Author: kbtwomey

Searching for Chris Christy.

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Well, It’s now 930p and I’ve been stuck in the Bronx not moving much since 4pm with no end in sight. I have to pee so badly that I saw a woman get into the backseat of her RAV4 and come out with a bucket, dump her pee, and get back in the driver’s seat heading nowhere. Now, I’m certainly going to order the RAV4 for my next company car. I think my kidneys have gone the way of my vestigial tail at this point. At about Fordham Rd, I emulated a cartoon character, as a particularly juicy-looking Puerto Rican girl kept turning into an empanada, as I’m so hungry. I think Trump is going to start chucking paper towels at us in the next hour. Who says you can’t get parking in NYC? I’m parked on the Deagan. I’m about to start streaming Netflix from the driver’s seat. I’m obviously in the wrong lane, as the center lane is cruising at the speed of Parkinson’s shuffle. Again, I’m envious. I almost ran out of gas and would’ve given up my swollen kidneys for a gallon, but got into the station on time. I’ve befriended a soccer ball; which I named Consuela. I’m passing the time with her until she can get home to her volleyball-husband, Wilson. I’m hoping that the airlift plans start soon. I hope this clears up soon, as I’m driving behind a minivan with a custom license plate that reads Donner. I heard the youngest boy point to my leg and call that he gets the drumstick. In all the years I’ve lived here, I have never seen traffic this bad. I may end up the Bronx long enough to apply for Medicaid. Let’s hope this log doesn’t go into day 2.

Searching for Chris Christy.

Well, as I approach my 10th hour stuck, we have clearly moved into a new day. Oh wait, I haven’t moved anywhere. Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink or figure out renal excretion. I’ve taken up residence on the Cross Bronx Expressway and am becoming quite cross. Coincidentally, I’ve had my legs crossed for @ least 9 hours before giving in. I started taking stock of things in my car @ around 11p. I McGyvered a toilet in my back seat by emptying a tissue box into an old purse and crawled into the back seat to cop a squat in my VW Pissat. Fortunately, I had Clorox wipes and Febreeze to make the experience feel like home sweet homeless. I panicked for the 1st time yesterday around 11:15p, when I couldn’t get my window back up for about 20 minutes. While I was warm and could have brought in my new jammies or work out pants that I left in the trunk from my last trip to Costco, I still envisioned that I would get sucked out the window a la the old Airport movie. Dinner rations came down to a linty star mint (circa 2009) retrieved from the cup holder. I will never malign that pedestrian candy again. Watch out smartees, I’m coming for you. I’ve now been in the Bronx so long that I’m now K2-Karen from the block. Sadly, it’s an overheated engine block.

For all the friends and AZ peeps checking in on me, thanks for keeping me alert and distracted. I think that when I get home, I will not leave the house for a long time. I will post on here when I get home, so everyone knows I’m home, dry, and fed. Happy driving to all and to all a good night!

Traveling with the Ancient.

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Anchor’s Aweigh, as we set sail for a short 4-day cruise to Havana, Hu-Nah-Nah! We boarded and went upstairs to the buffet, which they harshly renamed “the Bay of Pigs” as we ate our way to Cuba. As I didn’t have my sisters join as our plus 2, I’m forced to take my mother to the show featuring the music of Celine Dion. During the Latvian Idol winner’s rendition of “ My heart will go on”, I almost wished we were in the North Sea careening towards an iceberg. As we are on the same ship that Mr. Golden Underwear and I took from Lisbon to London, I saw many of the same staff. Our former waiter received a promotion which brings his pay up to 8 pairs of cow lips and a bowl of rice and he gets to sleep all the way on the bottom of the laundry shoot on the soiled towels. Our fellow travelers are diverse, as in there are Jews who live in Florida and Jews who haven’t yet moved to Florida. It’s not boding well for the Chef’s big order of Cuban sandwiches. We will wake up in Havana. Hasta manana! Marie Principe Werner, we will see how much espanol I’ve retained. As long as mi casa es su casa, es all bueno.

Traveling with the Ancient.

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We are inFidels in Cuba. We spent today exploring. There was an hour looking for my Mom’s fish earrings that were never packed, another hour exploring the cabin for my Mom’s watch, not to mention the panicked return back to customs searching for my Mom’s sunglasses; which were found when she explored the space under her hat on her head. For future travelers, I wouldn’t suggest the Havana Lost and Found Tour. It takes me back to our family cruise to Bermuda, where my parents were convinced that the tiny Filipino room steward was stealing my Dad’s sans-a-belt shorts, only to find them at home upon their return.

As for our real sightseeing, my Mom has held up better from the 1950s then has Havana. The sidewalks and streets have the broken pavement that is known in poor communist countries as Leningrade. We hailed a 1952 Chevy; which had leprosy, as its doorknobs kept falling off. The cabdriver kept having to reach into the front seat to let us out of the cab; a move he dubbed Cuba Libre. We were lucky to not toss our rice and beans.

After dropping my Mom back on the ship, I ventured out to some of Hemingway’s old haunts along the Plaza Vieja. The shopping is far more Che than Chic and certainly not going to start a rebellion. Also more Guevara shirts than Guayberra shirts. For a bunch of communists, they will still barter, so you can usually get a Marx down. I asked this lady if I could take her picture, after agreeing, she and her friend tried to shake me down for some pesos. I tried to convince her that I was taking this shot for the people. She was a total Cohibitch!

Traveling with the Ancient.

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Today, we went on a 5 1/2 hour tour of Havana in a 1952 Chevy Deluxe. The Deluxe features are in the league of a hamburger deluxe, as the extra amenities were about as deluxe as lettuce and tomato in the aforementioned burgers. We saw a great deal in our Castro Convertible, as we Thelma and Louised it through Old Havana, Calle del Reyes, Revolution Plaza, and the Hotel de Nacional. If you need to take a piss-o, you better have a peso. After you take a piss-o, you better have another peso; if you care to wipe-o. Cuba Libre, my dripping ass-o! Forget the Cuban Missile Crisis, Che Guevara actually started the revolution after some strong Cuban coffee and eating some Ropa that got too viejo. At the Hotel de Nacional, we channeled our best Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano, except we had quite a problem with the demands of omerta, especially the Godmother.

Tonight, we are back on the ship, as my mother wanted to be at the big White Night. Unlike on that family cruise for my parents 50 Anniversary cruise, where my Mom obliviously made family shirts; which read “Kaplan Kruise Krewe” (KKK), this White Party only referred to all-White attire not the all-White attendees doing the white man’s overbite, while boogying to “Play that Funky Music White Boy”. Did we learn nothing today from the Afro-Cuban dancers at the Santeria temple? Better a dance move than an animal sacrifice. Right now, I’m listening to a Gay Jewish guy from Long Island perform “My girl”. I think he’s referring to his cleaning lady. Even my Mom just called Uncle on this, so I will make my rapido exit until Manana.

Traveling with the Ancient.

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Without having to raft the 90 miles back to Miami, we are in the middle of the Ocean back to Miami. Although my Mom drove me nuts with the continual loss and subsequent finding of her sunglasses, I will not be seeking asylum just yet. My mom almost stayed behind in Cuba, when the Navy tried to recruit her to help them interrogate terrorists at Guantanamo Bay Prison in an operation they dubbed Abu Gab; in which my mother would torture the various terrorists by telling them what each tenant of her Senior Living Complex had for dinner for the past 4 years. Frankly, I’ve been subjected to this slowly a la Chinese Water Torture-style slowly over the past 4 years and have confessed to things I’m innocent of just to not hear about Evelyn’s overcooked tilapia for the 1000th time.

We spent the day on the ship, as we had enough of Havana. Havana is like visiting Lola at the Copa, Copacabana, but that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show. She sits in the dress she used to wear with faded flowers in her hair. While there are many vibrant things about Havana like the old cars, sections of the city look like we actually won in the Bay of Pigs Invasion. Either that or there was a major fire at the Cohiba Factory. As most workers make a Cuban Peso a day and, as I mentioned, it costs a peso to use the bano, it’s ironic that we couldn’t flush communism out of Cuba.

On another sad note, the Ancient has declared that this will be her last trip. I’m pretty sure that she’ll still want to cruise, but probably won’t get off the ship on future voyages. I do have an unexpected new travel partner though in my mom’s walker. Her tricked out walker was somehow filmed in the foreground of every evening show performance that they televise into the cabin. It does a great rhumba, had the run of the craps table, and was the life of the White Night Party. It’s either bring that or try to do a reunion special with Janet Reno and Elian Gonzalez.

Finally, as I cross back to our fortunate lives in the US of A, I am thinking of the late great Mrs. Toralbles, who as a baby, fled to America with her family for a better life. More than rum, more than cigars, more than mojitos, she was the best thing to come out of Cuba.

Hasta Luego, until Scotland in a few weeks!