Shit Happens – On The Way To A Party

We were invited to an 18^th for the daughter of my very close friend.  I offered to make something sweet to bring along.  From the list of offerings, my friend and her daughter chose rich chocolate brownies slathered in salted caramel sauce.

I made the product and salted caramel sauce on the day of the party, neatly plated and in a container with a carry handle for easy manoeuvrability as we were catching a train to the party (so we could all smash some alcohol).

After waiting an age for Miss Marvellous to finish her bloody make-up, we finally locked the house up and left for the station.  Of course, our train was pulling out of the station when we got there.  Then, as we’re standing on the platform waiting for the next train, which would arrive in about seven minutes, Captain Fantastic frowns at me and says “weren’t you supposed to bring something to eat?”

“Shit, shit, shit.  I left the brownies at home!” I exclaim in horror.  Boy Wonder decides to save the day, “I’ll go!”  He takes off at a sprint and I am sure he will not get there and back in time.  I look at Miss Marvellous and say “Jeez, I hope he carries the container horizontally so the brownies don’t end up sliding off the plate.”  Miss Marvellous decides to send Boy Wonder a text message which I find out later reads: Hey, don’t fuck up the cakes.   Communication between these two siblings is up there with the Bogans. I start to panic a little bit so I ring Boy Wonder and tell him not to worry if he misses the train as there is another one coming in 20 minutes.  I’m more worried about my brownies so I ask him to please try to carry the container horizontal.

After I hang up, I start stressing about everything so I’m jumping from foot to foot in anticipation when we hear the announcement that the train is approaching.  Holy Crap!  Now I’m pressed up against the fence looking for him when I see Boy Wonder round the corner.  He is running like the clappers and the fucking container is vertical!  Aaaarrrggghhh!  His arms a pumping back and forth with the container swinging vertically and I can just imagine what is happening to my brownies inside…are smashed brownies a thing?  I want to say something but the train has arrived and he’s running up the ramp and I actually want him to make it.  He runs into the carriage as the doors are closing and hands me the fucked up product, then drops into a seat; The Captain drops beside him.  Miss Marvellous and I move down the carriage to a couple of free seats.  I eye her and look at the container on my lap and she gives me a look that translates to “Shit!”

Sweat starts pouring off Boy Wonder and he looks pale.  He is seriously dripping sweat everywhere and his tee is stuck to him and he looks for all intents and purposes like he has been for a swim in his clothes.  The train pulls into a station and a family disembark, leaving a group of four seats free, so we call the boys over and we’re sitting as a family.  I tentatively open the container to retrieve some paper towel I had wrapped the jar of extra salted caramel sauce in, and start to dab at my poor son’s sweaty neck.  I now remember that I have also forgotten the birthday gift and silently berate myself for being such a forgetful git.  I announce my stupidity to the family.  Miss Marvellous rolls her eyes, The Captain shakes his head and Boy Wonder is silently, non-judgmentally sweating up a storm beside me.

Miss Marvellous says something to me and suddenly Boy Wonder has Tourette’s and is glaring at us angrily because we have the audacity to speak.  I ask if he is ok and he barks at me with all the hostility of a raging bull, “I feel sick, I’m all sweaty and gross and I just want to get off at the next station and go home.”  I gently say that he can’t really do that as we’re expected at this party and he just rounds on me and rages “Look at me!  My shirt is stuck to me and I’m disgusting and I’m going to stink!!”  Jesus, where is this coming from?  The Captain is scrolling through pictures on his phone, not giving a single gram of fuck; he randomly shows Miss Marvellous some pictures from his cache.  Miss Marvellous gives her father a moment of her attention but she is having none of her brother’s rage and she tells him to calm down but he turns on her too and says “I just ran all the way home and got those things!” nodding at the container in my hand.  Miss Marvellous tells him that we told him not to stress because there is another train.  If looks could kill, Miss Marvellous’ head would have exploded all over the train.  Boy Wonder feels unappreciated and misunderstood.   Nobody voices the fact that he volunteered because the rage has been unleashed and he’s a man-child now.  Miss Marvellous glares back at him and chooses to stay quiet because he is outrageously angry and marinating in his own testosterone.  Boy Wonder is still raging beside me “I am not going inside until someone brings me a freaking towel and some deodorant.  I mean it, I am NOT going in!”  I soothingly tell him I will go in and get those things and it will be ok.  I try to lighten the mood by laughing about the messy product within the container and to my horror; Boy Wonder gives me a death stare and an expletive.  Still raging, “I did this to myself to help you!”  I’m horrified into speechlessness because he has never been rude like that before.  I’m still blinking at the back of his head when the anger just leaves him and he looks at me sheepishly and starts cracking jokes. 

The Captain shows Miss Marvellous another picture and says “here’s a pic of you with your sister.”  Miss Marvellous guffaws because he has shown her a picture of Boy Wonder with long hair.  Boy Wonder thinks it’s funny and gives his father some skin.  I’m still reeling from the insult.

We pull into the station and as I stand to leave, the lid comes off the container and brownies go everywhere.  I catch most of them (and the attention of most of the train as I yelp and rattle around with the brownie container) but about 10 fall all over the floor.  Miss Marvellous takes the container from me because she thinks I’m a clumsy dolt and doesn’t trust me to get what is left of the smashed brownies and goo to the party without flinging them everywhere like a monkey flinging shit.  We collect about 5 of the fallen brownies before Miss Marvellous barks at us to get off the God damned train and leave the others on the floor for some lucky bastard to discover.  We deposit the collected brownies in the bin make our way out of the station. The text message arrives from Miss Marvellous to Boy Wonder about the brownies.  They both laugh because it’s hilarious that it came through 40 minutes after the fact.  I’m not laughing – my brownies are fucked.

We finally make it to the party and I go in and ask for male deodorant but Boy Wonder is telling me it is no longer necessary.  I think to myself, “It bloody is, mate, because if you start to stink you might lose your shit again and I can’t take anymore teenage rage.”

Everyone calms down and we enjoy the party.  I tell them we will drop the gift by the next day and everything is ok.  Miss Marvellous consumes a decent quantity of alcohol and finds herself dancing with a bunch of 40+ year olds to music from the 80s.  Some drunk chick keeps asking Miss Marvellous, repeatedly, like every few seconds, about passwords. I am in my element, a little tipsy and dancing like nobody is watching…but Boy Wonder is watching.  He is embarrassed by my dancing.  He tells me this many times in the train all the way home.  I tell him I don’t care, I dance how I dance and he can get stuffed (I’m still a little stung by his expletive insult on the way in).  We discuss the antics of the drunk people at the party, one of which is a 6ft 7 giant who was dirty dancing with his wife.  Apparently this bloke, all hunched over like a dog taking a shit, arms flailing everywhere and dancing like a knob was ok, because it was funny.  Mine was just shit dancing with a very high level of embarrassment.  He mentions crumping…I did not crump.  I don’t crump because the last time I did so in the kitchen (completely sober, mind you), I put my back out.  I’m too old for that shit.  

Sigh, so much shit happening.

Shit Happens: How I Broke My Butt

There are times in life when one must admit that they are not cut out for certain activities.  It could be a case of being too old, we do get past it, or being so ridiculously spastic and uncoordinated that we fuck up even the most basic of activities.  We may have attempted these activities in the past and failed, but years later, after witnessing a small child succeed in such activities, common sense does not prevail and one thinks, "I might give that another go, maybe I can do it this time."  Fuckwitism at its most prominent.

One such idiotic moment occurred on our 2017-2018 stay in Bright over the Christmas break.  This is an annual family holiday, broken in 2016-2017 by our trip to the USA.  We had missed the tranquil setting of our cabin in the Riverview Caravan Park, through which the Buckland river flows, and we missed the river itself.

The water hole is a daily activity, usually in the morning when it is quiet and peaceful and quite often, ours alone to enjoy with the happy sounds of birds and the calming flow of water.  The first toe dipped into the water effects a stifled scream as the icy temperature, straight from the mountains, makes the nipples pop and the balls retreat, irrespective of the 30•C temperature outside.  Within minutes though, you're up to your thighs and gathering the intestinal fortitude to dip the nether regions and get the shock over with.  Not so Boy Wonder; bolstered by the bravery of youth, he climbs the rocks and leaps off into the icy depths, emerging like a bullet from a smoking gun, gasping and grinning with the crazy only a teen can produce.

The same water hole in the afternoon can be a seething mass of loud and obnoxious teenagers, leaping off the rocks doing bombs, laughing loudly and showing off with backward somersaults to impress the fairer sex and make all mum's in the region dig their nails into their palms and clench in fear; we're born worriers, irrespective of who owns the kid.  The fathers are busy sucking in their beer guts and openly admiring the tight arses and firm titties of the girls, whistfully missing their lost youth.  Get your hand off it, tossers!

As this same river flows through our Caravan Park, most people use the water hole as a launching point to ride the river rapids.  I did attempt this river run many years ago, after torrential rain had the river swollen and flowing at great speed; hiding the rocks and other dangers from the inexperienced and the stupid...yes, me.  As a rookie, I relied on the advice of the experienced; The Captain (who calls himself the coach but leapt into the river and left me to my own defences...nice coaching) and my children.  I was advised at the time by Boy Wonder and Miss Marvellous to dodge the giant boulder, the biggest threat in the water, but since I'd never attempted this activity, I didn't know what to dodge or where this giant obstruction lurked and the fast pace and swell of the river hid such dangers.  I hit said bolder with my knees at great speed, launching into the air comically, to the delight of the Captain.  Re-entry had been difficult given my accident, which put a dent in my confidence, but I made it back alive.  Amazingly, I attempted this run two more times, each one eventuating in some mishap (one of which was completely my fault as I'd launched into the water on a blow up lilo-mattress with a separate pillow that belted me half to death about the head and nearly smacked my glasses off, then rammed the nose pieces into my eyes. Who does this shit?) All attempts left me battered and bruised and lacking in any confidence whatsoever.  "Nope, never again", I said.  Never turned out to be only a few short years away.

So this year, I watched little children leap onto blow-up mats  with abandon and float away with confidence and I thought "the river is calm, I can see the rocks...how hard can it be?"  Enter inappropriate bravado of middle aged, unskilled, spastic, uncoordinated and awkward idiot.  I proposed this ridiculous idea to Boy Wonder and he pollitely asked if I was sure.  His tone did not hide the wariness borne out of experience with me attempting this activity in the past.  Of course I am sure, I can do this!   No I can't.

I mounted the blow up mat in the shallows so I wouldn't embarrass myself bouncing off the thing and landing on my arse.  Bear in mind, this river bed is all rocks and the rapid water flow is directed between boulders.  My son gave me directions, before we set out, to follow his lead and stay calm.  These directions went in one ear and straight out the other as I came off on the first rapid as the mat flipped.  Boy Wonder patiently helped me back into the raft and I celebrated making it through the second rapid and dodging the giant boulder.  He was shocked and surprised when I came off on the benign third rapid and watched as I floundered and guzzled copious amounts of river water.  I didn't hurt myself (other than to dent my pride) and was very pleased when we made it to the slow pace after the rapids and lazily drifted into the Caravan Park.

Imagine his surprise when I said I wanted another go.  His face was incredulous because, come on, my track record to this point was absolutely shit!  I thought that now I knew the dangers (and if made it past that fucking boulder once...), surely I can get it right this time.  The look of incredulous disbelief was only momentary, but warranted.  I fucked up badly.

When we arrived, teenagers were everywhere at the water hole, a harbinger of doom as I hastily launched myself after Boy Wonder, who was eager to get this over with.  Badly positioned on the air mat to start with, I barely made it through the first rapid when the second rapid launched me half up and I failed to rebalance, flipping upside down.  This was bad, I was suddenly bereft of glasses (which I somehow managed to grasp in the turmoil), and as it was deep, I was still trying to cling to the raft as it belted me on the head and held me under water.  Trying not to panic as it threw me around in the middle of the rapid, I tenaciously clawed my way up and inhaled in a huge lungful of water, then half killed myself trying to get my head above the water level, gasping and making goat noises whenever I managed to surface and suck in air.  I was thrown hard against a pointy boulder and bounced solidly on my coccyx, belting my shin on the fucking boulder I was trying to avoid.  Floundering, gasping and burping water bubbles, my head broke free to hear Boy Wonder screaming "Stay Calm, just bloody stay calm".  I had the wherewithal to belch "I am calm" at him, but with my voice altered by water intake and lack of oxygen, I sounded like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon.

"Come over here!" he yelled (Danny Glover?  Still caught in Lethal Weapon).  I refrained from telling him to fuck off, concentrating instead on breathing, climbing to safety and gathering my shattered wits.

As I was still gasping and trying to climb back onto the raft, executing the vertical splits as I righted myself, some bloke floating behind us yells out "hey, where do you get off this thing?"  Mate, I can barely fucking breath, can you piss off?  Boy Wonder glared at the guy, like he could make his head explode with his laser vision...not now, dude!  I yelled back "this ends in a Caravan Park, but you can get off under the bridge!"  He exclaimed, "SHIT!" and then we ignored his arse because my air mat had turned around and I was going backwards and we were approaching the third rapid.  Boy Wonder was yelling at me to turn around and I was splashing, frantically paddling, trying to turn my mat before...ah for fuck's sake, not again!  The last thing I saw was the quizzical expression of the guy in the tube before getting tossed off the mat again at the benign and most uncomplicated and unchallenging of all the rapids, which had my son shaking his head in disbelief.  His opinion of my ability to function at a normal level of competency had plummeted to rock bottom and although he didn't say so, his expression screamed it at a thousand decibels.  I just wanted everything and everyone to fuck off so I could flop like a flaccid dick across this air mat and catch my breath.

 As we drifted into the slow lazy pace, I told Boy Wonder that I'd seriously hurt myself in the butt and he advised that I should not attempt this again and perhaps I should join him from now on under the bridge and after the rapids.  This is the point I became unhinged and started laughing hysterically.  My nose was still burning from the water shooting through it but hey, my sinuses were clear.  My tailbone was throbbing and my spine was tingling from the jarring encounter with the rock that arse-fucked me when I was at my most vulnerable.

I asked why he was screaming at me stay calm, which he flat out denied had happened.   I suspect at the time he was trying to contain his terror as he watched his mother bounce around and drown audibly.  I should learn to die quietly.  He said that everything happens for a reason and baby Jesus doesn't want me to ride the rapids.

We returned to the cabin to be greeted by a grinning Captain Fantastic, who had seen the whole thing from the road above.  Jesus!  I asked if he'd heard Boy Wonder shouting at me to stay calm and he said "yes, that's how I knew you were there."  Boy Wonder is still shaking his head in denial - he needs to calm the fuck down in a crisis but the poor kid held it together surprisingly well considering the fuckwit thrashing about in the water with him.

The following day I found it was painful to walk and I wondered if I'd actually cracked my tail bone or smacked the fucker right off.  Grimacing and groaning, getting up from a sitting position or sitting down made me cry out (my pain threshold having all but disappeared) and I was beginning to sound like the giant bulls in the paddock adjacent to the caravan park.  Any form of walking was agony; inclines and declines the most painful of all.  We wondered aloud at the fate of that bloke behind us.  "Poor guy," said Boy Wonder, "I hope he got out alright".  Nah, fuck him, I thought as I struggled to get off my chair without bovine bellowing, he saw me fuck-up on the unfuck-upable rapid - we can never see that guy again...if we do, we have to kill him.

Boy Wonder was chivalrous and helpful, holding out his hand to help me get up or sit...or just walk.  He thought it was an insight into my future as he joked that I'm like a 90 year old, like he's assisting a stroke victim.  He certainly felt like he was watching me pitch some sort of fit in the river that day. He gleefully tells me over lunch today that I'm retarded and he's never heard of anyone coming off on the third rapid, and that he can't wait to tell Miss Marvellous (who didn't join us on holidays this year) so they can laugh about it.  His dad chimed in and said it's actually impossible to come off on the third.  "No it's not", I rejoined defensively, "because I came off!" and he counters "Jeez, it's a wonder you can put one foot in front of the other".  Fuck off, Captain, you're a shit coach.

Shit Happens in USA…Los Angeles & San Francisco – Part 2

5^th January 2017, Day 3 of Second Leg of LA – Day 2 in San Francisco

We breakfasted again at our favourite café.  As we left afterwards, we were delighted to see a giant, steaming moist Mr Whippy turd in the shop entrance next door, probably deposited there by a homeless person.  Even the homeless have to shit but please, for the love of God, find a public toilet.  Although this made me dry retch and my stomach roil so I had to work to keep my breakfast down, the kids were pissing themselves laughing and The Captain was making Henry the Third references that I’ve been hearing since the 90s and which didn’t impress me then or now…Dad jokes, but what was astounding was that they actually made the kids laugh.

We caught a Cable Car opposite our hotel and had one of the most fantastic experiences of our lives.  The Cable Car was full so we had to hang off the side…like we weren’t going to do that anyway.  Woot woot!  It was exhilarating and scary all at once, made more so when we hurtled past a truck and the fuckstick driver opened his door and nearly ripped my tits off.  Thankfully the Cable Car driver dinged his bell like a psycho and the fuckstick yanked his door shut just before he tore us all a new one.  He must live on Nob Hill.  The sudden braking and accelerating of the Cable Car had Boy Wonder take a hit to the nuts with the side bar so he was quiet and a pale shade of green for a while after we alighted the cable car. 

We had to return to the hotel for Boy Wonder to change his jeans because his nuts were throbbing and he thought it might be because his jeans were tight.  I think it might have been the jab to his nads by the handrail but since I don’t have a set, I remained mute.  The Captain thought it would be a grand idea to climb a zillion steps today and as he sprinted up with Boy Wonder in tow, and exhausted Miss Marvellous and I plotted their death as I puffed on my Ventolin and thought villainous thoughts. 

That night, we caught the ferry to Alcatraz for the night tour of the notorious prison.  When we arrived, we stood in the queue and shuffled past the crude open shower area and we were each given a head set.  There was a starting point and we were taken on a personal guided tour at our own leisure.  We could pause the headset if we wanted to dwell in an area for a closer look.  The narrator was an ex prisoner who spent time at the famous prison and he entertained us with tales of happenings from the perspective of an inmate.  It was one of the most awesome and educational things I’ve ever experienced.  It was fascinating to hear about the day to day life in the prison as well as some well documented escape attempts, riots and some famous names who spent time at the prison, one of which was Al Capone. 

By the time we had to venture back to the ferry, it was as cold as a witch's tit and I wished I had the ability to teleport because a cold ferry trip back in the dead of winter seemed too much for my nipples to bear.  Thankfully, it was warm inside the boat below deck and the trip was comfortable.  This is more than I could say for the car trip back because the traffic was really heavy and the Captain was driving on the wrong side of the road to Australia (which was stressing me out) and he broke the rules a couple of time (because he doesn’t give a fuck) which made me aggressively nag him (because I DO give a fuck and that’s why I don’t have an outstanding warrant for my arrest in this fucking country) until he cracked the shits and said “would you like to drive?”  Um no, no I would not.  I pulled my head in after that, the poor bastard was negotiating driving in a foreign country and I needed to stow my bitchiness.

After we got back home and changed, we went to an Irish pub for dinner called Johnny Foley’s Duelling Piano Bar; rocking name for an Irish establishment.  Miss Marvellous and I had the Irish stew and it was absolutely divine. This was our last night in San Francisco before we had to drive back to Los Angeles.  The Captain chose this time, when we are all full and sated and ready to fall into a food induced coma to announce that we can’t take the scenic tour tomorrow as we will never get back in time for the NBA game tomorrow night.  So another trip straight down the guts was planned with fuck all to see on the drive I never wanted to take except for the scenery I was not going to see on the coastal tour I was never going to get.  I was dreading the methane farm and quietly plotting a torture session for The Captain when we reached home.   

When we returned, we sat in the lobby to update social media, The Captain decided that the night before we get back to LA is the right time to book accommodation for our last night in the USA.  What the fuck?  I thought we had this all planned and paid for…apparently not.  I cannot believe that after fucking around for a few minutes, he just gave up and booked anything in the Marina Del Rey and the fucking room cost A$500 for one night.  The Marriott Santa Monica Le Merigot had better have a gold bar of soap waiting for me to wash my bits and arsehole with at that price.  Afterwards, when his insanity dissipated and he could see the look of horror on my face, he conceded that he probably should have shopped around more.  Fuck me, I didn’t realise we were leaking hundred dollar bills out of our arses!  Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick!

6^th January 2017, Day 4 of Second Leg of LA – Trip Back to Los Angeles

This was our last morning in San Francisco.  We breakfasted again at our favourite café, although no turds threatened to greet us on our way, before embarking on the boring-as-batshit trip back to Los Angeles.  Boy Wonder was bouncing in his seat in anticipation of the NBA game we were going to that night.  Miss Marvellous was not fussed (not a fan of basketball) and I was still just trying to get through each boring hour of the eight hour trip and trying not to drool on myself as I dozed in the front seat, fighting the nausea and hating the wasted day. 

Half way through the trip, The Captain announced to me that when the kids have all grown and left home and it’s just the two of us, we will return to the USA and do a road trip holiday in a Winnebago.  Obviously he’s planning on divorcing me and taking someone else because I am not up for days and weeks driving across the country in a giant house on wheels.  I would have to spend most days perpetually stoned off my nut on travel sickness pills and he will soon tire of the groaning, sleeping or worse, puking.  I’m not a driving holiday kind of girl.  Surely 27 years of being in my company has taught him that?  Wishful thinking will not change my susceptibility to motion sickness, dude, no matter how many magic lanterns you rub.  Soon after, we had a stop to break up the trip and inhaled Macca's for the first time in the US.  It was the same as home except nobody calls it Maccas there.  We Aussies like to butcher everything with our slang.

The hotel room was mediocre but I was past giving a shit.  We had to hightail it into our room to quickly get changed before we darted out to try to find something to eat before the game.  We went to a Mexican restaurant which had waitresses who don’t actually wait on the tables.  After perusing the menu and deciding on our meal, we practically had to rugby tackle someone to get our order taken.  Come the fuck on!! There were about seven other people in the restaurant because it was still only late afternoon.  We’re not asking for the world on a plate, just a little service.  Having said that, when Jose finally made the nachos, they were gooey and yummy and hit the spot.

We took the train to the NBA game.  The Captain was in charge of purchasing the train tickets (because none of us knew what to do) and decided to use his million coins for the tickets.  Finally, the Captain got to the front of the queue and started fucking around with the tickets but nothing was happening.  Some older woman just came up and did it for us because we’re all slightly touched in the head (and the queue of people behind us were getting tetchy) so he gave her a $20 and didn’t get any change.  Who gives a fuck, thanks for stepping in, Sister.

As we got off the train and approached the Staple Centre on foot, Boy Wonder did all but bar up when he saw the stadium up ahead.  He went all macho and teenage on us and started beating his chest and bleating about it being the best day of his life.  Get your hand off it, son, you’re only fifteen years old.  We were expected to go all tourist with the camera and had to take photos of him out front of the stadium, inside the stadium, in front of a Lakers Pole, holding a soft drink.  Dude, enough of this shit, we can’t capture your joy on celluloid, let’s just get inside and find our seats.  But first, there were the Lakers cheerleaders that the Captain had to get his photo with.  Men a creepy when hot chicks are around.  Pleeeeeease!

Okay, so Boy Wonder is a massive LA Lakers fan following his introduction to the team by his older cousin.  This was a home game against Miami Heat and we were hoping to witness a win.  It was an excellent game.  There was a bout of fisticuffs, 2 players were ejected due to said fisticuffs, my sphincter got a workout in the last seconds and boy Wonder lost his voice screaming because the score was tight and if the Lakers win and the score below 100, the whole audience gets free tacos.  We missed out on Tacos by 1 fucking point (Lakers scored 100)…but Lakers won so who gives a shit, right?  We were going home the next night anyway so who cares about tacos we’re never going to eat.  Miss Marvellous worked her face really hard to look like she was enjoying herself.  Then the young guys behind us started with sarcastic yelling and trash talk and that had her enjoy the last half of the game.

We caught the train back and Boy Wonder spied a commuter wearing a Carlton Football windcheater, but he resisted the urge to tap him on the shoulder.  We were late getting back and everything seemed to be closed and we were desperate for a meal.  We hadn’t eaten since late afternoon at the Mexican Cantina and we were getting really snippy and hangry.  The only place we could find open was that shitty café we went to the first time we were in Los Angeles and Santa Monica, where the sandwiches were huge and you had to dislocate your jaw to take a bite then pour half a can of drink in your head to soften the dry bread so you didn’t choke to death on the bale of hay you were moving around inside your mouth.  Fuck it, after more circle work and finding no other eatery, we just had to settle for hay bales.  Boy wonder was correct.  The sandwiches required a flip-top head and a large drink to consume but they weren’t cheap so after pulling the guts out of my sandwich and eating it, I found I just couldn’t produce enough saliva to finish the hay bale so I scrunched it up in my napkin and pretended I’d finished it then surreptitiously dumped it in a bin when The Captain wasn’t looking.  Sorry mate, it just wasn’t worth suffocating for.

7^th January 2017, Day 5 of Second Leg of LA – Time to go home

We drove to Santa Monica and stopped for our last cooked meal.  We had a hot cooked breakfast at a small café and it cost a fucking bomb (A$120).  We were going to arrive home in Melbourne with nothing but pocket lint to our name just because of the last couple of days here.  We wandered around Santa Monica looking in shops and decided to split up so we could go where we wanted without an audience.  When we all met up, the Captain had some dried up shit on his face around his eyes but he looked about 10 years younger.  He then made us all turn around and walk a different way because he didn’t want the woman who put the shit around his eyes to see him.  Apparently she’d put this stuff on his face, thinking he was going to buy it, and he said he would go ask the wife for the credit card, like I get to control anything financial.  Of course this stuff cost the earth but he said “it’s supposed to last for days then you put more on every few mornings”.  Yeah, nah!  I don’t give a shit, by the time we make it back home to Australia, you’re still going to sport the face of the 50 old bloke I came with because we spent $500 bucks on a shit hotel which didn’t pony up with the gold bar of soap.  Don’t be a knob, Captain!

We drove the hire car to the return depot at the airport and waited for the airport bus to take us to our terminal.  Again, we were packed in like sardines, jerking around and waiting to get to our terminal.  The canvas was a bitch to carry because it kept sagging in the middle like a skinny limp baby.  The Captain had decided to take it as carry-on luggage.  Whilst at the airport, I edited a few more chapters of my next book and before we knew it, we were boarding the plane back home.  I took pills to ensure I didn’t become the Vomitron mid-flight again.  The Captain was a few rows behind us (because Felonious had to book his tickets late) and we struck turbulence just after the kids and I had received our meals and beverages.  The cart was suddenly hurried back up the aisle and the flight attendants strapped themselves in until everything settled.  I resisted the urge to look down the aisle at him and hiss “sucker.”  Regardless, we ate our meals in the midst of this turmoil, trying not to poke an eye out with my fork or wash my face with my wine but the Captain was starving three rows down.  By the time he got fed, we were replete and dozing; a third of the way through a movie. 

We arrived in Melbourne after very long flight to a nice balmy morning.  Ever the committed team leader, The Captain was taking calls and working in the cab at 9am on his way back from the airport.  He is dedication incarnate! 

I just couldn’t wait to get home to hug my cat and sleep in my own bed.  The garden was alive and happy thanks to a friend of Miss Marvellous who took care of catface and watered the garden.  What a trip!  A month aboard for all four of us that cost close to A$50,000 but fuck it, it’s a once in a lifetime experience and we had a ball…we have a full photo album to show for it.

I hope you enjoyed our trip.

Doona

Shit Happens in USA…Los Angeles & San Francisco – Part 1

2^nd January 2017, arrive back in Los Angeles

We arrived in Los Angeles from New York late in the evening.  We decided to stay at an airport hotel since we were driving to San Francisco in the morning.  LAX is a frigging nightmare.  Taxis and courtesy busses were just burling in and out of traffic with no apparent order.  Exasperated traffic cops yelled at idiot drivers who completely ignored their direction and one Asian driver, who obviously acquired his licence from the back of a cereal box, got a fist to the bonnet and a very erect finger jab by an angry black traffic controller.  Her booming voice held notes of warning and I’m sure the driver’s legs had turned to jelly because he looked shit scared.  I was on the other side of the road and I was shit scared.  My short time in this country has taught me that you just don’t piss off black women. 

I was surprised there were no fender benders given the chaos.  There were lots of horns though…American’s love sitting on a horn.  There were also lots of frustrated people, four of which were us.  We waited an eternity for our hotel curtesy bus for The Century Boulevard Marriot; even the usually unflappable Captain was looking worn of patience.  When we finally got all our cases in, we were packed in like sardines, jostling along until we reached our hotel.  There is nothing much to report about this night.  We had to be up early for the road trip tomorrow so we collapsed into a travel weary sleep of the dead.  I’m not looking forward to tomorrow…I fucking hate long car trips.

3^rd January 2017, Day 1 of Second Leg of LA – Trip to San Francisco

The Captain walked the short distance to the car hire company from our hotel while I checked us out.  Whilst in Reception, Boy Wonder annoyingly asked if we had the passports and cash again because he couldn’t wear his super hero cape much longer.  Can you fuck off, son?  Captain Fantastic arrived at our hotel looking larger than life on the wrong side of the hire car.  We hired a big Dodge (I did consider reminding the Captain that the car was not an extension of his dick but the size of the vehicle suggested he begged to differ).  Miss Marvellous dubbed the vehicle a ‘soccer mom car’.

The first thing we did in preparation for the road trip was drive back to the Killer Café in Marina Del Rey where we loaded up on food with a big breakfast before the long road trip.  The kids and I suffer from travel sickness, but I suffer the worst.  I even get sick on a swing so I was not overjoyed at the prospect of an 8-10 hour road trip to San Fran.  Before we left Melbourne, when I groaned at the prospect of the road trip and asked why we couldn’t fly, The Captain sold it to me as an amazing experience via the coastal route with lots of stops on the way for a coffee or happy snaps at some beautiful landmarks and places of notoriety on the way up.  This was a bullshit ruse and none of the above occurred.  Captain Fantastic decided that he just wanted to get the fuck there already and dissed the coastal scenic route for a drive straight up the guts.  He said we’d do the scenic tour on the way back.  Fuck you Captain.  Bastard!

Apart from the first few minutes after we took off on the highway and a plane coming in to land at LAX looked like it was going to crash right in front of us, the trip up was as boring as batshit.  There was fuck all to see except a bunch of hills and valleys, then just miles of farmland for hours…and lots of those weird things with a big head like a grasshopper that dig for oil in the ground…I think they’re actually land oil rigs???  There were acres of wind farms and the stinkiest place that my olfactories have ever had to encounter and which had me dry retching.  It was some kind of cattle farm and the cattle were so packed in so tightly in the giant field that they were a sea of black and brown, barely moving but obviously shitting and farting like it was an Olympic sport.  Fucking “Moooo!”  I couldn’t photograph any of it because the smell was so offensive that I had my whole face buried in my armpit trying to smell my own freshness rather than the methane, skin peeling stench that was going on outside of the car.  The Captain kept looking at me like I’m weird, I think his sniffer is dead. 

As we started to approach San Francisco, something set Mother Nature off and she threw the mother of all hissy fits and bucketed rain on us as we drove across the Oakland Bridge.  San Francisco looked black and white in the shitty picture Mother Nature was painting and I hoped her mood would improve soon and things would get better for our sightseeing adventures.

We stayed at the Westin, St Francis, and boy, what a posh place.  Even the loos in reception were shmancy (and Bogan that I am, I took photos of the said loos).  The Captain dropped us at Reception and went to find car parking because the concierge advised the ridiculous fee to park in the hotel parking would probably require us to sell one of the kids.  Miss Marvellous took off to visit the loo and Boy Wonder and I checked us all in.  As Boy Wonder and I approached the Receptionist, she greeted us with a sunny smile and queried “How can I help you two ladies?”  Boy Wonder, who had been mistaken for a woman again, groaned audibly next to me.  This was the third time in this country that he had been mistaken for a chick.  I spoke loudly, because he looks like a frigging guy and this woman was blind, stupid or both.  I introduced myself and my son.  She looked pointedly at Boy Wonder then started back pedalling and flapping her hands in apology but Boy Wonder was having none of it.  He said “don’t worry, I’m cutting it off as soon as I get back to Australia.  This is the third time I’ve been called a woman over here.”  She just kept on apologising and spewing words out of her mouth like vomit “…no, please don’t cut it off.  It looks really good on you.  You look like a boy, I just saw you hair and made a mistake.  Please don’t cut it.”  Save your breath lady, you insulted his manhood and completely emasculated him.  Now shut the fuck up and check us in, bitch. 

Miss Marvellous guffawed with mirth when Boy Wonder regaled her with the mistaken identity news.  She said “you’re either a really pretty boy or a really ugly chick.”  Way to go, kick him in the nuts while he’s down.  NICE!

We got up to our room and it was small but really cool.  The toiletries in our room had an absolutely fabulous scent and I wanted to douse myself in shower gel.  There was no wifi in the room, which pissed us all off.  We either had to pay an exorbitant amount of money if we wanted to access Wifi in the room or go to the lobby where wifi was free.  Fuck you guys, we’ll sit in the lobby every night like antisocial arseholes and update our Facebook and Snapchat. 

That night, we walked our surrounding streets looking for a place to eat.  San Francisco is as hilly as fuck!  Our gluteus and quad muscles certainly got a work out.  We walked through a neighbourhood called Nob Hill and I absolutely pissed myself…because I’m five. We found an Italian restaurant, which was just okay, but our expectations for good food in Los Angeles took a plummet after The Terrace shit-on-a-plate experience so the disappointment was minimal and we were hungry.

4^th January 2017, Day 2 of Second Leg of LA – Day 1 in San Francisco

The next morning we found a fabulous café that made great bagels and really good coffee and hot chocolate.  This became our daily morning ritual.  After breakfast, we drove to the Golden Gate Bridge.  The walk across was really cool and we took some gorgeous photos, despite Mother Nature’s surly mood, which gave us a grey mediocrity.  Boy Wonder found the experience was marred by his annoying sister, who leaned out over the bridge for better photographic memories, but had the poor boy’s balls tingling and his heart racing.  Absolutely no fucks were given by Miss Marvellous as she continued to traumatise her brother in the name of Polaroid excellence.  Captain Fantastic was in his element as this was one of the most coveted experiences in San Fran for him.

After the trek across the bridge and back again, we headed off to Pier 39.  Here we saw a herd of seals, lounging on the piers and barking loudly; diving in and out of the water and completely oblivious to us.  We walked to Fisherman’s Wharf and wandered through a sweets shop that had the kids buzzing with a sugar high.  After the lolly shop we indulged in the famous clam chowder.  This was served in a hollowed out loaf of bread, surrounded by bread pieces to dip in sop up the delicious soup.  This proved to be a very tasty and hearty meal and just the thing to thaw us out.

On the drive back home, the Captain stopped at the top of a windy road and asked if anyone in the car knew where we were. Silence was broken by two “‘no’s” and one “yes”…of all the occupants in the vehicle, it was Boy Wonder who knew where we were, much to the Captain’s joy, as he had driven (crashed and stacked, more like)  cars here in Watchdogs, an Xbox game.  For the love of God, he knew Venice Beach by the Xbox games and half of the places we visited in Los Angeles.  What the fuck is happening in the world??  Anyway, we were driving down Lombard street which was noted on the map as the ‘windiest street in San Francisco’ (as in wound, not blowing a gale) and thankfully, The Captain can actually drive so we didn’t stack but it was very windy and made very exciting by the stupid dumb-arsed sightseers who kept trying to die in front of the car on the way down as they darted across the road.  San Francisco is fucktard central.

We dined at another Italian restaurant and this one was a more superior event.  Eating was just getting to the point where we had to fill a hole inside our guts and not experience gastronomical joy.

Look out for the last instalment…Part 2

Shit Happens in USA…New York Part 3

29^th December 2016 – Day 7  in New York City

It rained on us this day.  We chose to do the Highline walk, which was quite interesting (saw a car made out of tyres with a tree growing through it and some art of a naked man???).  Afterwards, we went into the American Stock Exchange, which I thought would bore the kids shitless, but surprisingly it was quite interesting.  We learned more about Alexander Hamilton (founding father of New York), his duel with another lawyer Aaron Burr during which he was fatally wounded and which brought about his untimely death.   

Boy Wonder learned the sign language used on the stock exchange floor and I actually videoed him showing what he’d learned.  It was surprisingly fascinating stuff.  We saw a stupid amount of gold, which always makes me smile, except when the gold is in the form of a rubbish bin or a fax machine.  What the fuck is with that shit?  Some people have too much money. 

After we left the stock exchange, we walked past the bronze bull.  People had formed a giant queue to stand in front of the bull and have their photo taken, most of them stroking the animal’s huge testicles (okay, whatever floats your boat…hard not to judge, though).  Do you know what we are?  We’re arseholes.  We strode across the road, ignoring the patiently queuing Japanese, and took a photo with the bull.  Who gives a shit if someone else is in the background.  It took a grand total of thirty seconds, and we walked off again.  Arseholes for sure.

            We found another Irish Pub called 'Molly’s Pub', and were horrified at the attitude of the bitch serving us.  Considering these stupid imbeciles want us to leave them a tip, we found it incredulous that she slammed our cutlery down and barely contained her boredom when she told us the specials and took our order.  She even rolled her eyes at us at one point when we had the audacity to ask a question.  Boy Wonder looked at me after she stalked off and said pointedly “well she’s a bitch!”  I didn’t pull him up on that succinct description...CORRECT!  I turned to the Captain and said, “bare minimum tip for her, she’s rude and doesn’t deserve it.”  I don’t care if she is dependent on the tips; change your attitude, hoe-bag! Slightly offended by the attitude.

30^th December 2016 – Day 8  in New York City

We decided to start with an early morning at the observation deck of the Rockerfeller Centre, which is dubbed, “Top of the Rock’.  The queues weren’t long here and the elevator trip up was quite exhilarating with a clear roof and what looked like shooting stars zipping past as we elevated.  I videoed it because I’m weird to the extreme.

It was just past sunrise and brilliantly sunny so we had a completely different experience in comparison to The Empire State Building…plus I hadn’t done anything remotely retarded that might result in the ruination of this event.

I found Boy Wonder sitting inside and begged askance of this odd behaviour, not taking in the magnificent view.  The stupid boy chooses this moment to tell me his fear of heights means he can’t go close to the view because he starts to panic and sweat and shake.  Oh my fucking God!  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” I demanded.  He didn’t want to ruin anybody else’s fun with his phobia.  Bless my stupid boy. 

When we got back down to the bottom level, Captain Fantastic decided to get a shoe shine.  I was mortified and told him I’d come back later.  We found the restrooms and returned, only to see him sitting back reading the paper, his trilby perched on his head while an overzealous man polished the bejesus out of his shoes.  He was not the only man getting a shoe shine and I felt embarrassed.  I looked at my daughter and said “oh my God, what is he doing?” A fellow Aussie chose this moment to walk past and peer in at the Captain and the other guy sitting near him and said to the man beside her “look at these wankers, will you?”  Miss Marvellous and I took off like a shot; we didn’t want to be associated with a wanker.  Miss Marvellous took a sneaky photo of him and he was stupidly happy about it.  He was thrilled with the polish and told anyone who would listen how great a job this guy did for such a small fee.  It was hard not to blush but yeah, okay…each to their own, I guess.

After The Rockerfeller Centre, we took a two hour boat ride that the Captain wanted to go on.  Within minutes we were bored stupid and I started to doze in my seat.  Rain began pelting against the glass so we couldn’t take photos of anything through it because our view was obscured, even if we wanted to.  A couple in front of us sucked face for most of the trip, pausing briefly to collect the view before returning to their tonsil hockey.  Thanks for sharing.

This is the longest two hours I have ever endured and when it finally ended, I was drowsy and wondering why the fuck we did that to ourselves.  It was not what the Captain thought it would be but he stoically insisted he enjoyed the trip.  I beg to differ because he looked absolutely ready to nod off through most of the boring trip himself.  That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.

That night we perched on high stools and ate burgers washed down with beer at the House of Brews on 46^th Street in the Hell’s Kitchen area.

31^st December 2016 – Day 8  in New York City

We had finished our New York Pass tourist leg of our New York trip so we found our way to the Chelsea market, which proved to be unexciting and rather hipster.  We wandered around town, we went to the Century 21 department store for a look around.

Miss Marvellous wanted to go into Victoria’s secret, which became a nightmare for me.  The Captain followed me in and stood in a corner grinning like a creep and all the young girls buying ‘panties’.  Eeeew Captain, get the fuck out.  We joined a queue that took an eternity to get through and whilst in the queue, I received an urgent text from Boy Wonder, who was kicking the kerb and wishing we'd hurry the fuck up, telling us to quickly come outside because it was snowing little flurries.  Well I missed the snow in New York because Offspring number one needed my credit card for very expensive knickers that contained very little material. 

After we finally made it to the front of the queue, three quarters of a fucking hour later, the chick assisting me at the register kept asking for PIN numbers for the overseas credit card that it didn’t have and insisted I couldn’t make my purchase without it.  Fuck you, just take my Australian one and let me the fuck out of here before I actually die of old age waiting.  Jesus!  

After this, and I was a little disgruntled that I’d missed the flurry, we made our way back to Harlem, carefully avoiding Times Square all day because it was New Year’s Eve and we didn’t have the inclination to get caught up in the crowds and mass hysteria that would surely be taking place there.

We had dinner at Amy Ruth’s Soul Food restaurant and I lost my second ‘snowman erection’ hat there (left it on the table - it was shitty, itchy and scratchy anyway...but my noggin was feeling the cold). 

I could barely keep my eyes open for the countdown to midnight and New Year’s Day.  We watched the ball drop (Whoopee!).  I kissed my family and fell into bed and into a coma.  The exhaustion of this trip was starting to take its toll.

We found out the next morning that there were two million people in Times Square; one million more than last year, and adult nappies were a must.  You can keep that shit for yourselves!

1^st January 2017 – New Year’s Day – Day 9  in New York City

What a beautiful start to 2017.  Walking in a gorgeous city with the sun shining, even if it was only 2◦C, but the squirrels were out and playing and I was happy.  We found ourselves in Central Park again.  This was to be our last day in New York City and I didn’t want it to end.

Boy Wonder, Miss Marvellous and I decided to go ice skating in Central Park.  What a treat!  The Captain sat this one out, preferring to watch us wobble and fall and rebalance, then finally get it.  Boy Wonder spent a grand total of about three minutes on his skates before his shins and calves gave him grief.  This was because he kept losing his balance and his skates kept going out and bending his ankles so he looked like an incredibly special unit out there, trying not to break an ankle.  He took the skates off with great relief and went out to find The Captain.  Miss Marvellous and I had so much fun.  It was very wobbly going at first but then we found our balance and just thoroughly enjoyed hours of circling the great white rink (The Donald Trump rink).

After the skating, we took in more of Central Park...parts we hadn’t seen.  The Captain spied an artist so we went over to look at his wares and chose a wonderful painting of the New York cabs.  We purchased this canvass and rolled it up to take home with us where The Captain would use is skills to frame it himself like our other works of art at home.

 We walked around the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, which provided some absolutely beautiful photo opportunities.  We saw a group of men playing music and singing fifties and sixties songs, quartet style and we saw more squirrels, which elicited an audible groan from Boy Wonder.

The kids and I took the train back to Harlem but The Captain decided to walk.  That night, we caught the train back to W48th Street and dined at La Masseria Italian Restaurant.  Cool!

2^nd January, 2017 – Day 10  in New York City and our last

We had a morning flight back to Los Angeles.  Once again, the Captain was on a different flight and advised us that morning that our flight was delayed again.  Bloody hell.  Boy Wonder asked The Captain if he had remembered our money and the Passports because he didn’t know if he had it in him to save the day again.  Oh pleeeeease!

Airport security was becoming an interesting occasion.  As we were standing in the queue, we spied Scott Cam standing beside us.  He’s not a celebrity over here, no one gives a fuck about him.  Boy Wonder took a sneaky photo to show Dad.

Miss Marvellous had security issues with her bag because she thought she would be clever and put all of her snow globes in her carry-on luggage.  She got called over and advised that there is a water issue and the snow globes related to this rule.  Fuck me.  Our cases had already gone through and we were shitting ourselves that we were going to have to leave the globes behind.  Instead, they checked each and every snow globe, like she’d hidden some deadly chemical in them.  They’re so fucking nervous over here.  Perhaps if you didn’t allow every fucker to have a gun, you wouldn’t need to be this nervous.

            It was my turn to go through security and this time, I remembered to take all of my bracelets off, and my watch so we should have been good to go.  Nope, I got hauled aside and asked to stand with Miss Marvellous.  There were three security people at me and I was wondering what the fuck had made them so nervous.  One of the Security guards, a large black woman with a ‘do not fuck with me” expression written all over her face, raised her brows and said “Ma’am, do you have anything in your back pocket?”  I immediately reached behind me to check but she held her arms up in panic “No, no!” 

I shot my hands back up into the air like I was under arrest and because her voice is very loud and she was very nervous and I didn’t want her to fucking shoot me in front of my children.  I said “I’m just going to check my pocket” and she responded, “s-l-o-w-l-y”, like this little Italian is going to go all Jesse James on her arse.  Jesus!  I slowly, at the pace of a snail, lowered my left hand and found a bulge and I was like “what the fuck?” in my head.  I whipped out a lip gloss and startled the security chick again.  Shit!  I stated unnecessarily that it was my lip gloss, because these fuckers had me all nervous and they were all clustered around me like I was going to mace them at any second. 

She said she needed to pat me down.  I thrust my hands into the air again in a show of compliance and said “go for it” like I was up for anything.  I just wanted to go through the fucking gate.  She looked pointedly at me and said, “Ma’am, would you like to go to a private room for this?” Now I started shitting myself.  I nervously asked “Um, are you going to take my pants and undies off for this?”  Mrs ‘do not fuck with me” threw her head back and guffawed out the word “No!”  Why the fuck would I want to go to a private room to be patted down if you’re not going to ram your fingers in my arse?  How weird. 

I was smiling and giggling because I was so bloody nervous.  I said “if I get to keep my pants on, we can do it here.”  She proceeded to thoroughly pat me down.  I mean, if I was naked, I’d think we were going to have sex soon, there was a lot of boob and butt rubbing going on and she even patted my…ummm, mound.  Nope, that’s all me sweetheart.  Better still, the other two were watching us like we were shooting a porn video.  Then she brought out her wand and I started sweating and wondering if I should have chosen the booth.  She just waved it all over me (more stroking), up between my legs like I’m hiding a mini bomb in an orifice.  I turned around and there was a queue of very curious people on the other side of the X-ray machine, watching this foreplay; I felt my face burn.  Jesus fuck!  Boy Wonder was on the other side looking bored out of his mind; Miss Marvellous wore a smirk.  She’s a sick fuck, that one. 

We made our way to our gate and got told to move gates twice because these people have no fucking idea.  Our flight left on time (the Captain was misinformed).   I sent a text to the Captain to inform him that our fight was leaving on time and his flight information source was flawed, that his son saw Scott Cam and forwarded the sneaky photo, of which he no fucks bout.

In summary, New York was my favourite part of this month long trip and I was sorry to leave her but...Los Angeles was beckoning…

Shit Happens in USA…New York Part 2

26^th December 2016 – Boxing Day – Day 4 in New York City

Boxing Day in the USA is just another day to print money for the locals and the Government.  Nothing is closed and everything is open to ridiculously late hours.  As tourists, this worked for us.

It was time for us to start using our New York Passes.  These passes are supposed to make your queuing time a heck of a lot shorter, it covers your entry fee and is supposed to kill your waiting time.  Once these passes are activated, they have to be used consecutively so we were about to start the heavy duty sightseeing part of our trip.  The next five days turned out to be absolutely exhausting but boy we jammed some shit in!  We started on the Big Red Bus.  This bus took us on a tour of all of the exciting things to see in New York and gave us a rundown of some famous and historic areas, schools and buildings, one of which was an odd shaped flat iron building, a family court house where Law and Order SVU film their show on the steps before and after their fictitious court cases (see, I remember shit), and other attractions on our way to take a boat out to Ellis Island to see the Statue of Liberty. 

It was bloody hard to get excited when we were facing the prospect of the three hour queue to get onto the fucking boat and it was as cold as a witch’s tit.  After queuing initially for the tickets that the New York Pass granted us, we had to join another queue that went for miles to get onto the boat.  It was really cold and threatened to rain on us as we slowly shuffled forward.  When we neared the building that would grant us entry, we discovered the reason for the hold up.  There was airport grade security that we all had to get through, taking off belts, jewellery, coats, having our handbags scanned…my God, I was waiting for an anal probe…I was disappointed. 

It took an age to finally get through then we finally made it onto the boat.  Miss Marvellous and I went top deck to maximise the quality of our photos of the Lady herself.  The dark and foreboding sky drizzled on and off and made the hair poking out of the snowman erection hat frizz madly, despite my efforts with a straightening iron and spotted the photos with drops of Mother Nature’s nectar (piddle).  When we got there, I assumed we wouldn’t get off the boat, just stay on and go back but the family was horrified by this ridiculous assumption.  “…as if we all queued for three hours to not get off on the island!”  Jesus, calm your tits, I just thought you’d want to fit some other shit in today, okay?  Fuck me!

The island was informative and interesting and I’m glad we got off to explore.  We made a quick trip to the restrooms lest we find ourselves in New York with a full bladder and no prospects of emptying it, and Miss Marvellous made a mad dash through the gift shop, grabbing the last snow globe, which was unboxed, but she didn’t care.  We kept this from the boys because the bastards were starting to judge everything we bought, as men do.

On the return trip on the Big Red Bus, we went past the pier where the Titanic was supposed to dock…if that ninja iceberg hadn’t leaped out of the water and sunk the fucker.  We met up with some family members; my aunt, uncle, cousins and their family.  We tried to get into Eataly but it was as posh as all fuck and couldn’t seat 12 of us so off we trundled to another Italian restaurant a few doors down.  I was quietly grateful because our pockets aren’t as deep as my extended family and I didn’t like the prospect of being left with nothing but pocket lint after we ate.

27^th December 2016 – Day 5 in New York City

We decided to tackle the 911 Memorial Museum.  We had arranged our tickets after we looked into the Twin Tower Pools the night before, prior to leaving the area, to avoid the queues.  Success!  Our New York Pass worked in our favour on this occasion and we went straight in. 

Our journey through this sombre place that holds so much sadness and loss for so many started with a short film about a woman’s painful discovery that her fiancé, a fire fighter, had perished in the Tower 2 building collapse on that awful day.  After this, we moved into the museum.  We saw people’s belongings; coats and bags and helmets that were recovered from the rubble.  We saw the twisted columns of the destroyed building, fire engines that somehow survived while the men and women in their respective units perished.  There was constant footage of those planes hitting the buildings, filmed by people who happened to be taking footage of the twin towers when it happened, unaware that the footage they were capturing of a historical moment that would change the world forever would be viewed worldwide.  It was quiet and respectful and I felt moved by the entire three hours or so that we spent in there, taking in as much in.

After a morning of sad reflection, we caught the subway to cheery Brooklyn to try to restore some joy back into ourselves and walked over Brooklyn Bridge (after we found the bloody thing.  We had to follow a tour group to find it…confounding place, Brooklyn - bridges everywhere).  This was one of the items on The Captain’s ‘must see’ list and we took a stack of photos.  Miss Marvellous, The Captain and I all bought something from the artists selling their amazing art on the bridge (it still sits on a shelf to be framed...one day).  Tourists wandered around like browns cows all over the bridge, ignoring the signs stating the bike lane is for bikes and the walking lane for walkers and one local had us laughing when he started ringing his bicycle bell loudly like he was on a bloody ship “ding, ding!” and yelling “get out of the way!”, ploughing through the throngs of stupid tourists.   I guess having that many knobs in your city over the Christmas period every year would make anyone lose their shit!

After the bridge, we went back into New York and saw that the queue for the Empire State Building wasn’t so long.  We joined the queue and were inside the building quite quickly.  What a fucking trick that was!  We had to queue for the tickets and then queue for another three hours to get through the security and up to the deck.  Boy Wonder was not the epitome of patience on this occasion and groaned constantly.  At some point, Miss Marvellous had to turn away lest she belt him across the head because let’s face it, none of us wanted to be in this fucking queue.  When we finally got to the elevator, and took it up to the area where we could view the city and it was almost sunset.  As much as we bitched about the queues, this view was astounding.  We then had to queue again for the elevator to take us up to the observation deck outside so we could photograph without the reflection of glass.  More groaning from Boy Wonder and Miss Marvellous looked like she was going to punch him in the throat at any moment.  Suddenly, one of the people posted near the elevator said loudly “if you don’t want to wait in the queue for the elevator, you can walk up the six flights of stairs and get there quickly.”  I looked at the kids and said “Hell yes!” fist punched the air, stuck my elbows out and made it to the door of the stairwell first.  At this point, I completely forgot that I am as old, that I have asthma and have the fitness level of fat bear in hibernation.  Suddenly I was twenty three and a gym junkie…not.  What a fuckwit.

Off I went, belting up those stairs, taking them two at a time.  By the fourth floor, I started to slow a little, my limbs starting to shake and Miss Marvellous was protesting breathlessly behind me, “Why are we running?”  I found some air to suck in and yelled back to her “because we need to get up there before all the people behind you over take us!”  She looked behind her; there was nobody there because they were taking the stairs at a sensible pace unlike her stupid fucktard of a mother.  By the fifth floor, my lungs felt constricted and the airflow wasn’t as clear as it was before I became completely spastic and started this ridiculous behaviour.  By the time I reached the top observation deck, I was stumbling about, barely able to stand on my jelly legs and actually fell bodily through the door.  The cold air hit me and I chose to ignore the growing wheeze, yanked out my phone and started to take photos of the magnificent view.  An annoying gaggle of Russians with their sable hats and their fur coats with their entitled arrogance hogged the view forever, taking millions of photos of the same fucking view and not allowing me to get in there before I died from old age.  They took so long that their teenage son started growling at his mother in his guttural thick tongued accent. 

My bronchial tubes had swollen so much by this stage that every breath in and out was a high pitched squeal.  If I was on ground level, dogs would be going mad.  Breathing was becoming quite difficult and as Boy Wonder sidled up, I had to limit my words because I couldn’t draw enough air into my lungs to breath, let alone speak, so I just pointed to the sable hatted bitch in front of me and uttered “these rude Russian arse-hats.”  He wandered off again, oddly not venturing near the view, while I found myself in a bit of a quandary. 

I finally admitted to myself that I was actually having an asthma attack and death was a possibility up here on the top of the Empire State fucking Building.  Trying to avoid drawing attention to myself, let me die with dignity please, I crouched beside a bin and started to rifle through my bag, trying to find my Ventolin inhaler.  I just about emptied everything out of the bag onto the concrete in my panic, only to discover my puffer wasn’t even in there.  People were tripping over me and uttering “what the fuck” when they saw me crouched down there but I was panicking, trying to get air into my lungs and the air trying to get in through the swollen bronchial tubes was squealing like a stuck pig.  I was all hunched up and heaving, like a dog fucking a squeaky toy in a corner...somebody put an apple in my mouth and spit roast me now!

Boy Wonder discovered me and started to panic.  He ran to a man at the door and says, “Please help me, my mother…”  I leapt up like I wasn’t suffocating and dying and said “I’m fine!” only the words wheezed out of me like a concertina organ let loose in the dining hall of a retirement village.  I could see the whites of my son’s eyes and he looked like he was about to lose his shit so I hugged him fiercely and forced myself to calm down; reassuring the poor kid.  We went inside and I found a place to calmly sit and finally, some air got in and I started to breathe again.  My fucking asthma ruined the experience for me.  Boy Wonder and I made a pact to not tell them until we got back down to ground level because we actually give a shit.

On the way back to the apartment, as exhausted as we all were this night, me with a throbbing headache because of the asthma incident, we took the wrong fucking train line and ended up about 10 blocks away from our brownstone.  We had a choice of catching a train back to 42nd street and starting again on the correct line, or catching a bus to 142nd street.  Our collective groans sounded like a herd of cattle stranded in the middle of Harlem so The Captain hailed a cab before we stabbed him to death in the hood!

We dined on a big arsed pizza from a Pizza shop across the road from the apartment.  The take away box was massive and had the Captain laughing, like it was all a joke.  Each slice of pizza took up most of the dinner plate.  I found my asthma pump on the floor beside the bed where my bag had been that morning.  From this point forward, I checked my bag compulsively for my asthma pump before we left the apartment because I can’t have a repeat of that kind of stupid behaviour!

28^th December 2016 – Day 6  in New York City

We took the subway to Museum of American history.  As we approached, we saw a queue winding around block and considering we were up and raring to go early, we all groaned in anticipation of the hours of waiting ahead of us.  The Captain stalked up to one of the security guys and boldly asked, “Do we have to join this ridiculous queue?”  Surprisingly, The guard advised that there was a revolving door around the corner that we shouldn’t have to queue for very long at, so we made our way over there hurriedly; walking briskly like we were all in need of a quick shit because we didn’t want to alert the queued people of our sneaky queue jump.  Security was swift for once; the security guard barely checked my bag before we got in.  We were sceptical that there was no giant queue in here but this back entry actually worked for us.

There were four floors here.  We took our time wandering from floor to floor, taking in the native animals, marine life, the history of the native people and the evolution of man, the dinosaurs and lastly outer space and the planetarium.  We had spent four hours in there and the boys cracked the shits because they’d seen enough and couldn’t understand why we annoying women insisted on reading the boring plaques and checking everything out.  For fuck’s sake, we were at an interesting museum, we wanted to check that shit out.  We ended up throwing up our hands in anger and saying “fiiiiiiiinne!” like it actually was fine, but it really wasn’t.  We wanted to go into the planetarium and see the amazing stellar display but the groan from the boys was loud and unyielding.  Poor Miss Marvellous missed out on her most coveted thing there and we did have a little bit of a row with them outside of the Museum and the boys were treated with disdain for a few hours, to show how miffed we really were…and also so we didn’t hit them both over the head with something very hard.

On the way back to Harlem, I lost a lamb skin glove at the Subway entrance on 49th street but I wasn’t allowed to run back up and retrieve it because our train was arriving at the platform and everyone was feeling a bit tetchy.  It’s not like another train wouldn’t come past in a few minutes but I was loathe to miss the train and try to catch another on my own (because I’m a wuss and scared of being lost in New York on my lonesome…especially after the wrong train line incident the night before).

That night, after we all calmed the fuck down and stopped wanting to throttle each other, we went on the Harlem neighbourhood tour on foot and look at all of the different landmarks surrounding us, including parks, the Harlem River, Yankee Stadium, churches, the City College and Hamilton Grange, the home of one of the founding fathers of New York, Alexander Hamilton, a historical figure who lived locally.  We ate dinner at The Grange again but this experience proved to be a shitty-food one that left our palates wanting and Miss Marvellous’ meal wiped from the bill due to the lack of pork and huge content of pig belly fat in her dish.  

Shit Happens in USA…New York Part 3 will continue our New York experience as soon as I've written it.