10:00 – Wake up way too late to catch the 11:15 train to Long Island to visit my parents. Well, not way too ate, but late enough where rushing would have been necessary, and I hate rushing. So I wait until the 12:15.
12:05 – I’m rushing to catch my train. I have just enough time to buy a bagel and an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts before running to buy a ticket for the train. At the ticket machine, I am rushed and frazzled and they have apparently changed the menu options. Confused by this, I inadvertently purchase an $85 weekly train ticket from Penn Station to Ronkonkoma. I look at the clock, see a horde of people rushing to catch my train, put the weekly in my pocket and buy another, regular round trip ticket. (That means in the past two days, I’ve given the MTA $180 for travel, and I haven’t even left New York. I could have bought a plane ticket for that much.)
12:14 – Just make it onto the train and, not surprisingly, it’s packed. I start making my way through the cars, towards the back of the train in hopes of finding a seat. As I make my way into the second car, a guy stands up, smashing his elbow into my iced coffee, which goes flying. I stand there looking at it spreading out on the floor for a few seconds, and silently move on.
12:16 – I find what seems to be the last available seat, probably because it has some sort of sticky substance on it. I use the bag my bagel came in as a seat cushion. I then try to eat the bagel, but by the third bite, the bagel has sucked every drop of saliva out of my mouth . . . and I have no drink.
12:30 – We leave Jamaica station (about 20 minutes outside Manhattan) and five minutes later the train stops. And it doesn’t start again.
12:50 – They make an announcement that the train has broken down. And they need to back into Jamaica station so everyone can switch trains. A little piece of me dies.
1:10 – We begin moving backwards, and their tactics have worked – we’ve been sitting still for so long, backwards movement feels like progress. People are happy. I, on the other hand, see through their deception.
1:30 – We arrive back in Jamaica station just as the 1:15 train from Penn Station is rolling in . . . full of people. Everyone from my full train gets onto the other full train. I stand for the hour long train ride to Ronkonkoma. For half of the trip, my bag is hitting some guy in the head as he sits in his seat and tells an animated story to the girl next to him. Every time he says something he thinks is funny, his head flies back and hits my bag. I begin trying to time me swinging my bag forward with him flinging his head back to make more of an impact.
2:00 – I call my mother and tell her to have whatever pills and alcohol she has available waiting for me at the train station. She laughs a little, but part of me believes she will show up with a prescription bottle and a mini-bar. I don’t know why . . .
5:15 – Family members begin arriving at my parents’ house to celebrate both my parents’ wedding anniversary as well as my grandparents’ 58th wedding anniversary. The thought of being married for 58 years makes me dizzy. (Insert snide comment from The Girlfriend.)
5:40 – As at most family functions, conversation takes a turn towards my blog. This time, my grandfather, who has never used a computer, let alone the internet, weighs in on his ideas of how the word “blog” came about: “When we were young, we called it ‘bolog-na’ instead of ‘baloney.’ And that’s exactly what your blog is – baloney.” I laugh at first, then fall into a somber reflection.
8:00 – Everyone has become quiet and solemn in the kitchen after the rowdy dinner conversation centered around the tragedy and botched relief efforts in the Gulf Coast. I try to liven things up by commenting: “So I think I ate a raw pork chop the other night.” This has little to no effect, other than to make my little sister say, “Eww.”
8:25 – Everyone has gone home and I sit down to watch the movie Layercake with my parents and sister. I think it was a good movie, although due to the inaudible British mumbling I’m still not exactly sure what happened.
12:45 – Finally get to bed after getting sucked into The Grudge on cable. This turns out to be another bad movie. My bad movie to good movie ration lately is approximately 14:1.
11:30 – Take my little sister’s dog (Madison, a Yorkie) to my grandparents house to go swimming in their pool. There’s not much I san say about this spectacle that could adequately recreate the scene. Imagine a dog is hooked on crack, and then the dog is denied crack for a couple of days. And then you take the dog to a pool that is full of crack. That’s the best I can do.
4:00 – Sit down with my little sister and watch the last two episodes of “Dawson’s Creek” Season 4. There’s a distinct chance I enjoy them more than she does.
5:15 – I contemplate making my argument to her that Pacey, more than any other high school TV guy, was the most enviable. More than Zach Morris, more than Dylan McKay. But then my mother and father come home and my father sits in the chair next to me. And I want my father to continue loving me. So I didn’t.
7:38 – I get on the train to go back to Manhattan. Here’s where the weekend falls apart. You might ask – not the iced coffee? Not standing for an hour long train ride? Not carrying boxes up a four flight walk-up? No, this:
Last night was the night of my fantasy football team’s ancillary draft, where you choose all the players besides your keepers to fill out your roster. It’s not important like if you have diabetes and you miss an insulin shot; but important like you’re on the pill and you forget to take one – it could be disastrous.
And you know why I missed it? Because my parents were at a wedding all day long and I had thought they would be back in time to take my to the train at 5:38, landing me in the city at 7:00 which would give me plenty of time to get home for the draft at 8:00. INSTEAD, the bride was over an hour late to her own wedding, thus moving everything back an hour, thus making my parents get home in time to put me on a train right as the draft was taking place, THUS, I got screwed by a bride with cold feet.
I can only hope this will be the only time in my life I can say that.
Tuesday, September 6