.

It turns out that mezcal affects me even worse than tequila and I woke up feeling like death.

And that’s when I started my hourly trips to the bathroom.

Imagine your worst trip to the tiniest room times 16.

And then place at least half of those trips took place in very questionable public bathrooms.

Literally, every hour, on the hour, I had to scramble – heavy with luggage and feeling as weak as water in the rain – to find a bathroom and do my (very gross) duty.

Her: Listen, you gotta rally. They’re not gonna let you on the ship if you look like you’re sick and they won’t believe it’s alcohol poisoning.
Me: I’m not unaware. (pause) Annnnnd, I gotta go again.

Somehow, we made it onto the ferry where I tried my level best not to leave my DNA.

I was resolutely unsuccessful, although I did manage to leave it in the proper area within the bathroom.

The boy, however, was completely unfazed and still pretty excited for his second cruise.

Managed to put on a stoic face long enough to make it onto the ship where I entered my room, despite being told it wouldn’t be ready for another three hours.

Attendant: I’m sorry sir, your room isn’t ready yet.
Me: Is it possible for you to just clean around me? I just want to nap on the couch.
Him: OK, sir.

I was hoping he wasn’t gonna narc and he didn’t.

The Firecracker took care of both kids the first two days as I just stayed in the bed and went to the bathroom.

Again, every hour, on the hour for 48 hours.

She did manage to enjoy herself without me, which I found shocking.

I literally ate nuthin but bread and water those first 48 hours.

Boy: I’ve never seen you eat this many carbs.
Me: (eating another roll) This is how papa’s gonna be for a while.

This is pretty much all I ate for the first two days. It was carbtastic!

Well, I did try to have some French onion soup.

That was ill-advised.

Now, I thought that I did a pretty good job hiding how rotten I felt.

Me: (weakly but proudly) I don’t think anyone could tell.
Her: (laughing) Are you kidding me? The waiter immediately asked, once you left, “Is your husband feeling ok?”
Me: And there I thought I was doing some Oscar quality work. (shaking head) I’m a terrible liar.

The next night, I felt ok enough to hit up a show…

…or two…

…but it was a struggle.

I’ll write more tomorrow but not mention the unpleasantness.

Until then, enjoy the Firecracker almost killing the second performer; prior to this, the kid was the star of the show – the emcee selected him to talk about his trip to the ship and, man, did he have a lot to say – but I didn’t record it because I was laughing so much.

Shame really…

I’ll end with a sunny shot of the Firecracker.

Still felt like death while taking it.

Location: back in the hood
Mood: less gross
Music: Sick of rainy weather but I know we’ll be fine (Spotify)
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One of the more annoying

But wait…there’s more

Holy. Cow.

Man, did I have an annoying past coupla days – where to begin?

I have a metal gate, which leads to two blue metal doors that then lead to my apartment.

Used to paint them every few years but the last time I painted them was a decade ago in 2014 for reasons I’m sure you can guess.

All three were getting pretty worn and rusty so, I decided to paint them with the help of my buddy Wally.

He actually did the heavy lifting and took off the rust and some of the flaking paint and we both painted.

Initially, I just wanted to paint the clearly rusted and chipped areas.

To this end, I got paint mixed that matched the paint on my doors and gate.

This isn’t my pad, it was actually Teddy Roosevelt’s but that’s essentially the same as my pad.

Unfortunately, because of sunlight hitting different areas of the doors and gates, the colours were all off.

It looked worse after painting because all the colours were all slightly off – so then we had to paint EVERYTHING.

So, the small project went from two hours to…four days.

The Firecracker ended up having to help out for several hours across two days.

It gets worse though.

Teddy’s pad again – you can visit yourself when you come to NYC by heading to 28 East 20th Street, NYC.

While painting the gate, I had to remove the lock and I found out that two screws rusted through, which meant that that I had to manually remove them with pliers.

That took over an hour as I went a 1/4 turn each time for these 3.5 inch screws.

Then, when I brought them to the hardware store, the guy told me.

Him: Those are specialized screws. We don’t carry them here; you gotta go to a locksmith.
Me: Goddammit.

So, off I went to find one but then he said.

Him: We don’t have these screws, you have to buy the whole lock again.
Me: Goddammit! How much is that?
Him: $80.
Me: Jesus Christ!

Ended up buying it online for $45. For two screws.

It took two days to get to me, so we had to find different – and novel – ways to lock the gate for those two nights.

Because I was worried about the kid, didn’t sleep a wink.

Not my apartment nor my gate – just a pic of a street in NYC. But that is the type of garbage cans we’re required to have moving forward.

But wait…there’s more!

In the middle of alla this, Wally tried to install a garbage disposal for me AND – because I run the building – I also had to replace alla the garbage cans for the building.

Welp, the replacement garbage cans never arrived and Wally didn’t get it all right the first time (which is no real fault of his own) which meant that we ended up getting water everywhere and had to dismantle the whole thing.

The garbage and garbage disposal are much more involved stories, which I’ll save for the next entry, but it meant that for three days:

    • I had no locks on my door.
    • No working kitchen sink.
      • This meant that the kid and I had to eat out for every single meal for two days.
    • Paint and plumbing supplies everywhere.
    • Garbage and garbage bags everywhere.
    • No garbage cans for myself or anyone in my building.

To say that I was irritated is the same as saying that water’s wet.

I’ll wrap this up in the next entry.

I need a drink.

Location: early this morning, the courthouse, telling someone she’s an awful person for cutting the line
Mood: So. Irritated. Man.
Music: gonna build castles from the rubble (Spotify)
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Bad letters

Needing a drink

Her: What’s wrong?
Me: I got a letter from the city.
Her: And…?
Me: That’s never a good thing. (opening it) Annnnd…it definitely isn’t.

Looks like it’s gonna be bread and water for me and the kid for the forseeable future.

That’s not entirely true.

He’s back at his grandparents, my in-laws, for the last couple of weeks of summer.

So, he’s probably eating like a prince.

Which is not to say that things are that bad around here.

Her: The kids are away and the weather’s beautiful, you wanna go for a walk?
Me: [After that letter] I could use a drink.
Her: What about The Wallace?
Me: That works for me.

So, off we went.

The place was perfect; we were early enough that there were only a few people there.

The waitress was sweet and comped us some fries.

Me: So much for me trying to avoid carbs.
Her: Just don’t eat them.
Me: We both know that’s not gonna happen.

And then afterward, we took a leisurely stroll back.

I’ll start with the bread and water tomorrow.

Location: at H Mart, looking for kombucha with the Firecracker
Mood: pensive
Music: No time to stress; leave it all behind (Spotify)
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Pier 72, 11 years, Kossar’s

A kindness I’d never forgotten

Almost exactly 11 years ago, on August 6th, 2013, I went with Alison to a cafe a few blocks south of me called Pier 72.

We went there a couple of times but, really, hardly ever went there because it was a bit older than other joints in the area, but the food was good, the people nice, and the prices pretty cheap.

I don’t think we went there again after that; well, she didn’t, for reasons you already know.

I did because, when she was sick and losing all that weight from the chemo, she turned to me one day and said, randomly, “I could eat a patty melt.”

So, I asked her what that was and she told me.

Then I ran to Pier 72 because it was certain it would have it.

I was wrong.

Him: Sorry, we don’t sell that here.
Me: Please. It looks like this (shows him a picture). My wife…she’s…sick. She hasn’t eaten in days and I’m worried she’ll die. I can pay whatever you’d like for it.
Him: (gently) It looks like a cheeseburger on a sliced bread. I can do that for you.
Me: Yes. Please. I mean, thank you. I’ll pay whatever you think is fair.
Him: (shaking his head) It’s a cheeseburger on toast with onions. Just pay what we charge for a burger. Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it for her.

Went there a few times after that, always getting a patty melt and maybe a Reuben for me. Alison only ate a little each time.

It was a kindness I’d never forgotten. It was one of the only things Alison would agree to eat.

They shut down after COVID.

For years afterward, it was empty.

But, one day recently, the joint opened as a Kossar’s Bagel and Bialys.

The kid’s been asking to go for ages, and I finally brought him the other day.

We couldn’t sit where Alison and I last sat when it was Pier 72 because that became the cream cheese display.

So, we sat across from it and I looked at the corner of where we sat, almost exactly 11 years earlier and I could hear her voice in my head.

Something about the fact that I was sitting there with her son but not her hurt me in ways I can’t fully express nor explain.

Then the boy’s voice cut through my thoughts.

Him: I love the everything bagel! Can we come back here again?
Me: (distracted) Oh…sure. Of course.
Him: What’s wrong? You look like you’re crying.
Me: (clearing throat) Oh, it’s the summer. Allergies, you know…
Him: I’m sorry you have allergies, papa.
Me: It’s ok. I’m always ok when you’re around.
Him: Yay! Me too!

Location: at H Mart, looking for kombucha with the Firecracker
Mood: pensive
Music: You’re the movie in my mind to which I know every line (Spotify)
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My collection can’t be beat

The McKenzie Method

Me: (after dropping something) Sorry, I can’t get it up.
Her: (bursts out laughing) Do you…
Me: (sighing and holding up hand) I heard it when I said it.

My collection of injuries seems to be growing every single day.

About a year ago, I started getting these weird wrist pains. They’d come and then go, no real rhyme or reason.

For the past month, my wrist has been bugging me non-stop; I don’t go to the gym anymore without a wrist brace on.

This is just an old pic of mine after some party.

Then, about a week ago, I started getting these shooting pains in my lower back.

Him: Are you ok? What happened?!
Me: That’s the thing – nothing happened. No major event. It just started hurting one day.

A buddy of mine is a doctor, and I mentioned it to him. He asked me a few questions, which I answered.

Him: Sounds like you have a herniated disk.
Me: What?! You’re kidding. What do I do?
Him: (shrugging) Wait and try not to injure it more. It takes about two years to resolve itself.

The Firecracker started digging around and found something called The McKenzie Method for back pain.

Essentially, it’s about seven exercises that you do every 2-3 hours; it takes about 15 minutes to do from start to finish.

Man, I hate it.

But I hate feeling like an old man more so…this is what I’m doing for the foreseeable future.

Blargh.

Her: (to a friend) I’m glad that Biden dropped out. I can’t vote for him again. He’s older than Logan.
Me: That was uncalled for.

Location: my floor, doing these $@#$@#$ exercises
Mood: grumpy
Music:  I just keep pretending I’m okay (Spotify)
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I’m sure she knows

Honest and for true

This entry is out of order; back to the regular nuthin in the next entry.

The Firecracker’s dad came into town this weekend and we met up with him on Saturday for a kid’s birthday party.

It was fine for the most part but then a parent snapped at my kid when he tried to break a piñata with his foot when it fell down – like an 8 year old kid understands why whacking a piece of cardboard with a stick is ok but kicking it isn’t – and destroyed him in front of all the other kids.

It pretty much set the mood for the rest of the weekend for us.

He’d never cried at a birthday party before and, of course, it had to happen during the weekend of Mother’s Day and his mom’s birthday.

Obviously, there’s no way for the other parent to have known that.

But I hoped that, as a parent, she woulda known that people’s brains don’t fully develop until they’re 25. She was yelling at a kid for being a happy and excited kid.

At least he was and then he very much not.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she couldn’t have known and that she was a mom, I woulda been arrested.

Still, he was fine after a spell because I raised him to be resilient, but – man – I was steamed.

Him: She said I did it on purpose, but I didn’t. I was trying to help. (sadly) I’m the worst kid.
Me: Don’t ever say that. She doesn’t know you at all. You’re the best kid mom or I could ever ask for.
Him: Really?
Me: Honest and for true.

We then went to have dinner with the Firecracker’s family at a local taco joint that I’d been to before and then called it a night.

The next morning, despite it being Mother’s Day, the Firecracker got up bright and early to make her family and us a killer brekkie with a baked blueberry and apple oatmeal dish and a baked fritatta with feta and bacon.

The oatmeal bar

My kid liked it so much, he asked for seconds of everything and also asked for more the next day.

God, I love that kid – he’s just like me where we eat our feelings.

We all chatted at my place for hours until we had to meet up with the ABFF for dinner and to remember Alison.

The Firecracker and her kid came along.

The ABFF, her sister, and kids were beyond great.

We ordered a crap ton of Chinese food and, just like in years past, we decorated balloons for Alison.

This was probably the worst birthday/Mother’s Day yet for the kid because he feels the loss now.

Being humiliated and yelled at a birthday party probably didn’t help matters.

It was the hardest one for me for a while because it hit the kid so hard.

Him: (looking up at the ballon) How do we know she’ll get it?
Me: We hope.
Him: (nodding) I hope she knows I miss her.
Me: She knows. I’m sure she knows

Location: home, fulla dumplings and other carbs
Mood: livid
Music: I try to say goodbye and I choke (Spotify)
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Alison would have been 45

Little chance of that

Teacher: …that’s so great to hear about your mom! Who’s next? What about you, tell us about your mom (points at my son).
Him: She’s dead.
Her: What?!
Him: She’s dead. She died when I was a baby.
Her: (flustered) Oh, oh…I…
Him: Not everyone has a mother, [teacher’s name].

He’s way too mature for his age.

I fucking hate it, sometimes.

Mother Day sucks for the kid and myself.

Wrote his teachers and his afterschool instructors as well to remind them of our situation and I guess this teacher didn’t get the memo.

My kid was pretty fucked up when I got him.

Him: It’s not fair.
Me: It’s not.
Him: Why is she dead?
Me: (sighing) I wish I could give you a good answer.

Once again, Mother’s Day and Alison’s Birthday fall on the same day.

Which is about as shitty a coincidence as I could imagine.

Years ago…

Me: …being poor and hungry again, I think. And you? What are you most afraid of?
Alison: (thinking) Being forgotten, I suppose.
Me: (laughing) Well, as long as I’m alive, there’s little chance of that.

Yeah, as long as the kid and I are alive – for better or worse – there’s little chance of that.

Location: stuck in my brain, trying to get out
Mood: not ideal
Music: time to let the girl I love leave my dreams (Spotify)
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I finally understand

Just one day

I was in my local supermarket when I ran into one of the cashiers, Lucy, in the produce section.

Her: (walking up to me holding a cup of coffee and put it down) I understand now. About your wife. My…my husband died.
Me: What?! Good god, I’m so sorry.
Her: (nodding) He was sick for a while. I thought he would be ok but…he didn’t let me know how bad it was.
Me: (putting down groceries and giving her a hug) I’m so sorry. We’re never ready, are we?
Her: (shaking head) No. I didn’t think he would go.

I went home, got a red envelope, stuffed a few bucks into it and went back to give it to her.

Her: No, no, I’m fine, really.
Me: (gently) I’m sure you’re fine. This is just for lunch. Make sure you eat, ok?
Her: (taking it) OK. Thank you.
Me: I wanna tell you that it’ll be ok. It won’t be. But you have to keep telling yourself that it will be. After a while, it’ll be kinda ok.

The rest is her story to tell but I was in my own head for a while after that.

Then, I was walking with the kid and he turned to me said the most profound thing:

Flowers may bloom again, but a person never has the chance to be young again.

Assume he learned it in Chinese class (花有重开日，人无再少年) because he certainly never learned it from me.

But then…

Him: Flowers come back. Why can’t mommy come back?
Me: I dunno. I dunno.
Him: I wish she would come back. Just once. Just for a day, even. (trailing off). She can’t come back, not even for one day? Just one day?
Me: Man, if only, kid. If only…

That was a hard walk.

We have hard walks, sometimes.

My kid’s a lot more mature than other kids his age. Sometimes, I think of him like he’s a little man.

Dunno if this is a good thing or not. I’m thinking not.

Wish he was just a kid without alla this weight on him.

It’s too much weight for a little kid like him to carry.

Don’t want a little man. Not yet.

Just want him to be a little kid for a little bit longer.

Location: On West End Avenue, finding myself at a loss for words
Mood: contemplative
Music: been gone far too long (Spotify)
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Nothing like sewage in the kitchen

Grossed out

Do you remember when I told you about my upstairs neighbor’s toilet leaking into my kitchen some 14 years ago?

Never told you details about it but one thing that drove the workmen at the time crazy was that the original builders that first put in that toilet seem to have stuffed greased up newspapers into the gap between the waste pipe and the cement because there was a gap there.

The second set of workmen “fixed” the issue some 20 years later, sealed up my ceiling, and that was the last that I thought of it until about two weeks ago.

And the reason for that is that two weeks ago, I wrote in this entry that I climbed up to check out the same spot and was on “top of my refrigerator, looking at a huge crack and some mold.”

Well, it turns out that the workmen were, among other things, hypocrites.

Note the grossly stained stuffed plastic bags to the right of the pipe.

Because instead of removing the old, incorrectly seated flange – the part that connects a waste pipe to a toilet – pouring fresh concrete and then reinstalling a new flange they ended up stuffing plastic bags into the gap themselves and installing a toilet over the whole thing.

You can see a bit of the light from my kitchen shine up even with the plastic bags in place.

Welp, the plastic bags finally deteriorated enough from 14 years of water and waste such that sewage – urine and fecal matter – soaked through my ceiling and came pouring down.

It was precisely as gross and as nasty as you’re imagining it.

Worse, actually, because I keep my cookware – pots, pans, Instant Pot, food processor, etc – on top of my fridge.

Me: Clearly, I have to burn my entire unit to the ground.
Plumber: (laughs) Well, maybe just toss all your cookware?
Me: You think!?

After the plumber removed the plastic bags, you can see the light from my kitchen shine up.

The unit owners, though, are friends of mine and sent a plumber to come by yesterday and he did what he could but he said that he could only do a temporary fix since the floor was uneven and that was outta his skillset.

Him: Do you have cardboard?
Me: Sure, why?
Him: Well, either I have to seal it to keep critters out or…
Me: Nope, nope, nope, nope – here’s some cardboard.

After he left, I slapped on double gloves and double masks and cleaned the whole thing.

After about two hours, most of the most disgusting stuff was gone but the smell of urine was palpable even after scrubbing everything.

My fear is that some dried under the fridge and I’ll need to empty it out, have the whole thing pulled out, and then clean under it.

So, home ownership hasn’t been the best this week.

Here’s hoping twice in 14 years will be the limit of my ceiling caving in.

Location: Another basement apartment on WEA and W 80th Street, avoiding two dogs.
Mood: grossed TF out
Music: I’ll keep waiting, and, someday (Spotify)
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